[Choked breath] I didn’t stand a chance, did I?
March 9
I had another consultation with Dr. Royce and the team now that it’s been over three months since my brain injury. God, even saying that feels surreal.I have a brain injury.Those are words I never thought I’d say.
Anyway, we’re starting to look at the next steps. Surgery seems like my best option. One study shows that over eighty percent of patients had rapid visual improvement after vitrectomy. That sounds promising.
But Dr. Royce reminded me that, with my case being bilateral, there’s no guarantee. Still, I want to try. Even a little improvement would be better than nothing. Right?
[Silence]
We also talked about how it’s time for me to accept that I can’t play hockey professionally anymore. I don’t even know what to say about that right now.
[Whispering] I so wish you were here, Ivy. I need you.
March 12
This will be short, but I didn’t know who else to tell. Silence leaves room for every doubt to crawl in. Fuck, I’m starting to hate the different types of silence I’ve discovered recently. Who knew there was more than one?
March 18
I finally let my teammates visit me today after texting them regularly for the past weeks. Jensen, Foster, Lance and Zimmerman all came to the rehab. You can only imagine how much the nurses loved it.
If I’m being honest, being with them again hit me harder than I expected. The second I heard their voices down the hallway, it felt like walking into the locker room again before a big game…just us, giving each other shit and laughing like idiots.
We sat around for hours, talking about everything and nothing. But eventually, I told them. I told them I’m retiring. Saying it out loud to them made it real.
They went quiet at first—no jokes or forced optimism—just that kind of silence that carries a lot of love in it. Then Jensen clapped me on the back and said,“If this is your call, we’ve got your back.”The others followed suit.
I made them swear they wouldn’t breathe a word to management. That part has to come from me. I’m meeting them the day after tomorrow, actually.
[Shaky exhale] I’m not sure I’m ready, but at least tonight, I didn’t feel alone.
March 19
Hey, it’s me again. I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, trying to figure out what the hell to think, and this is the one thing that won’t leave me alone: I’m meeting with team management tomorrow and I’m fucking terrified.
Not the kind of nervousness you get before a game or a race. Or the jittery, adrenaline-laced kind that pushes you to do your best. This is something deeper and way heavier. I don’t have the right words to describe it any better. But tomorrow is the day I finally give them my final decision; I won’t play hockey anymore.
Even saying the words out loud breaks something in me. Like I’m grieving a death no one else will.
[Breath catches] I don’t know how to say farewell tohim, to Teddy who skated like he owned the ice.
I know the risk of another head injury is too high. Even if I get my full vision back tomorrow, it still doesn’t erase the fact that I suffered a traumatic, life altering injury. You know more about these things than I do. So you know it could be much worseifI survived another hit. I don’t want to take that risk with my life. Not after what I’ve experienced in the past few months.
So yeah, I’m scared of the meeting and what comes after. But when everything else feels off, there’s one thing I can hold onto. One person.You. Every single night, I wish for you. Not the ice. Not my team. Not the crowd. Just you.
I’ve never stopped wanting to be with you, Ivy. Not once in all 104 days I’ve known you exist in the same universe as me. Your name never settles into silence when everything else around me does.
[Voice breaking] I pray it never will.
41
TEDDY
MARCH 20
Em and I ride in a private SUV with a driver she trusts, and neither of us say anything the whole way to meet the Woodpeckers management. Only soft background music on the radio and the low hum of traffic accompany us as we make our way through Manhattan.
