I cannot continue to use the phrase “Widow to Warrior” without explaining it.
Simply put, warrior is Patrick Roy’s thing and that man is my hero.
If you don’t know the name, he’s an incredibly sexy hockey god. Do yourself a favor and scroll through images when you Google him so you can enjoy that mental delicacy while reading about his vast accomplishments.
I have an older brother who liked hockey. It was always on in my home, many of his friends played and I ended up dating an impressive string of goalies in my early 20s. I grew up just outside of Denver during the glory days of the Colorado Avalanche. As my friends drooled over Nsync and The Backstreet Boys I fell for athletes like Ed McCaffrey, Joe Sakic, Roger Federer, Todd Helton, and my favorite, Patrick Roy.
Patty Cakes as I adoringly referred to him, is just kind of a badass. He’s mouthy, he fought, and he didnt care what anyone thought of what he was doing. And behind all of the aggression was clear, real, and raw passion. I fell in love with it.
After retiring from playing, he came back to Denver as a coach. He got in a fight with another coach during the first game of the season, and my love was sparked again. The other coach mouthed off to Roy, who responded by pushing down a plexiglas divider, and proudly accepting a 10 grand fine.
To be frank, I have made an ass out of myself trying to get this man’s attention. Knowing he likes vodka I sent him a bottle of my favorite (Dan Akryod’s Crystal Head), which he kept but didn’t acknowledge. I took a hit professionally, and knowingly did so, when I tried to extend an invitation to my wedding. That wouldn’t have been awkward because Howard and I had a “Patrick Roy Clause” in our marriage agreement.
After Howard died, I could relate to warrior. I strived for it. Everything Patrick did in hockey was what I wanted to do in the world of grief. Make a big splash and not care what anyone thought.
So when I say “Widow to Warrior” I did so by accessing my inner Patrick Roy.
I’m alone in a world that simply does not understand, and to talk about it so openly means I have to feel like I’m skating towards center ice to punch the guy who just told me everything happens for a reason.
And Patrick, if you ever see this-thank you. Thank you for being real. You are my hero, I’m a young, mouthy widow finding my place in the world and could use a pep talk….or a pity fuck.