Friday Nights
Every Friday, I find myself wondering what you would have been up to. It's a day filled with both longing and solace, as I cherish the opportunity to stay in touch with your friends and see if they're getting together. I'm deeply committed to ensuring that no one feels alone in this journey of loss. Admittedly, amidst my own pain, I haven't been as diligent in keeping up with everyone as I'd like. But whenever I receive a text or a message from one of them, it brings me immense joy. I make a concerted effort to reach out, especially to your closest friends—the ones whose company I truly cherish.
This week has been exceptionally challenging. Gabe wrapped up his Spring Break, and I found myself driving past the hospital multiple times—a place that always stirs up emotions for me, reminding me of the heart-wrenching moment I had to leave my baby behind.
On Saturday, March 16th, your team had their second-to-last hockey game for the State Championship. Dad, Gabe, and I attended, and while it was an incredible experience, it also brought immense pain. I was grateful for the presence of other moms—thankful for the hands to hold and the shoulders to cry on. Seeing your team thrive and succeed fills me with pride, yet I can't shake the feeling that you should be there on the ice. That's all I yearn for—to see you out there. You had these distinctive moves that made it easy for me to spot you, like the way you held your stick, would lean back, lifting your left leg while skating on just your right foot. You executed your mohawks with such finesse. Speed, edgework, with a hint of the flying all over the place, were your trademarks.
Then, on Sunday, my friends took me out for my birthday—a bittersweet experience that surprisingly provided the solace I needed. Meanwhile, Dad and Gabe attended the Championship game, and of course, your team emerged victorious. It's as if your presence lingered with them, carrying your spirit throughout the game. They carried your jersey with them the entire time, always including you in their cheer and chant. You would have been so proud, Samson. They have been nothing short of amazing.
Hockey was more than just a sport for us; it was an integral part of our lives. The countless hours spent traveling, practicing, playing games, and participating in tournaments—we lived and breathed it. The overwhelming support from the hockey community during this time has been incredible. Even the #SticksoutforSamson movement was a testament to the solidarity we felt. Returning home from the hospital to find sticks lined up in our neighborhood brought me to tears—it was a poignant reminder that we're not alone, that we're part of a larger family.
As another Friday night approaches, I find myself pondering what you would be doing, Samson. Who would you be spending time with, laughing and sharing stories? What adventures would you embark on? These questions swirl in my mind, a constant reminder of the life you should be living. I can't help but wonder: What are you doing? What is it like where you are?
My love for you, sweet boy, knows no bounds. You're forever in my heart.
