Hockey Blues

My family is suffering the blues. Hockey blues. Almost my entire married life has had a huge element of hockey in it. Not always to my liking. My husband has played. My kids have played, minus Alisha but put a hockey game on for her to watch and her legs begin to kick wildly while she bubbles up with smiles and bursts of laughter. I often wonder what's wrong with them or for a different perspective, what's wrong with me.

A little bit of hockey would have been one thing. I have been energized more then once rooting for the Red Wings or Whalers. If it was my kids playing, the intensity escalated and I felt their triumphs and their disappointment because I love them fiercely. Hockey edged it's way into our lives more than a little. From homemade ice rinks in the back yard to hockey tape as the most used adhesive in the house, hockey became our landscape. The chill of rinks, the late night games or early morning practices, the sacrifice of gobs of money, and precious family time have not always led me to a song of rejoicing. I lament that.

Why? Because now it is all gone. There is no more hockey in this family. Yes, we will watch it on t.v. but it is not the landscape anymore. Caleb chose to not play this year and Hannah had some severe injuries this fall that removed her completely from the game. In the beginning I rejoiced that our family would have more time together, be able to do other things.

It has not quite worked out like I thought it would. The empty place where hockey was has not been filled for them. They are sad. At first, honestly, I wanted to fill the empty space so we could close this chapter of our lives. I tried.

It may seem, as did to me at first, that in the economy of loss, this is minor. It's not for them. When I've been the recipient of forced healing, it hasn't worked. I needed to process my loss. Someone else can not do this vital work for another.

As I sat with my sobbing daughter one night, I said, "If I could make this outcome different I would. If it were up to me you would be back on that ice doing what you love." I meant it because I love her and I miss watching her do what she loved. I would have never wanted to say "goodbye" to hockey like this.

It is not in my power though. It is in His. If it were up to me my children would never suffer a day. They would never be sick. They would never be sad or angry for that matter. They would never have to endure the cruel words of another or the disappointment of losing anything. Anything.

This is why it is not up to me, I told Hannah. My love is not perfect. His is. Suffering makes me depend. It molds my thoughts and my heart-strings to long for something more. Without the brokenness I would believe in myself more than I should. No, perfect love allows for brokenness.

It's not just about coming out the other side. It will be better than that. It will be transformative. I know that because the deepest of pains have never been wasted. Only a Perfect Father could take the worst, ache with us, and then work through us. Rejoice.