Chapter 7

Wade

I'm making progress.

I feel it already.

I'm not drinking. Instead, Thomas and Joe have me going to the movies to fill my evenings, encouraging me to change up my environment to distract me, which is helping my brain switch off. I'm walking more and reading again too. Something I've enjoyed since I was a little boy when my grandfather's library fed my curiosity, each book carrying me off to every corner of my imagination.

When Gretchen died, my mind struggled to focus on anything other than playing hockey.

But it's as if something has changed in my brain and it's all helping. As is the yoga they have me doing.

Fucking yoga. Every morning.

Can't deny I quite like it though. It makes me feel all relaxed and zen-like and it's weird how I don't get triggered by things that annoyed me before. Like Zane's face. I can now look at him without feeling the need to punch him. That's progress.

Double sessions of yoga on game days, as well as meditations and success visualizations, are helping tame the monster that was desperately trying to break free. I've only had a few disagreements during play, which is massive for me. It was several fights a game before, not disagreements.

The positive self-talk Joe asked me to do has also proven to be a challenge. The all too familiar sound of my mother's voice creeps in, and I can't help but listen to her hyper-critical drawls.

I am calm… you're a car crash, Wade.

I consider my actions… no, you don't. You're a liability, Wade.

I am willing to do the work… you fail at everything you do, Wade.

I am surrounded by people who support and care about me… no, you're not. You're all alone, Wade.

I wish she would fuck off out of my head. I should ask Joe about what I can do about the disembodied voice that's living rent free in my brain because so far everything he's suggested is working and I'm really starting to trust him.

It pains me to admit it, but I trust Kali too. Although I don't think Kali realized the amount of work she'd have to do, but she's made grand promises which I'm holding her to.

I've come to love the time I spend with her.

Looked forward to it, even.

Watching her every move has become something I can't stop myself from doing. I'm fascinated by her, gazing at her lips moving as she talks to me one too many times; imagined them on mine. I can't stop myself.

It's ridiculous and a pipe dream. It has to stop.

Which is difficult given I spend almost every day with her. She's invading every thought of mine in my brain as if she's pulled up a chair, made herself comfortable and won't take the hint to leave. I don't want her to, but you know, if only she would stop being so enchanting then maybe I could halt this weird new obsession with her I've acquired.

Although, how can I stop, when everything she promised me about being there for me she's made good on and not letting me do everything by myself. She's at every meet and greet, interview, and community charity event.

And everything she's doing for me seems to be making a difference making it even more impossible for me to ignore her and the way she makes me feel.

She even guaranteed to turn around the results of the Eagles Player Likability Poll I ranked last in. And she said helping out at the soup kitchen for the homeless shelter was the best place to start. I was so moved by what the charity was doing for the community that I donated a month's salary to feed people in need.

There's also been a school visit where I did a motivational talk to a bunch of high school kids interested in becoming hockey players. Not one for public speaking, I loved every minute of it; the kids seemed interested and never stopped asking questions.

And how can I forget the animal sanctuary she had me visiting? Top tip; don't wear black around molting dogs and cats. Did it once, won't be doing that again, especially since I discovered I seem to have an allergy to cat fur. It was hell.

Right now, I'll do anything to help retain my position on the team and build my reputation back up.

I'm doing this for me. And for her.

I was barely hanging on to my contract because I was avoiding Kali and Thomas, only doing some of the work. Fighting them only made everything worse. But seeing that transfer contract in black and white, I felt my dreams slipping through my fingertips and right now I am determined to hold on for dear life.

Where did the youngest Eagle in history to score five winning goals against the Lynxes just three days before my nineteenth birthday go?

Oh yeah, I remember, he was buried… alongside Gretchen.

Like Thomas explained to me, I need to find new ways to cope with Gretchen's death. Part of me died that day too and I've been carrying her around with me every day since. And not in a good way.

It breaks my heart to even think about her. Lying where I found her—on the kitchen floor—blue lips, motionless.

Gone.

When the paramedics arrived, they informed me there was nothing they could do. She was cold, and they guessed she'd been there for several hours.

Several hours.

Which meant she'd been there since the Saturday night. The same night I called to tell her what time I would be arriving for dinner the next day.

All fucking night she lay there.

And I wasn't there to save her.

She died in the house I bought for her a month after I was drafted to the NHL. The house she insisted I have a room in. Our home is what she called it. "We're a unit, you and me," she would always tell me. "You're the son I never had."

I am who I am because of her.

Recently I"ve not been that man and if I'm being honest with myself, I'm ashamed of the person I've become. Thomas explained that by not confronting Gretchen's death, I have a mix of delayed and distorted grief. I'm struggling to process the shock of losing her and unable to deal with my feelings, which I've been holding in for twelve months. I listened to him as we rode horses, which was oddly calming and therapeutic… yup, that's what I said… rode a fucking horse rather than sit in a stuffy office like I had imagined we would.

When I relived the memory of finding her on the floor, he said I'm experiencing guilt from not being there to save her which I'm storing up like my own hydropower water dam, and when it bursts, I lash out, become violent, and aggressive to whoever is standing in my path. Then I turn to alcohol to numb the pain.

I know I'm not addicted to alcohol because I can go without it for weeks at a time, but when my emotions are spiraling, when someone says something triggering, then the liquor helps me control my memories of that day.

Add in a huge dollop of pain from finding Amelia in bed with another man just before Gretchen died, which I only shared with Thomas at this week's session. Everything, he said, would feel like being hit full force by a cannonball to the gut. Or a rock-solid hockey player. And I know exactly what that feels like. It's enough to smack all the wind out of your lungs and have you feel like you're dying.

So, it's no wonder I have been slowly drowning and throwing away my career.

I didn't have the skills to cope with any of it.

Talking about it has helped.

Which has shocked me.

Over the four sessions we've had, I've begun to open up, and if I'm being honest, I am starting to feel better. Maybe. I don't know how true that is. Saying it and thinking it sort of makes me feel better, so maybe I am. We'll see.

Can't get past the angsty anxiety feeling though, that's still there, but it's more of a simmer than rolling at full boil at present.

Thomas has been pulling at my happy times memory bank like a yarn of wool, unraveling them to reveal the joy-filled memories I have of Gretchen.

And all her greatness is slowly threading its way back into my brain, replacing the morbid thoughts I would like to forget.

I've released a few memories that make my heart pinch with sadness. I miss her. So much. But remembering how awesome her double chocolate, gooey cookies tasted, has helped. Regardless of what mood my mom was in when I was younger, Gretchen's cookies always made me feel better. I recalled how her scrapbooks, stuffed full of newspaper cuttings of my career, made me feel loved. And I laughed with Thomas when I recalled the car rides we would go on to the mall and her terrible choice of country music she would always make me listen to as we drove.

After that session, I found myself searching my music app for Kenny Rogers' songs. When I hit play as I drove back into the city, it brought me some comfort and made me feel like Gretchen was with me for the first time since I lost her. I won't lie. It was hard to see through the tears that misted my eyes.

All in all, I feel better. Not old Wade better, but better.

Getting there.

Still a long way to go.

Mount Everest might be easier to climb.