Hockey. As a Canadian there are an abundance of words that come to mind to describe our Sport. Endless descriptions of what so many of us can only explain as “Life”. Hockey is Life. Hockey is Family. Hockey is Love.
Hockey is what “gets us through”. Hockey is a place of comfort, of learning, of genuine passion.
The word “tragedy” certainly isn’t a description we would use to describe our beloved sport.
Humboldt. Broncos. Hockey. Family. Life. Love.
It is with this tragedy that has devastated so many lives, so many dreams that we come to realize the immense depth of all of the words above.
A country in mourning.
A stick. When does it become more than a stick? When the hands that once gripped it will no longer do so. Will no longer score the goals. Will no longer…
The stick now becomes full of dreams. Full of memories. This precious stick now becomes a window into all we remember. We look at the stick with pride, with laughter, with sadness but we look…and we will continue to look.
The stick now becomes a part of all that remains. All that is left behind. All that will never be.
It becomes a priceless piece of who we love. A priceless piece of forever that we now can only dream about.
It is now no longer “just a stick”. It is more than a stick.
It is Life. It is Family. It is Love.
As my family honors the victims of Humboldt. I think about each of the sticks we rest quietly beside our door.
They mean so much more than “just a stick”. They now have a much deeper purpose. They now have much deeper love and life than ever fully realized.
The stick of a client who when 13, we started the training journey. As a married young man, he is now living his dream of a life of Hockey. Brady Brassart.
The stick of Tyler Toffoli who selflessly handed it off to my youngest son after a life changing game between the Los Angeles Kings and the Edmonton Oilers for the Lumby Krafthockeyville 2016 win.
My stick. To everyone affected by Humboldt. To the mothers and the fathers dealing with the days after. To the families who have lost their loved one. To the families finding ways to heal.
The sticks of my two boys, 12 and 15. Who have grown up playing the sport we so dearly love. My life. My passion…my family.
My husband and their father who is watching from above with a stick in his hand, I’m sure. Who can no longer watch them grow into men but lives in our hearts and is present in each breath.
Joined together, these sticks become one because they represent all that can happen and must happen. They allow us to come together and heal. They allow us to support and guide. We are all one because we are all Hockey. Our Life. Our Family. Our Love.