::Brendan Shanahan’s P.O.V.::

Through the clouds

A nice surprise

To see the twinkle

Return to your eyes

I search my head

For some old smile

Been around this place

Just stumbling in the dark

And when I feel the skies will never clear

You remind me spring is near

How you sparkle

How you shine

How you rise above

The darkest skies

-Rubyhorse, “Sparkle”

April 12, 2003

            I close my eyes and soak up the atmosphere around me. It’s charged with an electricity, an urgency that I don’t know if I’ve ever felt before. Its time to defend our championship—time to fight to keep the Cup in Detroit, where it belongs. I pause at the exit of the locker room with last words of encouragement to my teammates.

            “Stand tall, Boyd, this is your old squad you’re up against, show them what you’ve become. Keep working like you did all season, Malts. Don’t let them psych you out, Pavel…” I go like this through the entire line of players who walk past me. Finally, my eyes latch on the perfectly stitched letter that had been removed from my sweater last night, all but glowing on the jersey of the man standing in front of me, the man who will be the last member of the team to hit the ice.

            The Captain is back.

            After his surgery, Steve had spent three months resting, only allowed to exercise his upper body. Then he began an extensive physical therapy routine, which he fought through with so much heart; no other person I’d ever met had that much integrity, that much passion. He’d complained a month ago that he was ready to return, but it was the general consensus that, with him nearing 38 years old, it was wise to force the extra month of training and strengthening on him, making him more than healthy enough to join us for the playoffs.

            I hug him, “Welcome back, Steve. It’s been pretty damn empty without you.”

            He smiles at me; he is so excited to play tonight that he practically danced through warm-ups. “Thanks, Brendan, for everything you’ve done.”

            It isn’t mentioned, but hidden in that sentence is silent gratitude for helping him deal with his relationship with Jiri. It had been a rough year; Jiri had spent it babying Steve, who hated it because he was convinced that he could do everything on his own. They fought constantly—but a good-natured struggle, both knowing that the other cared deeply. And watching Steve battle, sometimes ready to give up when he couldn’t quite work as hard as he’d have liked, sometimes just breaking into tears of frustration—it had to have broken Jiri’s heart. But he stood by him through all of it. It wasn’t a rarity to find them curled up in a corner of the gym, Jiri holding Steve and whispering encouragement to him. If I wasn’t so much in love, I’d have been jealous of them.

            Without another word, I walk out to the ice, bracing myself for the emotion that is going to flood the building as soon as Steve comes into view. All of Joe Louis Arena—all of Detroit, for that matter—is holding its breath, waiting for him to appear.

            And when he does, the breath is released with an explosion of applaud and tears and love that leaves our entire team—and half of Edmonton’s—sniffling. The standing ovation lasts for nearly 15 minutes, much longer than Steve would have liked, obvious by the blush rising to his cheeks. But he is shining, glowing, sparkling. He’s home again—right where he’s wanted to be all along.

            When the commotion finally dies down, and the Canadian anthem begins to echo throughout the arena, I glance up at the crowd. There isn’t a dry eye that I can see. I catch Lisa’s eye—she’s holding a very proud and very tear-stained Isabella—and she smiles at me, knowing how much this means to her husband. I smile back, unable to contain my own joy.

            Then I find Catherine in the crowd, she’s still crying, hugging one of our daughters, Stephanie. Jessica is in the arms of her grandmother, staring wide-eyed at everything around her. At this moment, I realize that life can, in fact, be perfect.

            Steve has a wonderful wife who loves him unconditionally. He has three daughters who all but worship him. He has his career back—and the opportunity to raise the most incredible trophy in the world over his head a fourth time. And he has Jiri. He has a man who loves and admires and respects and protects and cares for him more than anyone I’ve ever known. It doesn’t get any better than that.

            Jiri has grown up this year. He had an incredible season, the mistakes of the previous one erased by his maturity and wisdom on the ice. He has a glow about him now—and not just from the way he’s played. He’s in love, its obvious in everything that he does. It makes him an even more inspiring person, and one who I’m glad to call a friend.

            And I couldn’t ask for anything better than what I have. I have a wife who is my perfect mate. She has given me her devotion and her friendship and her un-dying love. I have two baby girls who leave me in awe every single day. I have friends that mean the world to me, who I know will be there for me no matter what happens in our lives.

            And I’m in love as well. With someone who is always there for me, with someone who has always left me grinning and speechless. As the anthem nears its end, I turn and catch his eyes.

            Chris smiles at me and mouths ‘I love you.’

            Oh yes—life is definitely perfect.