Over nearly two decades in news, I’ve found myself interfacing with so much tragedy in what we cover.
Yet to the best of my recollection, I can’t remember crying.
And I was the kid who was easily affected by the emotions of others. A sensitive child, they’d say.
I’ve found myself clutching kleenex at weddings, graduations and other life milestones for family and friends.
The work… the news I find myself covering, curating or amplifying – it has not triggered tears. A lump in the throat for sure sometimes. But beyond that – nothing.
The past 24 hours have been incredibly difficult and I’m trying to figure out what’s different.
Make no mistake – I’m not on the ground. I’m not even on the desk. I’ve been helping out here and there where I can collecting some information and passing it along because stories this big are all-hands-on-deck regardless of your geography. With much of my career having been in Saskatchewan, I still have retained a sizeable base of Twitter followers there and am amplifying the storytelling of my colleagues who are based out of Saskatoon and Regina.
Yet, every so often I will find myself scrolling or watching or listening, and all of a sudden it happens. The quiver of the lower lip… a deep breath… moist eyes.
And I try to turn it off. But I can’t.
Maybe it’s because the cheeky grins of faces of those boys in that team photo (which has appeared everywhere from small-town newspapers to the front page of the BBC’s website) and how carefree they look. They don’t know what the future holds. Mercifully.
Maybe it’s because of the kids in my own life. I don’t have children, but I have two nephews who are the same age as most of the boys on that bus. I couldn’t…
Maybe it’s because I’ve covered playoff hockey, and know what those road trips are like. The excitement on the bus. The drive to go all the way. Victory is so close they can taste it.
Maybe it’s because I think of the parents. Playing junior hockey on the prairies often means not playing at home. You’ll go far and wide to get on a good team, a good shot at a scholarship, or maybe – although not often – a ticket to the show. That means your parents don’t get to all the games because you’re nowhere near home.
I couldn’t imagine being a parent, traveling a long way from Alberta or Manitoba, sitting in Nipawin, waiting for your boy’s team to show up for that night, and hearing…
Maybe… maybe… maybe…
Objectivity be damned, maybe it’s just because it’s all so bloody tragic. And I’m sure you probably feel the same way.
Overused cliche, but, if as an outsider I feel this way, I can’t imagine what these families and that community are going through. Yet it is punching me in the gut as if I’m right there.
It’s all so incredibly sad.
Thoughts, love and prayers to the Humboldt Broncos and their families. They need it now more than ever.