Sticks Out: We Grieve With You
When a Hockey Mother hears #SticksOut, it’s like a punch to the heart. It’s not just a hashtag or a tradition—it’s a cry of grief that echoes through every rink and home in the hockey world. It hit this past week, with the passing of Colin Kasin and Connor Brown. The Ice Hockey community gathers around you in prayer and our deepest condolences.
At that moment, as you pull out your child’s stick and place it outside the door, you feel the weight of another family’s unimaginable loss. You grieve for them as if you’ve known them forever because, in some way, you have. Their child could have been yours, their story could have been your story, and that realization is both devastating and humbling. You could have played that team, been at that rink. Dear God, our humble human brain will never understand. Our souls want to pour out in compassion.
I remember the first time I heard “Sticks Out.” It was at our home rink, my son’s first rink in 2017. My son was only 9. He had an awesome coach and assistant coach who was a mature high school boy.
My son had just spoken to him in the locker room two days prior. The teen assistant coach and 18U player said he would play on our local city team. My son was mesmerized.
That very next weekend, he collapsed. A sudden medical emergency, we don’t have an explanation. He collapsed after not feeling well on the ice. First question: Was it a hit? We all initially wondered. It was not.
But, I had another hockey mother turn to me in the member’s lounge and ask…”Do you ever wonder what we are doing”? I couldn’t admit it. I could hide behind the that the kids did not check yet – so it wasn’t that physical yet. Right?
I tried to console her that it was not a bad check or charge. This poor kid would have had a medical emergency even if he had been at home. But, yes, the physicality of the sport…you still question yourself for a moment.
As a mother, your first instinct is to protect. You strap on the gear, double-check the helmet, and pray that the ice stays a place of joy, not tragedy. But when you hear of a young player lost—whether from an on-ice incident, a sudden medical event, a car accident, or something as senseless as a random act of violence—it shakes you to your core. You wonder, could it happen here? Could it happen to us? That’s when the fear creeps in, and your prayers become more urgent: “Dear God, watch over these kids. Keep them safe. Please don’t let it happen here.”
But at the same time, #SticksOut is a reminder of something bigger: the strength of this community. When tragedy strikes, the hockey family shows up—sticks on porches, sticks in driveways, sticks lined up outside the rink. It’s a way of saying to that grieving family, “You are not alone. We are with you, and your child will never be forgotten.” My son said his coach at the time described it like this: “It is calling to the person who passed away to come and play, here is my stick”. And as a mother, you find some comfort in knowing that if God forbid, it ever was your child, this same community would surround you with that same love and support.
Sticks Out isn’t just for the family who lost—it’s for all of us. It’s a way to channel that overwhelming grief and fear into something tangible, something unifying. It’s a way of saying, “Yes, we’re heartbroken. Yes, we’re scared. But we’re in this together.” Together, we are stronger.
So, when you place that stick outside, you do it with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat. You whisper a prayer for the family whose world has been shattered and a prayer for your own family. You take an extra moment to hug your player before their next game, to remind them that you love them, no matter the score, no matter the result.
Because at the heart of it, that’s what hockey moms do. We grieve deeply, we worry endlessly, and we love fiercely. And when the unthinkable happens, we honor the fallen the only way we know how: by leaving the sticks out and keeping their spirit alive, one game at a time. 🏒💙
