As our kids lay in their beds, my wife, Catie, and I sat at our kitchen table one evening across from my parents under a pale light.
It was May 2014. They had made the trip to our home in Kalamazoo, Mich., to see their grandchildren, but their visit was about to take a turn. They looked like they knew something was up: Their eyes darted back and forth between Catie and me.
In a tiny crevice of my brain, hidden in a dark place, I was terrified that there was something very wrong with me. I’d talked about it with Catie, and now it was time to tell my parents.
So, I began talking.
I told them what I had been noticing for the last few months, since January 2014, two years after my professional hockey career ended.
I told them what would happen to me even when I was performing the simplest tasks, like working in the garage or around the yard.
I told them what would happen to me in the car, when all I wanted to do was grab a couple of quarters from the middle console.
I told them what would happen to me when I went on a run with a couple of buddies or played with my kids at the park...READ MORE