Growing up, hockey was more than just a game — it was a way of life. From the crack of dawn practices to the echo of slap shots in the driveway late into the night, the rink became my second home. But through every puck drop and power play, there was one constant in my life: my Nana. 

A lifelong cheerleader 

Nana wasn’t just a supporter; she was the foundation. Long before hockey came into the picture, she made everyday moments magical. Whether babysitting me and my sister or hosting unforgettable Christmases on the farm, she had a way of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. 

But once hockey entered the scene, she brought that same magic to the rink. Early morning games? She was there, coffee in hand, bundled up against the chill. Cross-country tournaments? She didn’t blink. If she couldn’t be in the stands, she was at home — eyes glued to the screen, living and breathing every moment as if she were right there on the bench. 

I’m pretty sure Nana has watched 99% of my games. During the height of COVID, when support was hard to come by, she masked up, picked me up, and made sure I never missed a single practice — even if it meant sitting in the car while I sat masked in the back seat. 

From the local rink to the big league 

When I made it to the Ontario Hockey League (OHL), it wasn’t just my dream — it was ours. The moment the games were televised, we signed Nana up for the full OHL TV package. She never missed a game. Every goal, every nail-biting overtime, every defeat — she was right there with me, sharing the highs and lifting me through the lows. 

A new challenge 

A few months ago, our family received news that changed everything: Nana was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. For years, we had chalked her hand tremors to something minor — essential tremors, we thought. But when her movement and balance began to shift, we finally had answers. 

It was a heavy moment. Nana had always been so full of life, so tough and steady — it was hard to imagine anything slowing her down. But true to form, she met Parkinson’s with resilience and grace. She began medication, kept up her swimming, added cycling, and threw herself into every activity she could in her retirement community. 

Giving back the support 

Since her diagnosis, I’ve tried to be there for her the way she’s always been there for me. Holding her hand when we walk, checking in often, and just being more present. The truth is, I’m the one who’s gained the most from this time. Being close to her reminds me of what truly matters. 

Hockey taught me the value of hard work, discipline, and teamwork. But Nana? She taught me heart. She’s still my biggest cheerleader — and I’ll always be hers.