#BellLetsTalk; My Illness is Depression.



  • My name is Blair Courchene, I’m 28 years old.  Small town kid now living in the big city.
  • I married my high school sweetheart, together, we’ve built a beautiful home and family of fur babies.
  • Personally, I have a great job with a good company, and good people.
  • I get to do things I love every day, Coach Midget AAA Hockey, and Scout with a WHL team.
  • I have everything I need.
  • I have an illness; Depression. 


Days like today are always a little bit bittersweet for me.  While, I appreciate the sentiment and the progress that we seem to all have made accepting mental health.  I can never help but wish we just did this ten years ago, or at least wish that I myself would have been more accepting of mental illness, for my own sake, and maybe for my sisters too.  But, progress is progress, and we must celebrate that we are heading in the right direction, and it sure seems like we are one step at a time.  Even beyond the monetary donations, it’s the awareness, the education and allowing those of us who suffer from mental illness to be vulnerable, and know that it is OK.


Here is my story

January 31, 2018

As for myself, I still struggle with my mental illness, from bouts of depression to those ol’ lifetraps that are near and dear to me.  Both the feeling of failure, and having unrelenting standards.  I’ve been half-jokingly saying to my wife since the new year that I am in a quarter life crisis currently, and that’s really just the unrelenting standards saying… ok, I am back, what’s up.  And, the cycle continues.  When I let these unrelenting standards get the best of me, failure then seems to step up and tries to knock me down.  The collective result is clinical depression, or major depressive disorder.  This is my illness.

I no longer am embarrassed, or ashamed to say that this is my life.  This is the life I live every day, it might be surprising to some, might not to others, but I guess that’s what we are learning every day that mental health becomes more acceptable.  Mental illness does not prey on the weak, the poor, the frail, nor the athletic, the famous or the rich.  There is no selective audience, it’s all of us.  This is why it’s so important for us to understand, and accept mental illness for what it is… an illness, and to know that it is OK.

Even for myself, though I’ve been trying to talk about my own illness behind this computer screen, I am feeling more comfortable talking about mental health, depression, and my own journey.  While, I never would wish this struggle on my worst enemy, it is sometimes nice to know that I, and we are not alone.  In the darkest days of this life, I’ve thought I am alone, and have no one I can share this with.  I have to find my own way out, and it seems insurmountable.

Though I knew others had the same illness I had, I just couldn’t comprehend it.  I couldn’t make sense of it.  I, myself couldn’t even really identify my own illness, other than it was so hard to just be happy, something that seems so simple, was seemingly impossible.

It wasn’t until I went to work on myself, tried a different professional help program, and I can safely say…  Sarah from Ontario, the resident at the U of C Medical Psychology (whatever its called) program saved my life.  I wish I could somehow find her, and thank her.

I learned about these “lifetraps” – it’s allowed me to identify my illness when it’s “flaring” up if you will, and it’s allowed me to accept it, knowing that this is a real thing, and others have it too.  Then, I go online, or scroll through twitter and people are sharing stories awfully similar to mine, and at times… it helps to just think, hey… I’m not alone with this, I’m not weird, I’m not different, I’m just fighting this like other people are. It IS OK.

As of late, I remain distant as I joke about my quarter life crisis, I fall in and out of episodes of depression.  In the last few weeks I’ve noticed I’ve been really up and down and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it starts right in the AM.  Either, I feel incredible, joyful, and electric or I feel gloomy, hopeless, and impatient.  By impatient, I don’t mean I can’t wait for my coffee, I mean, I can’t wait for my life, for things to happen, whether it’s financially, career, personal, hockey… etc, just life in general.  I have a hard time being patient waiting for things that I know are down the road.  I get frustrated, I can’t wait for the process any more, and I start to feel even more hopeless.

As I get up every day, I purposely try to remain distant, disconnected almost so I am without any feeling of sadness, guilt or reality at times.  I won’t allow myself to feel anything.  In the moment, this has helped me achieve the next small victory each day.  Those victories can be as a small, and trivial as just getting up, the next victory is brushing my teeth, then it’s showering, then it’s letting the dog out, getting the cat water, getting myself a snack, and getting in the truck.  That’s at least seven victories before I even pull out of the driveway.  This might seem absurd, but trust me, when you suffer from depression, even if you’re able to manage it, these are truly victories.   This process helps keep me grounded, keeps in the moment, but at the same time I think it further enables that disconnect from everything else.  I am so focused on just getting my shoes on and getting out the door, it’s all I can think about.  It’s almost like everything else around me is just a facade.  Fortunately, I keep myself so occupied throughout the day, that I don’t allow myself or have the opportunity to step back, and see that things around me are real, and not a facade.  But, I tell myself I can’t get caught up in what is happening around me, even though it’s life, if I get caught up in it, I’ll fall back into a dark hole, into sadness and I can feel my mind running away from everything else that may threaten this process.

Maybe this is selfish, and it probably is.  It’s probably what contributes me being so difficult to be around at times.  My wife deserves an award honestly.  Even at home, the last few weeks have been hard.  Amanda had to put her dog; Krimson down, and I just completely unplugged myself from reality, because selfishly that was how I knew I could deal with this difficult time.  I know I have not been a supportive husband because selfishly, I am so afraid of falling back into sadness, that I just shut off, unplug and run.   I don’t allow my brain to process that things that are going on in our lives.   I am more concerned about getting to bed a decent time so I am more prepared for the hopeful victory that will follow, waking up.

I know this method of living is not sustainable, hell, some might question the health of this process.  It’s not going to help me in the long run, a year from now.  But, when you’re sole focus is literally the next five minutes, a year from now seems impossible, it’s so far away.  I’ll eventually have no choice but to face reality, I won’t be able to just blur it out.  But, for right now… this makes me feel OK, and when you spend your whole life exhausting yourself at every waking moment trying to find even the smallest sliver of joy.  I’ll take being OK in this moment, right now and deal with the rest later.  But, for right now.  The next victory is clicking submit.


You hear the cliches all the time “I think about you every day”, “I’ll see you again soon” etc, etc.  I’ve never been one for cliches, but I can assure you there is not a day that passes by that you aren’t within the first three things I think of.  Today, I woke up, I took seven steps to the washroom, I thought about you before I even made it that far.

I thought about you, and I thought about today #BellLetsTalk and I thought to myself, what if you were here.   Then, I think about how much I miss you, and I tell you.  Then I try to hear your voice, and see your face, so I know you are with me again today.

Then, on the way into work you’ll control the music, the songs that are shuffled through.  I know it’s you, and sometimes it’s just so obvious, like today.  I have 1300+ songs on my Apple Music, and a song called “Brothers & Sisters” is the first to play, as if that wasn’t a Hey Brother, good morning! You turn on “O’Sister” next, almost to just claim you presence, and assure me of it.

Then as I laugh to myself, and start to tingle with emotion, the next song is “Apparitions”  then, I burst out laughing, shake my head, and I need to pull over and take a few deep breaths.  It’s good to know your clever, sharp Courchene wit has not left you.  Thank you for that.  You also will remind me of our good memories, you never seem to let me get sad, or think about the dark times.  As soon as I head down that, you’ll find a way to divert my attention and focus.  Be it a baba in front of me driving 30km/h under the speed limit, and I can just see you laughing, and shaking your finger at me reminding me I can’t be sad anymore.  You keep me grounded.

Every day I try to look at pictures of you, I keep one of them in my toothbrush drawer; your graduation photo.  In my truck console I keep one of your high school photos where you signed it Jen – Slim Shady 4 Ever.  I laugh every time.  Every time.

The music, it helps me remember your personality, the pictures, they help me see you physically.  Still, though, even almost ten years later I catch myself at times just closing my eyes, and wishing this was all just another big prank you played.  You’re going to pop up out of nowhere.

Laughing, as you sit on our patio with your legs crossed, lounging back drinking a corona, your hair is in dreads and you’ve not really aged a bit, you just went full hippy with the dreads, and you sit there laughing as I come home from work, and back into the driveway to park.  You stand up and you quickly remind me of all those times we debated 2Pac theories, and you confirm what I always hoped.  You just tried to do the same thing we believed he did!

I’ve played this over in my mind a thousand times, I see it perfectly.  The khaki colored shorts you’re wearing, the yellow shirt, your dark rimmed glasses, you got flip flops on, you just look like you returned from a ten year vacation in the tropics, you look so happy.  It’s amazing to see you smile again, to hear your laugh… but what the hell is that yellow shirt.  I can’t wait to engage in witty banter back and forth with you.  Finally, someone on my level of sharp retorts.  You were the master.  Grandpa would dispute that, he probably thinks he is!

The dreams, the disconnect from what is really real helps me believe in another day, and believe you are still with me.   Now that I am here, I don’t want you to ever let me believe you are really gone.  Just like you won’t let me down the path of sadness, and emotional disaster when you control the stereo.  Just please don’t ever me ever believe I’ve lost my big sister.

And if, if, you are in some weird tropical island being a hippy with 2Pac, this joke has gone on long enough – it’s time for you to come home.  Come meet the kitties, you’ll love them.  Come and see how far I’ve come, tell me you’re proud of me.  Come have a glass of wine with Amanda & I and just listen to old records with us while the cats chase around lasers, and Kona sits on your lap.  You’ll love it here.  It’s a happy home with laughter, and love.

This time, I promise, I’ll be better.  I’ll be a better brother.  I understand now.  I get it.  I am not mad at you anymore, I am not afraid.  I’m sorry I ever felt like that.  I was young, stupid, immature.  I didn’t get it.

I would die for a chance to rewind all of this, and start over.  Just to see you, or to tell you how sorry I am, or…  to take the time to talk with you, I will never be too busy again to talk with you, to listen.  I never even really was that…..   I wasn’t even busy. I don’t even remember what the heck it was I was doing.  But I will never forget one of the last things I said to you was that I was too busy to talk when you messaged me and said hey, sup brother.  It haunts me every day, even though I can feel you trying to take me down a path, I can hear you telling me the result is the same… But, to just hear your voice one more time, to hear you laugh one more time….  oh man, I’d swear I’d give anything…  Anything.

I’ll never be busy again.  I am sorry, just call.  PLease.

They say cliches like there are guardian angels watching over all of us, but for me… it’s more than that.  I have my big sister watching my back.  I can feel you there. 

I see ya Roo’


What If…. Just One More Day….


I have to write again. I have too.

While my life has seemingly caught onto some sort of steady pace that leaves me content, if not at times optimistic and joyous. I look around and I can’t help but continually see struggle all around me, especially back in my hometown, where two very good families have gone through some of their own heartbreaking tragedy.

Years ago when I started writing about my own mental health it was to harness my own traps.  When it caught on, I gained readers and feedback from all over the place. It made me feel like I was serving a real purpose, and helping, I felt good.  As time carries on, I begin to feel like it had become my responsibility to routinely check in with some kind of a post, or conversation. Like it had become my call of duty to help, and connect with others.

Ultimately, I know there is nothing I can do, this illness is so much more complex, and so much greater than the solution being in a story you might read online, and I know that… But there’s a vicious circle that continually thrashes around in my mind.

“Well what if they would have read something I wrote, what if they would have felt some connection, or perhaps a family member, or friend could have and they maybe would have recognized a sign…. what if… what if…

It’s the question that haunts everyone that has ever gone through losing a loved one the same way we have. What if. The truth is, there probably is no what if. Depression, Bi Polar Disorder and the many other varieties of mental illness have the potential to be so deep, so complex and ultimately the tragic end is all that’s left, there is no what if.

When you lose someone to just about any other disease, it isn’t without a series of medical attention. You lose them when everything else has been exhausted and there is simply nothing more that can be done.   This is where suicide is different. As friends, and family members we probably have exhausted everything without knowing, but that’s the terror that haunts your forever…  We will never know if we tried everything.  

If I wouldn’t have told Jen I was too busy to talk to her a week before, would she be here today? The answer I come up with is still probably not, but there’s that what if…   maybe she would have been here for another week or even just a few more days had I not said I was too busy? And damnit, trust me…   though the end is ultimately the same, what I wouldn’t’ give for just one more week, one more conversation. Just one.   I don’t mean to compare ways of loss to one another as more tragic, or devastating. I just don’t think it’s possible to ever truly come to terms with losing someone to suicide, simply because you just never really get that closure.   There’s always that one staggering question left rotting in your mind. What if.

Again it’s as if I have put this unfair expectation of myself to become this mental illness ambassador for those around me.   Though this is unrealistic, and impossible and again goes back to the depths of mental illness, especially when the ultimate result is tragedy, but who knows… maybe something could have held on to them for just another few days?

The last several weeks, I have been beating myself up about this, and every day I have this conversation with myself…

“Man, you have to write something”

 “Write what, what do I write, I have nothing I can write”

 “Just something, it’s your duty, you have too. People might be waiting for something, people might be looking for some help, they might need you”

 “But…. right now…. I’m happy. I don’t want to gloat. ”

 “You never know who is reading, and who it helps. Just write. Don’t be selfish”

 “Ok, I will… I will tomorrow…. What if I don’t….”  

Every day. This conversation runs through my head, sometimes over and over.  Now, seeing what has happened to some friends and their families, or friends of friends… I can’t help but feel a small bit of my own guilt, like I need to apologize to them in some fashion, which is completely foolish of me.

Chances are… they have never read a thing I have written. When I struggle(ed) with my own depression at it’s darkest times, it was those two life traps that gave me the greatest difficulties. Unrelenting Standards, and Failure.   Through extensive therapy sessions, personal activities and a lot of trial and error I eventually learned how to manage these life traps, and harness in a way that is more constructive to me. Part of that is done with this blog, what I didn’t expect was for it to eventually create it’s own life traps for me, which I’m slowly learning about as tragedies around me begin to unfold. 

Somehow i’ve put this pressure on myself. I know that there is probably nothing I can say, or nothing I can do that will ever make anything better, or help take someone out from those depths of depression… but, if I can help them hang on and fight just a little bit longer, I will fight to do just that.   God knows, I still today, would give anything to just have Jen for one more week, and it will always be what if… It’s the worst question you can ever ask yourself.   But, when suicide impacts you. It’s often the only question you will ever ask yourself.    What if?

My sympathies to those two families back home.  My thoughts are with you every day.  Stay strong





Thank You Canucks.




I want to thank each of you for the last seven months. I’ve been incredibly fortunate in my coaching career to have had an opportunity to work with some phenomenal teams, and players and I’ve had a blast in many of those years. However, I can honestly say the last seven months has been the most I have had enjoyed coaching minor hockey.  It was funny, the day after we lost out, or maybe it was that night. I can’t remember. I was just sitting on the couch with my wife, watching TV. And I recall just sighing in almost disbelief, and I just muttered… I loved that team. I didn’t expect any response from anyone. I was kind of talking to myself. But, Amanda turned… looked at me, and I could see just how proud even she was of us, and she just said… I know. I could tell all year how much fun you had coaching these guys. I know you enjoyed it. This exchange may not seem like much, but for me… it meant the world, because it was the honest truth.


I think back to the spring when I was first asked to coach Midget AA, truthfully, I let my ego get in the way and I declined. Thought, I’ve only ever coached AAA, I can’t do AA. It’s just not for me. Boy, was I ever wrong, and I am so thankful I was called a second time and asked again to coach this team.


It was important to me, as it is every year to create a team of character, and good people from good families so I did as much homework prior to the season as I could. Following tryouts, I was thrilled with the group we had, and knew… this is a special group. Now, though our season has ended two weeks quicker than we hoped, I still believe that. I couldn’t be more proud of this team, and every single player. I know for a lot of guys it would’ve been really easy to just pack it in and screw around all year long because it was “Midget AA” and that’s the stigma that’s often associated with Midget AA. But, you didn’t. Not even once. You guys gave us a chance to coach you, and trusted us. Even though I’m sure there were times you thought maybe screw this, or what the hell are we doing. I know we pushed you guys hard, and never once did you guys show any inclination of quitting, though it would’ve been the easier road. You didn’t. Even those late Friday night 8:45 practices, followed by Saturday 10AM practices, you guys gave us everything, and I know that we demanded a lot from all of you.  Everything we asked of you guys, you believed in the process and you did it. From dryland, to continually giving back to the community throughout the year. These aren’t things that should be typical of Midget AA teams. At least not in my experience, but you guys have set the standard in my opinion and I believe it all comes from the deep character of this group. It was refreshing to coach a group of kids who played the game hard, and for the right reasons, for their teammates, and for the love of the game. You just don’t see that very often anymore.


I want to thank you guys for everything. I hope that you have been able to learn as much from Geoff, Rye and myself as I can assure we have learned from you guys. Above all else, I hope you guys had fun playing hockey, and have found your love for this great game again and continue to enjoy the game. You’ve spent a lot of time putting in work to this game, and I believe it has the opportunity to take you to great places. Whether that’s on the ice, or off the ice. I truly believe that each and every one of you has an incredibly bright future with whatever path it is you choose. I’ve seen the character, I’ve seen the work, and I’ve seen the resilience. You guys are built for success, and it will find you. As we’ve said all year long, this is a truly special group. This is a group I would go to war with anytime.


Lastly, parents. I want to thank you for everything you have done for our team. You guys have been incredibly supportive; it’s been fun to watch. You’ve all done such a terrific job raising these young men. You should be very proud of each of them. They truly gave it all they could this season, and they did it with no one watching except you parents, and us coaches. That is what was so enjoyable. They weren’t playing for anyone or anything other than themselves, and their love of the game. I always believe that a group of parents can help make a team successful, and can often help sink a team even faster. But, I never felt that with this group. I’m sure there were many times you guys were pissed about something, and there were times we made mistakes as coaches but you believed in us and gave us your full trust, and support and I want to sincerely thank you for that. You’ve all done more for this group than you know.


I will always consider this group my extended family. I know we’ve been saying this to parents, and players since day 1, and I still mean this from the bottom of my heart, this is truly just a special group. One I will always remember, and always feel very fortunate that I had this opportunity as a coach. You guys have helped me find my passion for hockey, and for coaching once again. I am forever grateful to you for that.


Everything we did this year… all the work we’ve put in, all the triumphs from winning the Edmonton tournament, to our fifteen game undefeated streak to the struggles, the injuries we were always overcoming, trying to find our way after the Christmas break, and ultimately our battle with the Rangers that in itself was full of elation, and despair.   It’s all been worth it.


It’s honestly been such pleasure, I am forever grateful for the chance to coach this group; I think I speak for Geoff, and Rye as well. Thank you all for the opportunity. It’s been one hell of a ride. Every moment. Thank you.


We’ll always be family. Thank you.






Last Night, I had a Dream.


We all sat down together for dinner, for what seemed like the first time in forever.

Though, this time was different than last.  Brody is now in grade 12, Abbey seems to grow a foot and some each day, likewise her ever-flowing curly locks.  Me, well, I’m older than before.  Perhaps a tad wiser, and mature.  Though some would argue.  But…  I’ve, well, we’ve all been through a lot the last ten years.  Certainly each of us has changed since we last spoke with you.  In fact, no one has really stayed much the same.  Mom, well, she seems happy, finally.  It’s been a long, trying time.  But she’s smiling more, and laughing.  Maybe it’s because I’m fully moved out, and on now.  Last time we spoke I was just testing the waters of being away from home.

But you… you look exactly the same as I remember.  Have not changed, not aged, nor grown in this absence as the rest of us have.  You look young, hair still dark, long, and thick as ever.  Looks like the only thing you know is to laugh, smile, and be happy.  You’re refreshing.  You speak only in jokes, straight laced jokes, or hidden sarcasm.   The Courchene Sarcasm.  I sit beside you to the right at the table in this Boston Pizza, clinging to every word you say, and latching on to every smile you share.  I’m not sure if this is real or not, but it looks real, and it feels right.

I see Brody, perched up in his seat, listening like a sponge, absorbing everything about you.  He hasn’t seen you since he was about eight, or nine years old.  As such his memories are likely distant, and vague.  He’s grown so much now, and I think he’s ever so curious about you and as mom told me recently, trying to connect with you on more of an adult level now that he’s grown out of his kid shoes.  I watch him sit across the table, study every move you make, and every word you speak, and just soak this all in.

Mom sits to the right of me, diagonally right of you.  She’s just completely overcome with joy, and happiness.  Almost so much so she’s unable to speak.  She just giggles, laughs, and shakes her head in disbelief at some of the facetious dinner conversation, or perhaps in disbelief that this is really happening.  Either way, she’s often bursting out with laughter.

Abbey sits to your left, in between you and Grandpa.  She can’t sit still, bouncing all over the place.  Similar to Brodys memories with you, Abbey’s too are likely distant, if at all existent.  Last time you saw her, she was still a baby.  It’s amazing how much she’s grown.  Perhaps she has an idea of what you’re like through pictures, books, conversations we’ve had over the years.  Perhaps not.  I’ve never really asked, though I always wondered.  Nonetheless.  It doesn’t matter to her, it doesn’t hinder her youthful exuberance from lighting up the restaurant, though perhaps a tad wacky.  She tries to compare how long her hair is with you by leaning to the right and putting her head up against yours, this soon becomes a game, and everyone leans there head into the next person.  I’m not sure why, likely just to irritate one another, but all in good humor and fun.   Something we always do thought at times struggled to maintain in your absence.  You were always the master of clever, sharp and witty retorts.   To combat Abbeys game we all start leaning right.  Then, just to be difficult I go the other way and lean left.  I put my head against yours, and the architect of the game is none too thrilled.  Abbey yelps “heeeyyyyy” but laughs hysterically, she begins swinging at me like a kitten entwined with a ball of yarn.  She’s had enough of me screwing up this assembly line, and game of hers all together.  So she leaps across your lap almost as if she’s free falling from the sky.  Payback received.  I get a mouthful of Abbey’s hair.  Great.  Yuck.

Meanwhile, while all of this madness ensues Grandma, and Grandpa sit across the square oak table that stretches across about six feet in this illuminated and lively corner of the Boston Pizza.  Grandpa with his glasses, gold watch, his always white khakis, and a blue golf shirt… actually, you know the exact outfit.  He sits unsteady, almost like Abbey, but he’s dancing, bee-bopping around diagonally left of you.  Grandma sits tight next to him wearing a bright sweater colored with green, blue, grey and white stripes.  She’s changed her hair style a bit since you’ve seen her last – it’s a bit longer, and lighter.  She looks amazing.   She sips on her coffee, tries to get us to keep the noise down so the attention of the other restaurant patrons is directed elsewhere.  Almost as if she knew we needed to keep discreet, and hidden to make this last a little longer.

Just as Abbey gets half settled after leaping across your lap, a few people walk past our table to the washroom.  Suddenly, one boy stops and promptly spins in our direction, he seems frozen in amazement, or disbelief.  I am unsure.

“Jen… Is that you? You’re back! Oh my God, How are you, I missed you so much!”

You simply nod, smile and get up to give this young man a hug.  Though you remain happy, you seem a bit defeated that someone else has realized you’re back.  As if you knew something else too, just like Grandma.

I remember this guy from your party when I was a kid.  He was really nice to me.  He looks exactly the same.  In fact, I think he’s wearing the same hairstyle, and outfit he did that night sixteen plus years ago.  He stands to chat with you a bit, evidently he has no idea who I am.  I don’t blame him, or get upset… I am no longer ten years old and probably a bit unrecognizable since he saw me last.  Minutes pass by, and a girl walks by our table only to stop and do the exact same thing.  This one has dark reddish-purple hair in a ponytail.  I was always fascinated with your friends.  You were all older, and cooler than I was.  I remember being the annoying little brother at one of your parties when I was about nine, or ten.  Oddly enough, I still remember that party like it was yesterday.  The people, what they looked like, who they were.  Like Brody now, I was a sponge. I admired you, and your friends, so I studied everything hoping to one day be like you guys.  As this ponytail girl in her leather jacket began to share similar sentiments as as the boy did, I sit there like a giddy nine year old again, and you make fun of me.  I am delighted.  You exchange conversation with this girl who too looks exactly as she did years ago as I remember when I was a kid – she too has somehow not aged whatsoever.  You tell her you’re happy, and you’re doing well.  She hugs you one last time, and carries on.

Grandma talks about how much she liked that girl, and always wondered what she’d been up too over these years.  I quietly nod in agreement.  I think she was my favorite friend of yours when I was a kid.  You knew that, and liked to tease me about it.  Brody stared in amazement as if he began to understand where I was coming from.  A few more minutes pass until a different girl comes by.  This one is taller, wearing a black jacket, jeans and a hat over her blonde hair.  She’s just got tears welling in her eyes, and shrieks,

“I heard you were here”

You turn around, see her, and nearly jump to the roof in excitement.  That laugh…that laugh, there it is.  The laugh that I pray every day I could hear just one more time.  I hear it.  As loud, and clear as ever.  You guys squeeze one another into seemingly the hardest, and longest hug ever.  She sits down with us begins talking to everyone asking how they have been.  She knew all of us, who each of us were.   You ask her how she knew you were back.  She chuckled, said

“Jen… everyone knows. They are so happy you’re back, we love you, and we missed you so much.”

Mom turns to Jen, and sternly jumps in

“See, Roo, I told you.  You have so many people in your life.  They love you.  Everyone does.  You are loved”

I nod in agreement and stare at you as if this is the last time I’d ever get to see your smile.  I can feel Brody glued to you as well.  Abbey is confused as ever, surely wondering who these people are that keep coming by.  The energy at the table has changed, it’s intense.  Abbey despite her confusion carries on, almost as if she too is beginning to take this all in,  and absorbing all that she can about you.  She’s confused, yet intently and sharply listening to every sound, and every word.   As this girl tells you everyone knows you are here, you again respond in only subtle sarcasm

“oh just great!”

This is almost overwhelming for you to see all of these people suddenly.  As if you didn’t believe there were this many people that genuinely cared, or loved you.  This girl laughs, and says…

“oh Jen… there’s so many more.  There’s lots.”

Suddenly, I hear a bunch of cheering, and noise coming from outside.   I turn around to look outside the window see what the commotion is for.  I’m in awe, yet not surprised.  I turn back around to face our table, and mumble to Mo…


There is a line of people that is seemingly miles long.  Thousands.  Millions.  Chanting, cheering.  The line is filed almost perfectly with a slight right bend towards the end of my visibility – there are more people, they are just lined up beyond the naked eye.

The tall blonde girl dressed in the black jacket, and jeans puts her hand on your shoulder, as if to say “I told you so” We all slowly rise from our seats at the table, and begin to shift towards the crowd.  This thin red carpet at our feet trails back towards the entrance that sits about fifteen feet in front of us, off to the right.  Oddly, I don’t recall that carpet being there before, and ironically all the other guests in the restaurant have finished, and are gone.  The restaurant was bright before, but as we look through the large square gold window frame towards the people that borders the entrance,  the light intensifies significantly.  So much so, Abbey puts her hand along her eyebrows to shield herself from the beaming, and glowing white light.

This girl, just stretches her hand out in the direction of the crowd, and says

“Jen…  “They love you, We all miss you, we all wanted to see you, everyone knows you’re back, and wants to say hi”

I turn over my shoulder to observe the others at our table as we all stare blankly in amazement.  Mom has broken down into tears, though, it seems like joyful tears as if she realizes maybe you really are back.  Grandpa is being grandpa, giddy, and dancing though, he never takes a step forward or backward in his still dance.  Grandma is intense, so I study her a little longer.  Her left arm reaches high across her stomach, while her right arm sits just above her left as she sips her coffee.  She notices me studying her, and just shakes her head the tiniest bit, and gives me this… unique sharp grin that my grandma gives.  Your smile, and hers.  My two favorites.  As she grins my way,  she appears to nod in approval yet a hint of disbelief, I start to weep.  Just right of Grandma is Brody, and he appears to be unable to control his happiness.  He is elated, with tears racing down his face.  I’ve never seen him this happy, not since he was kid.  He just says to me…

“Blair, I have a chance now.  I was too young before, now she’s back.  We can listen to music together, play piano, share nirvana albums, and books”

I just nod, and give him a wink in support.  Lastly, I stare in Abbey’s direction.  She is standing straight as an arrow beside you.  She’s hardly left your side.  A big smile on her face, but suddenly she seems in control.  She has her hand grasped tightly into yours, and her head tilted just a bit looking straight up at you.  She’s smiles hard, and I can almost see her and I sharing the same thought.  Finally, life is right.  This is our family.  Normal.

Moments later, the intense light begins to illuminate even more, and seems focused directly on you.  You turn around to make eye contact with each of us, individually, though only for a second, it is intense and it is sharp.  You smile the biggest, hardest smile, your eyes shift from each one of us  and to the next.  Either you nod, or give a subtle wink of your blue eyes while you hold this worldly smile.  Lastly, you look my way, place your right hand on my head, and give me a “nougie” like motion with your hand on my hair, almost to say goodbye, yet to remind me that you’re still my big sister.  You shift to face all of us, and softly, with conviction speak…

“I love you guys, it’s ok, look at me” you gleefully giggle, “I am good, I am alright” Your laugh… I miss your laugh.  There it is again.

You take a step forward, finally your left hand and Abbeys let go.  I begin to heavily sob, almost in sync with everyone else.  As you’re about to take another step forward away from us, you stop for a second.  Look down towards Abbey, put your hand directly on her head.  She remains still.  As still as I have ever seen her.  You twirl her hair between your fingers ever so gently and smoothly.  You then take a knee to lean in while locking your arms around tight her, and give her a big kiss.  As you pull your face away from hers.  She swipes some of her blonde hair away from her face, and as a tear rolls down her eyes.   You slowly catch her tears, wipe them away and tuck some of her hair in behind her ears.  At your touch, she begins to weep ever so slightly.  You softly whisper to her.,

“Abbey, my baby girl.  I love you so much.  I do.  I watch you every day.  You make me smile”

Abbey nods sharply,  mutters something in response, though I can’t quite make out what it is that she says.  You get up slowly, keeping your hand on her head, and parting her hair.  It’s almost as if you don’t want to let go, knowing this may be the last time.  The people in the back outside, have not let up cheering for a single second, though they’ve become white noise in these final moments.  Finally, you glance back over your shoulder, take notice of the people, and the strong light.  You kiss your right hand and kneel down towards Abbey once again to place that kiss on her foreheard.   You turn back around towards the crowd, and take a step forward, on the thin red carpet.  You’re only two steps away from us, but it seems like your almost gone again completely.  As you turn around to gaze in the direction of Mom, she grabs my hand, Brody’s and tightly clasps together. Grandma wraps both of her arms around Brody, and pulls him in to her side.  You softly mouth to Mom

“Mom, I love you.  I’ll always love you”  You bless us with one more lasting smile.

Grandpa is standing above Abbey with his hands on both her shoulders, he just smiles and says “It was good to see you again, thank you, Roo”  Abbey is waving both her hands in your direction vehemently.  You take one more step, and pause.

One last time you look back at all of us, and reassuringly say

“Take care of each other, I love you all, It is OK, don’t cry.”

As you say “It’s Ok, don’t cry” Mom let’s go of our hands.  Ironically, as if to say that it is ok, we can now let go.  You can feel everyone taking a deep breath as the intense tension slowly dissipates.

The tall, blonde girl in the black jacket and jeans with the hat steps back onto the carpet with you, sharing a few steps towards to the restaurant entrance.  You stop, the girl puts her hand on your shoulder and calmly says to you…

“Thanks for coming Jen… but go on, it’s OK now.  You can go ahead.  It’s OK.”

You nod in agreement, give her a long hug. As you let go, you glance one last time in our direction.  You nod once again ever so faintly, and leave us with a lasting smile.  You turn back around, and slowly exit the restaurant towards the crowd of people joyfully awaiting you, as they daintily float outside the golden bordered entrance.






Happy Anniversary!


Today marks 1 year since the single best day of my entire damn life. Even though 365 days have past since reading our vows, and saying our “I Do’s”… I still find myself reminiscing just how perfect this day really was.  Often I catch myself giggling in almost disbelief at how perfect our day really was. I played in my mind what I thought the day would look like, how I thought it would go.  I envisioned it was going to be a great day. But, I never ever could have dreamed it was going to be as perfect as July 25, 2015 really was.

Amanda, Thank you for being my best friend, my wife, my rock. Thank you for making me laugh, and smile even when I myself can’t find the strength, you seem to find it for me. Thank you for being the glue of our little family.  Keeping us all intact, and functioning.  Without you the inmates would certainly be running the asylum.

Though we’ve been together for much longer than our one-year wedding anniversary.  I still can feel our bond growing stronger than ever.  We laugh as much as we’ve ever laughed.  We smile as much as we’ve ever smiled. We hold each other as much as we ever have.  We stay as close to each other as much as we ever have.  We have as much fun as we’v ever had.  It’s like that honeymoon phase they tell you about… it never really went away for us. The pride I feel in being able to call you my wife is truly immeasurable.   I still find myself waking up every day with an overwhelming wave of joy when I see you beside me.

Even after being together for thirteen years, and married for one.

I can honestly say I am falling more and more in love with you, each and every day.  

You said yes, I said thank you.

From that moment, twelve years ago… I knew I had found the love of my life.


I give to you my heart, and my hand forever as we continue to share this journey of life arm in arm.

I promise to love and respect you unconditionally, and to never leave your side no matter the triumphs, or tragedies that try to stop us along the way.

Your beauty, your strength, and your grace will be our navigator, and I will continue to admire your smile every single day.


I am the luckiest man in the world to call you my best friend, my anchor, and now my beautiful wife.

Happy Anniversary, I love you! 



Hi All,

Long time no talk… A few entries ago, I posted a short story my younger brother wrote, it was amazing.  Had lots of feedback from readers how incredible it was, and amazing a 16 year old rat wrote that, lot’s of people couldn’t wait for the next thing from Brody.  Well, I’ve been begging him ever since as he get’s my website hits up.  He claims he is working on another piece with words, but he threw a curveball at me again and sent me these pictures that he drew, and painted.  Have a look (see below).  Remarkable again.  Had no idea the kid was an artist with words, and images.  Very talented.

This blog has provided me many things in my life, it’s provided me solace, happiness and a sense of worth, and some feeling.  But, almost as importantly, it has brought me a stronger relationship with my brother, and taught me of a deeper connection.  We, of course, as brother’s will always have a tight bond, and when you start to count some of the stuff we’ve had to overcome together as brothers, and as a family, that bond is always strengthened, and will always be there.  We’re both wired very similar, and we wage our own personal wars in similar fashions, though likely unhealthy, we often think we can do it ourselves, and we’ll be fine.  Sometimes we are too reluctant to seek help, sometimes dangerously too reluctant.

It’s funny, I remember as kids, though there is a ten year difference between B & I.  I always wondered what is was we’d have in common when he grew up, and what would keep us close like most other brothers you see.  I always thought; hockey, of course.  It’s what I love, and it’s what we did growing up at home.  Mini hockey all the time in the basement, street hockey, I even helped coached one of Brodys novice teams when I was in Gr. 12.  It seemed like the natural course for us.  Connect through sports.

But, now, almost ten years later… at the surface, you wouldn’t think we have much in common, or to connect over other than being brothers.  There’s a wide age gap, Brody is far more masculine than I; he loves outdoors, and hunting.  I don’t know that I’ve ever shot a gun in my life that didn’t fire out Styrofoam darts, and I think my stomach would hurl if I even killed a squirrel.

On the flip-side, I am a hockey, and baseball freak. He’ll sit down and watch the occasional game while we visit, but I know it’s not his preferred activity.  I think for years, I always thought, well what the hell.. this kid brother and I, we got nothing in common.  I loved that he was into different things, I thought it was cool, and it opened me up to things other than a puck, and seamed ball.

But through this blog, I have learned that there is actually so much more that we connect on than a hunting rifle, or a Synergy Si Core.

For better or for worse, our depression.  We’ve both been there, and fought, had days where there seemed like no tomorrow possible.  We’ve both exhausted ourselves fighting ourselves.  We’ve both somehow lived to see another day, to smile another day, and to laugh.  Certainly, if I had a choice… neither him or I would have to live with this illness, and happiness would just come easy for us.  But, that just isn’t the “Courchene” way to do things.  However, it’s has in a unique way I think brought Brody and I much closer together.

Though it’s tough to have your deepest connection with your brother built around your mental illness, it’s brought out so many other things we’ve learned about one another, and been able to share; Art.  Music, words, and now drawings.  As much of a music nerd as I am, Brody is far more knowledgeable about it, plays an instrument, something I always regret not doing, and I am so happy he has chosen to do so.

We share the same passion for music, and what it means to us.  It’s not just a string of words matched to a guitar, it’s not just the bass pounding, or some song about going fishing in your big truck. It’s something far more thorough.

We’ve passed books along to each other of Kurt Cobain, and we have some similar art hung up in our homes/rooms.  Then, you throw the middle brother into it; Kyle and it’s the same thing.  We all have a little Kurt Cobain imagery somewhere in our home spaces.  I think of course… we all love Nirvana, who doesn’t? But, for us it’s more than that…  I remember talking to my therapist about this years ago, that I was freaking myself out with my fascination for Kurt Cobain.  I read tonnes of books about him, had pictures, read online for hours, and went to Seattle basically for a Kurt Cobain tour.  Hung around in Viretta Park for a bit, went to the EMP Museum and took 3,000 pictures.  Amanda had to literally drag me out of the Nirvana exhibit.  When discussing this with my therapist, she said it’s likely Kurt Cobain means more to me than just music,  I am further entwined because it connects me to my sister, because she was a huge Nirvana fan, and that it’s something Jen & I always shared, and can still share.  This made total sense to me, and I think it’s the same thing for Brody, and maybe for Kyle too.  I remember my Dad talking to me about Brody being overly fascinated with KC for awhile too and it freaked him out as well, and I explained to my dad just this, and I think it made sense to him as well.  It’s more than just Nirvana, It’s more than just Kurt Cobain and where he’s from and how he grew up… but, it’s our sister too, and somehow in this weird way that I can’t expect anyone else to understand… but it brings all together.

Beyond the passion we share for music, is writing.  I remember about two years ago, my mom texting me this hilarious story of something Brody said or wrote, something about a house cleaner, I think it was.  I wish I still had this little story she told me, but it was incredibly funny, and clever.  I remember thinking at the time… Man, I hope that kid starts writing.  He’ll be incredible.  Then fast forward to just a few months ago, mom text me “You have to read this story Brody wrote, I emailed it” …  You’ve all read this by now, I am sure, and had that same reaction as me.  Wow.

So while, I spent the first ten years of my younger brother’s life wondering what the hell am I gonna share with this kid, and then forcing hockey down his throat, and longing for us to connect over some stupid sport that I question if I even love anymore… It was all right there in front of me, every day.

We don’t have the relationship most brothers have. It’s hard to say we grew up together, I moved away when Brody was eight years old.  I’ve been home for a summer since, and some weekends.  So things, naturally become a little bit different in our relationship with one another.  Though, we only live four hours away from one another..  we still only manage to see each other a handful of times a year, this is sad when I actually think about it, and write it out, but it’s the truth.  I’d love to spend more time with him, but the same could be said my Kyle, and really, all of my family.  I really would.  But again… just that crazed “Courchene” way.  Together though, Brody and I have been through more shit together than one can imagine is fair for anyone’s lifetime, let alone a pair of brothers 27 & 16.  But, somehow it’s all helped form this unique relationship we have, that I truly believe is as strong as any despite the distance in age, and despite the distances we live.

Though it’s tragedy and darkness.  It’s kept the four of us together. Through the places we’ve come from.  Through where we are today, and how we got there.  Through the music we listen to, and share to connect and feel closer to those we’ve lost.  The war we face every day with ourselves.  Through the words, and images we compose just to try and heal ourselves.

It may be pretty, and it certainly isn’t glorious, or ideal… but it’s brought us here, in a unique, weird, “Courchene” way… it’s kept us all forever entwined.


Ohana means family.  Family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten. 


Take a look at these drawings and paintings Brody put together.

Killer Whale Tank… Grace, Too


As I sit here, watching “That Night in Toronto”; from the “Hipeponymous” limited edition box collection. I find myself stuck somewhere in the middle of something more.

Though the origins of how I claimed this four-set DVD already makes it a prized possession of mine. Today… it become even more valued, and prized.

When my sister passed away, there were no silver linings to be had, or found. None.   I always admired my sister’s taste in art, and in music. So I tried to mimic her interests as much as I could, with than came my love for certain musicians, and artists. Matthew Good, Tragically Hip, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Tool…etc. I first listened to these bands, because Jen listened to them. I think my mom, though she listened to the same stuff, she was aware that I was too picking up on the same things. I can remember when she was cleaning out Jens room…

 As an aside… Damnit, God bless that woman for having the strength to clean out the left behind remains of your own daughters room. I can’t even fathom. I can’t. The few times I’ve seen the doorway to her room since she’s left… it’s incredibly difficult. I won’t even try to find words to articulate what this is really like. I used to go in there and ask her about the pictures she had, what book she was reading, what albums she was into… Now… It just kind of… sit’s there. Door half closed. Stickers removed. What once lived? It’s hard. I think that’s why my mother is without a doubt, one of the single strongest people on the planet, and so admirable.

Anyway… I can half recall finding this black book like thing shortly after Jen’s passing. I pulled it out to see what it was. Almost looking like a bible, graceful, elegant cover. Gold images of doves, and inbetween it read “The Tragically Hip”. Opening this book, I see the contents of four DVDs – “Hipeponymous”.   I knew just where it came from. I wanted this.

“Mom… Can…. I umm… have this?”

“Yes, just please take care of it. That was Jens”

I can remember this as one of the single best days of my life following the passing of my big sister. I still, to this day can smell the cover of this book, and it brings back the scent of my sister. So, to this day… I have taken care of this item more than I have ever cared for anything in my life. Between this boxset, and an old hoodie of Jens, I keep in a separate closet, hung up by itself. It’s some of the few items I have that I can still almost smell her. Maybe that sounds weird, I don’t know. But, when you lose someone… as time goes, all you want is to hear their laugh, their voice, and to remember that smell that every person has. Well, this boxset somehow can still give me a little bit of that. As a result, it remains… a prized, sacred possession.

So… As I sit here now tonight, 11:20pm on a weekday… I look beyond the screen of this computer, and I see one of the most incredible musicians perform…. “Quickly… follow the unknown!”

My heart broke this morning when I read the news about Gord Downie. I don’t even know the man, but I swear… I felt like I had lost someone who was by my side. I have spent hours, by myself, with friends belting out the lyrics to “Little Bones” and many other classics. So many songs bring me back to a better day when my Mom, Jen and I would cruise down the highway to Victoria. Listening to “The Hip”. Or, when my mom would drive me across NE Alberta for hockey, blasting “The Hip” out of the explorer.

I grew up… with Gord and “The Hip”. As close as I feel to Matthew Good and his music, which has been well documented, Gord Downie and the Hip are a right there.  I think, and I hope that I do speak for millions of Canadians when I speak of The Hip having such a positive impact on my childhood, and my life today.

I can hardly imagine a life without the Tragically Hip, and I can hardly imagine a life without Gord Downie. This has been a horrific year for musicians, and the loss of all of them have hit me differently, but… this one… for me is different. Almost personal. My heart broke today. Fully Completely.   Broke.

I know upstairs… Jen is just putting together a concert for the ages. It’s the only thing that’s providing me solace through the seemingly bi-weekly news of another terrific musician lost. And, while… Gord is still with us today…

I just… I hope I can see him one more time before she does…

All the best to Mr. Downie and his family.

… Also… anyone that reads this… I have a few Hip Live DVDs.  I’d love to just flop over on the couch with a 6pack and watch if you want to join.  Anytime.




Happy St. Patricks Day


Hi Everyone,

Amanda has taken over my blog for the day, and has asked me to post the following piece she wrote.  She is one of the bravest, strongest and most courageous people I have ever met in my life, and I can not express in words just how lucky I am that I get to call her my wife, every day.  Thank you Amanda, for being you, for being so strong, and being here today!  We love you.  – B, Ku, Pu, Bubba, Roo

Please take a few minutes to read her post while enjoying your green beer.

Spoken – Short Story by Brody Lystang


Below is a short story written by my younger brother.  Whom, after you read this will be astonished he’s only…  16 years old.  I read this last night, and it took me about an hour to get through it.  I had to stop myself every paragraph it seemed, and remind myself A) This was written by a 16 YO kid. B) This was written by my brother.

This is utterly amazing, and I can honestly say one of the best short stories I have ever read.  Have yourself a read.

Brody…  Great job on this.  I still can not find words to justify how incredibly good this is, and how proud I am of you.  I think you have found your calling.  Keep writing so I can retire in a few years! #HankMoody

Written By: Brody Lystang  

                        Dry Hands cradled Jeremy’s head as he leaned forward in his chair, Streaks of red and thoughts of angst swarmed his mind only to be interrupted by the sound of a friendly yet unwelcome “hey!” Jeremy’s hands lowered to reveal a face of constant indifference as his eyes adjusted to the rays of light that pounded the carnival grounds his surroundings were revealed to him. He sat in a poorly built shack that housed the carnival game he was in charge of, across the front of the building hung a sign that read “2 in wins” this was accompanied by similarly decorated banners graced with the same slogan hung around the inside of the structure. Behind him lay a row of baskets and stuffed toys, all of which was covered by a even coat of dust. Jeremy slowly rose from his chair, stretched and stepped forward revealing the words “angry chair” carved onto his former seat “If ross catches you snoozing he will have your ass you know” Jeremy faked a smirk and wandered towards his dark haired friend “And if he catches you out of your stall he will have yours ” Him a Ron shared a laugh. “Pretty packed today huh?” Ron stated, Jeremy peered out of his shack and and nodded while examining the grounds, Carnival rides and and tents stared back at him along with the thousand or so attendees that accompanied them. The song “If 6 was 9” by Jimi Hendrix blared over the loudspeakers Jeremy smiled.

Jeremy sauntered home from work reflecting on the day’s events until he stood at the foot of the house that was his mother’s. he peered over to the driveway of the one floor building acknowledging the fact that his mother’s boyfriend had yet to arrive, he still had time. Quickly entering the home he was greeted by the aroma of alcohol and the sight of  his mother lying on the couch asleep he Shifted towards his room. The door was a somber grey and as he pushed it open the inner contents flooded into sight, paintings and drawings covered the room apart from a closet and a small dresser with medication bottles sprawled atop. The pictures consisted of hastefully drawn images of mountaintops dawning a lone man atop of them with human like figures lining the base of the mountain below. The one exception to this trend was a picture that dawned the resemblance of a women, blonde hair flowed towards the edges of the paper she donned a judgmental face with noticeably alive eyes that seemingly pierced the conscious. Jeremy glared back at her and his face of indifference changed to that of Longing and despair, he feared the oncoming day. His focus changed to a record player that lay beside his bed, vinyls stood stacked beside it. He walked over reaching for the first one, Large bold letters spelling the phrase “The Who” reached back at him, he slipped the record out of its sleeve and set it into the machine the song “Acid Queen” greeted him. He shuffled over to his dresser and searched throughout his medication, he raised a bottle labeled “Anti DeathPressants” and opened its cap. Removing its contents he placed a small purple tablet onto his tongue and proceeded to lay on his bed, closing his eyes he slipped into the void. Streaks of colors leaked into his mind and the once black vision became a flurry of colors, Images shot throughout his mind all adorning hues of blue and green. A distorted yet calming filter washed his mind clean and for the first time in the day jeremy was calm, he relaxed his body and fell further into his mind. A scene of people screaming as a red substance flew towards them played out in front of him until the the echo of a slammed door pulled Jeremy from his dream. Disgruntled Jeremy rolled to the side of his bed quickly raising the needle from the record. Rae was home, and Jeremy did not wish to draw attention to himself, slowly but surely the sounds that adorned Jeremy’s ears every night began to play out. What started with hushed aggravated voices turned into that of loud violent screams accompanied by the sound of objects being thrown and glass being smashed. Hate spewed from the two voices until the sound of skin slapping against skin silenced them both. Jeremy’s eyes wandered towards the raw skin adorning a purple bruise on his arm. Weeping could be heard and the male voice began to overpower the competition, the beating continued until a abruptly shut door gave way to silence. Jeremy rolled over and closed his eyes however this time there was no void to escape too.

Jeremy sat in his shack in anticipation listening to the loudspeaker at the carnival grounds, the song “I want you” by the beatles echoed aloud. The weather at Coney Island had cooled and the number of attendees dwindled. A figure approached jeremy’s stall, as she stepped closer jeremy could make out the blonde hair that he regularly admired. Arriving at the stall she stared at jeremy, she wore a familiar judgmental face along with alive eyes. Jeremy smiled and stood up to greet her for the last time “I leave soon” she said in a low tone “I know” Jeremy replied. They walked throughout the grounds and conversed on there dreams and aspirations, they spoke of her new home and the amount of pain they would suffer without each other, they spoke of their love and what they meant to each other, they joked about marriage and played out “what if” scenarios that most certainly would never occur. They did this until the sun set over the carnival grounds and Jeremy muttered the last words he would ever speak to the girl he loved, “Goodbye Sarah” and with those parting words she was gone.

Jeremy wandered into his house in disarray his mother sat at the dinner table with a bottle of whiskey propped beside her. At the sight of this Jeremy’s mind finally gave way, he strayed from his usually path towards his room and approached his mother. “Thats enough” he exclaimed reaching for the bottle, his mother put out a hand and gripped the bottle before Jeremy could. Jeremy pulled the bottle away from, her silence followed. His mother turned to face  the now heavily breathing Jeremy. dead eyes stared at Jeremy and as his own eyes widened, he recalled a similar look he had seen upon another’s face before. She raised her hand and struck him.

Alone in his room Jeremy sat upon his bed with his head in his hands, Tears soaked the bed sheets. The song “Space Oddity” by David Bowie blared from his record player, He brooded and pondered his situation for hours. The pictures once covering his room now all lay crumpled and ruined on the floor aside from the portrait of Sarah which was now missing from its spot, his pill bottles lay scattered and empty throughout the room. Jeremy raised his head and now like his mother dawned dead eyes. He walked over to his dresser and pulled an envelope from his top drawer along with a small circular object, He then took a deep breath and reached for his bottom drawer.

Jeremy arrived to the carnival grounds late the next day, he was greeted by Ron “Hey man where have you been?” Jeremy ignored his question “Hey can you do me a favor and mail this envelope for me, i’m not gonna be around after” Ron smirked and nodded “No problem man” Jeremy smiled and began to walk to his stall, he noticed that the loudspeakers were not playing any music. As he entered the shack a group of people arrived eagre to play, Jeremy set a black backpack he had brought with down at the back of the building and inspected its contents. “Hey! can we play?” a voice behind him asked, Jeremy ignored it “Hey! Kid!” Jeremy closed his eyes and replied “Yep just let me finish up” He pulled the gun from his bag and turned around placing it in his mouth, dead eyes stared at him, he pulled the trigger.

Sarahs mom entered her room, “A envelop came for you.” she said whilst handing it to her. Sarah tore open the parcel and emptied it onto her desk, a small golden ring fell out along with a large folded sheet of paper, Sarah lifted the sheet and unfolded it, alive blue eyes stared back at her.



Ok. Rant Time… #JohnScott, #NHLAllStarGame.

First off, I must admit I have distanced myself from much of the All Star Game as a whole, and the John Scott disaster.  I think the game itself is a dollar driven waste of time put forth by Bettman & Co. It’s a long, grueling season. Guys have families they spend a lot of time away from. I’d sooner see the NHL just give the guys a week off of work. Monday – Friday. Though, as much as this may benefit the players, and their lives. It doesn’t benefit the bottom line.

If you’re going to have an All Star Game, have an All Star Game. Sure, let the fans vote. Let them vote on the jerseys, or give them a range of players to vote from. Don’t let them just vote for anyone. I thought we would have learned this lesson with Rory Fitzpatrick. If not then, I thought we would have learned from our peers mistakes in the MLB when nearly the entire KC Royals roster was the AL All Star Team. As much as we want to include the fans, and push for engagement, input and opinion… Fact is, the people voting this often are people sitting behind their keyboards with nothing better to do. I’d argue how much we should really invest in said fan.

As we know, there are three parties in this soap opera. John Scott. The Fans, and the NHL. I believe truly, all three have seriously dropped the ball, taking us to where we are. I want to feel bad for John Scott and his wife – pregnant with twins. I really do. But… I just can’t. The ounce of sympathy I have is derived from that he never should have been put in this awkward spot in the first place. If not for the mindless keyboard jockies clicking “Vote John Scott” continuously as they watch oil prices drop to a cent more than the can of dud beer in their hand, we wouldn’t be having this discussion anyway. However, John Scott should have bowed out of this thing many moons ago. And, if he choose to ride it out, he should have got off the horse at least when the rosters were released and he looked across his very own dressing room to see that he was going to the supposed All Star Game instead of his teammates… Domi, Duclair, Boedker, Hanzal, Doan, Rieder, and or Ekman Larsson. That should have been enough to say, ya ok…maybe I don’t deserve this as much as some other guys. Whether they want to be apart of it or not.

But… John Scott choose to go along with the whole thing, despite hush requests from team, and the league to quietly bow out of it. Then… John Scott get’s demoted to the AHL, then traded to MTL, then demoted to the AHL again.  In what some people saw as a way to bury him, and remove him from this mess if he won’t remove himself. This is where I couldn’t disagree more. Let’s take a look at Mr. Scott’s contributions to the Yotes…

1. John Scott has played 11 games. Coyotes have played 44. Ok. So he’s dressed in a quarter of his teams games.

2. John Scott has 1 assist in his 11 games. In those 11 games, the Coyotes have won 5, lost 6. This a team that is 22-17-5.

3. In Scott’s 11 games… They have managed to score 32 goals. Scott’s managed to get the puck to goal scorer once. Oh, and it was against the Oilers. Actually it was a great play by Scott. He nearly toe picked when he picked up the puck perfectly laid out by Chipchura. I think he was stunned that all the Oiler backcheckers just flew right by him, either that or he got dizzy.  Scott then shoveled one into Nilssons chest, and I mean literally shoveled it. If you can imagine the motion of shoveling snow off your driveway and flipping it into the snowbank, that’s what he did with the puck.  Honestly.. Nilsson for some reason proved doubt to the old mantra “every goalie has a good chest” and left out a brutal rebound. Goal. Assist to Scott.

4. He averages 6 minutes a game, in his 11 games played. 6 minutes… Without looking, I can imagine that none of those minutes are against any line other than the fourth, and half of that time he spends running around trying to hurt, hit or fight someone. He sure isn’t out there for any defensive, or offensive advantage.

5. Oh, in those 11 games… He has 6 shots on net, 3 blocked shots. Only in 3 games has he even thrown 3 or more hits. Only in 1 game has he thrown more than 3 hits. Against the gigantic Oilers. In fact… in 6 of the 11, over half his games.. has he thrown a single hit or less. On a team that averages 21.6 hits a game.

Oh.. and if you tell me he is only there to protect the stars, and fight… he has fought once this year.

The most useful thing John Scott ever did for the Coyotes was be part of a trade that fetched the return of Jarred Tinordi.

It’s incredibly clear that #JohnScott belongs… well, nowhere near anything remotely All Star related. It’s even more clear to see he likely doesn’t belong even in the NHL anymore.  Collecting a paycheck 1,000% more than most of ours.  Years ago when there was a need for a enforcer only type player, sure… but those days are gone. He has contributed absolutely zero to this Coyotes team. So while we are all appalled, and sympathetic towards Scott that he’s been “buried” from the All Star Game, and his NHL career may be over… I think we should be more appalled that this game not only is, or was taking someone’s all star spot away… More than that, he’s been taking a spot on an NHL roster from someone who is far more deserving than he is. To me, that’s the injustice, and that’s the crime here. I don’t even think the guy belongs in the AHL to be honest with you. So yes… #FreeJohnScott.  Please.

Now while, I agree with you the NHL botched this whole thing, and it’s probably humiliating for Scott and his family… He brought this on himself long after those boneheaded fans kept clicking vote when he then refused to say, thanks but no thanks and bow out.  I have heard He’s got twins on the way, that’s great. Very happy for him, I am sure he’s an excellent man, and an excellent father. However, I fail to see how this relates to his sudden omission from the ASG, and make’s it any more tragic.  Wouldn’t his time be better spent at home with his family? Perhaps now he can do that… Or, take the opportunity for a free holiday in Nashville the NHL has offered. Can’t imagine how many people, especially in these times would welcome a paid for vacation for their family in Nashville.

Mr. Scott… You took the job as a NHL player, and Mr. Scott you’ve been taking that job from someone far more deserving for far too long, and reaping the rewards. So I am sorry when I say you are now perhaps where you belong, and I feel very little sympathy to you. I wish you and your family the best, and hope that all goes well with your coming twins, but it’s the NHL, and you don’t belong.

Mr. Bettman & Co… It’s maybe time to clean this ASG crap up?

#NHL #AllStarGame #FreeJohnScott