Hockey — it’s not everyone’s game. But it was everyone’s win. The win was for the country. An exciting hockey game brought unity. People experienced the joy of the win and, for one split moment, the country forgot why they were mad.
We wanted to enjoy the excitement of these young men who poured their lives into a game, for their sport, for their family, God and country. Smiles. Unity. Even the loss of two teeth added to the battle that had been fought on the ice with blood, sweat and tears.
Forty-six years ago the Americans won their first gold medal in men’s hockey, by the team known as the “Miracle on Ice” group. They won in Lake Placid, N.Y., in 1980. Later, a few silver medals were awarded, but not the gold until 2026.
Time marched on since the last gold. Life has a way of mounting up time, forgetting the wins or even the losses. This win could have been another of our country’s miracles on ice. Not everyone saw it that way.
I understood what division does to people. Our family needed a miracle to thaw out the ice between two members — myself and my brother — both in our 80s. It’s not too late, but definitely too short to regain all we have lost.
It’s been 30 years since a rift happened between us, and we hadn’t talked. I contended that our family was different. This didn’t happen to us. But, it did. I thought back to when my heart ached at first. Then the ache went away, and it felt normal. We just didn’t talk.
I understood the dynamics of my family. They never apologized. They just showed up and acted as if everything was fine. That was OK with me. I just wanted my relationship back with my brother like it used to be.
I said to Al, “If Jay came to my door, I would just hug him. I love him. I’ve missed him so much over all these years.”
Letters I sent went into the trash. My mother passed away and I didn’t hear about it until one of my children said, “Jay called. Grandma died. He doesn’t want you there.”
I went to her funeral anyway, hurt because it was my mother, too. He didn’t understand. My children and I stood at my mother’s graveside. I thanked my brother for being such a good son to our mother the last years of her life. He’d take her for Sunday rides. He took good care of her.
He thought I came to get something. I told him, “Jay, you don’t know my heart. I don’t want anything. You should have it all for being such a good son.” He didn’t respond. We went back to the way it was: silence, loss, division.
My brother was not interested in burying the hatchet. He had been injured by his own perceptions or whatever he thought I had done to him. I had no idea what he was thinking. I didn’t know how to fix it. I prayed for it to be fixed. I didn’t know his heart and he didn’t know mine. And no one cared enough to have a hard conversation.
I traced every step that happened between us. Al said at the time, “He wants to be mad. Anything you would have done would have made him mad.”
I was being Betty. I am sure there were things I did and said that would have gotten under his skin. I couldn’t help being me. But, we were family. Family doesn’t act this way.
Over the years, I asked my Sweet Al why my brother was still so mad. Al said, “I don’t think he knows why he’s mad. It’s just how he wants it.”
I don’t believe he knows how much we have lost — time enjoyed being together. Being there for each other. And, more importantly, how we laughed so easily together.
Recently, out of the blue, my brother reached out to friend me on Facebook. I was stunned. I immediately friended him with small talk. He answered.
What happened? How does someone finally put down their anger? Does a person just get tired of being mad? Or is the reason not that important anymore?
As for the hockey game, I didn’t want anyone’s anger to take away from the young men who fought for the gold and won for our country. As for my brother, we are still family. I know it took a lot to reach beyond the wall of injury and put down the hurt.
Final brushstroke: Nothing is so important that it causes a rift because of thoughtlessness, perception or whatever we choose to hold on to. We either win together or lose together.
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