Summary

Darcy Thiel recounts a poignant evening spent with her teenage son, Frankie, at a Buffalo Sabres hockey game, where she is reminded of her deceased husband, Tim, through Frankie's mannerisms and shared experiences.

Abstract

Darcy Thiel, a widow and mental health counselor, shares a touching story of a hockey game night with her son Frankie, who bears a striking resemblance to his late father, Tim, in both appearance and interests. Despite initial resistance, Frankie agrees to attend the game with Darcy, mirroring his father's passion for hockey and the family's tradition of season tickets. Throughout the evening, from the walk to the arena to the game itself, Darcy is transported back to moments with Tim, especially when Frankie mimics his father's attitudes, such as opposition to paid parking and a keen interest in the game. The night is filled with a mix of emotions, from the joy of winning to the bittersweet feeling of Tim's presence in Frankie's actions, culminating in a memorable selfie that captures the essence of their relationship. Darcy reflects on the experience as a special night spent with both her son and the memory of her husband.

Opinions

Darcy initially viewed the family's passion for hockey as ridiculous but came to appreciate it, especially its financial benefits during playoff seasons.
She was taken aback by the energy of a playoff game, which changed her perspective on selling their valuable season tickets.
Darcy acknowledges her lack of understanding of hockey's intricacies but finds her own ways to engage with the game, such as commenting on the players' appearances.
She admits to being a "hopeless" conversationalist during the game, often saying things that irritate Frankie.
Darcy humorously notes her appreciation for the physical appearance of some of the hockey players, particularly those who maintain their teeth and beards.
The experience of spending the evening with Frankie, who shares so many traits with Tim, is described as both a challenge and a heartwarming reminder of her late husband.
Despite the typical teenage reluctance and the disagreements over logistics like parking and the route home, Darcy cher

Deja Vu

I had a visit from Tim (my deceased husband) the other night. It didn’t come in a dream or in the form of a hummingbird. He came embodied in his now 14-year-old son, Frankie.

We have season Sabres tickets (NHL hockey). Tim had them for years and years. When I first met him, it drove me crazy.

I thought the household passion for hockey was ridiculous. I remember Colin and Matthew (my step-sons) playing mini-stick hockey in the living room and I would say in disgust to my mom, “Who the heck plays hockey in the living room?”

Of course, I have had to eat my words (and my attitude) about a thousand times since them. Frankie and his brothers and friends still play mini-stick hockey all the time and of course, the best place to play is in the living room. I get it now.

We often struggled financially for the first few years of our marriage. I finally saw a purpose for those damn tickets when the Sabres made the playoffs. People could sell their tickets for enough money to pay for the entire next season!

Tim was mortified at the mere suggestion of selling play-off seats and I couldn’t believe it. Then I went to a play-off game with him. Holy cow. I couldn’t believe it. The energy was out of this world. I never asked him to sell those tickets again.

The Sabres in the playoffs? Priceless. No amount of money would be worth it. (Ok, maybe a million bucks or something.)

Usually, Colin and Frankie get the tickets. They are super great seats. Here is our view of the ice:

See what I mean?

Anyhow, I decided to take Frankie to the game this week. He is a teenager, so of course, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. In fact, he said no at first, but then he came to his senses.

Now, he was only eight-years-old when his dad died, but sometimes it freaks me out by how much he can mimic his father. Part of me was thinking that I’m the parent so I need to put my foot down when he argues with me. Then I thought better of it and decided not to rock the boat any more than was necessary. Getting him to spend the evening with me was miracle enough.

The first argument, I knew, was going to be parking. Tim knew where to park so you didn’t have to pay. I would only go to one game a year so I would tell him that I wanted to park close and pay.

It is cold and miserable in Buffalo in the winter, but he was driving so I always ended up walking and freezing my ass off. Frankie is quite indignant about paying for parking. He thinks it’s ridiculous. It was raining and the winds were horrid, but we parked where he told me to (which was of course, where his dad used to) and walked to the arena.

I was cursing under my breath.

I tried to engage him in conversation throughout the game, but unfortunately, I am hopeless. I kept saying the things that absolutely drive him bonkers. Such a woman.

I don’t get the intricacies of the game so I comment on things I know. “Hey, number 90 is Ryan O’Reilly? He is the fathead you got for Christmas right? I didn’t realize who he was. He is my favorite player.”

Frankie looks at me in shock. Why is he my favorite player? Now I am silent. I can’t possibly explain to him that last year when Emily (my daughter) was in town, she and her friends and I went to a game. Number 90 always warms up the same way and he is different from the other players.

He does these stretches that look incredibly sexy and naughty on the ice. I just tell Frankie, “No reason.”

More dumb comments from a mom. Hey, a lot of the players have beards now. What’s up with that? What will they do when it is playoff time when they are supposed to grow beards?

Again, Frankie just says, “Grow their beards longer.” He hates that the only thing I seem to notice is the looks of the players.

What can I say? I’m a single woman and some of the players that still have teeth are pretty hot.

A second miracle occurred. Frankie agreed to a selfie and even said I could post it. You can tell by his face that he wasn’t thrilled, but he let me.

It was a great game. We actually won. There was a big fight in the first period. Other than embarrassing Frankie by dancing when we scored, we managed quite well together.

Then the drive home (after the long walk to the car) and more arguments about taking the side streets home rather than the thruway.

I spent the night with my teenage son and my deceased husband. It was a great night!

I’m Darcy Thiel. I utilize my professional and personal experiences to increase my understanding and compassion to help others. I am a Licensed Mental Health Counselor, Adult Planning Specialist, End of Life Doula, and author. Feel free to check out my profile to hear more.