The Light That Wraps You

I didn’t know your name for a very long time.

After all was said and done, I wanted very much to thank your family. I knew how tender and personal a subject like this would be, but I had to let them know how you had touched the life of someone you’d never even met, and how I was alive because of you.

I wrote them a letter. It was a long, emotional ramble. I said that my name was Lucinda and that I lived in Massachusetts. Most often I said how sorry I was. I must’ve written that down a thousand times, hoping, praying that they would feel it in the ink that I pressed to the page. I was sorry I had taken you from them, but I was also very grateful that you had been there for me.

I didn’t even know you were a man until they wrote me back.

I never thought that I would hear from anyone. There’s a distinct, complicated process that you have to go through to contact the donor’s family, and you must always be very careful and respectful. I had to go through a middle man, and I wasn’t even allowed to know who would receive the letter, and where it would be going. I just wrote it, put it in an unmarked envelope, and sent it along. My Organ Procurement Organization had to then check it to ensure it wasn’t defying confidentiality, and then it was sent to your family.

Months passed, and I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t going to happen, that I had said something stupid to put them off. I put it out of my mind entirely, until the day I found a light blue envelope buried under my bills, forwarded by my OPO. The moment I saw it, I dropped everything, nearly passing out in my anxiety. Upon opening it, I was very surprised that they had let me receive it, because as I read it, the details of your life spilled out. It was from Shippagan, a place that I only knew of by name. I had grown up in Saint John, just a few hours away, and it was strange, how close our lives had been to each other.

The writer of the letter was a woman named Charlene Ward. She told me your name was Luc Bourdon, and you had been a proud hockey player for the Vancouver Canucks organization. I didn’t believe her at first, but as I kept reading, I started to see the truth. She was your girlfriend. She told me that at first, when my OPO had contacted your parents, they didn’t want to receive my letter. It was too soon, they thought. She convinced them otherwise, saying that maybe hearing from me would help them all grieve. They agreed, and they heard it straight from my stationary, how important you were to me, and how I would remember you for the rest of my life.

Charlene couldn’t resist writing back. It was a seven page letter, the backs and fronts of pages filled to the brim with her cramped writing. I had mentioned in my letter that it would be nice to know what kind of a person you had been. She let me know, and then some. She spun me the tale of your life, right up until your death. She told me about your love for hockey, guitar, and her. She reminisced about some of her fondest memories of you, and all the mischief and joy that you brought her. She told me about your career, brief though it was. Though I had never met you in life, I felt closer to you than anyone. I was only sad that I had robbed your family of you, and that we had never met when you were alive.

We wrote each other several more letters. We agreed to meet someday, but we didn’t know when. She wasn’t ready just yet, she said, and truthfully, neither was I. We were bound together by you, unlikely friends cast together in a story of letters and sadness, life and death. You were her anchor, suddenly gone and leaving her adrift at sea; simultaneously, you were my lighthouse, giving me light through the fog.

Through her, I got involved with your passion: hockey. While I knew I couldn’t go to school and still be a part of your team, I decided to get involved as close to home as I could. After my post-op treatment came to a close, I returned to Boston and immediately became a part of the Bruins organization. I went to games, volunteered, participated in events. It wasn’t so much about which team I was associated with. Just the fact that I was taking part in the sport that had once been your life made me feel like I was getting in touch with you, in whatever little ways that I could.

Eventually, Claude Julien heard of me and contacted me early in the preseason. Their physician was sick, and I was happy to take over for a little while. Whenever they needed me, I answered. If I could help other players return to the ice, it was almost like I got a chance to imitate myself helping you back to the ice. I loved it.

As a practitioner of medicine, I know that the heart is a muscle, a pump that keeps the body running. It is the fire that keeps us warm, the stone pillar that holds us up. I know that is not simply the shape of two curving lines meeting together; it is comprised of arteries, veins, valves, ventricles, septums, venae, tendinae, and tissue. This not where feelings come from. Feelings stem from the brain, particularly the amygdala. I knew this. But I couldn’t help feeling that in my heart--or, your heart, rather--that there was something I needed to do in Pittsburgh. Whether it was for me or you remained to be seen. All I knew was that I had a definite purpose in being there, and eventually, it would become clear to me what that was.

Death brought you to me, but you brought me to hockey. Hockey brought me to Pittsburgh, and that’s where I would stay, for however long it would take.



Evgeni Malkin hissed the moment my fingers pressed against his knee. “Cold,” He muttered, smiling ruefully.

I winced apologetically. “Sorry.” I poked and prodded at him for a few minutes, before testing his reaction, and making him walk up and down the length of the room. He did a few jumping jacks for me, before I removed my stethoscope, letting it hang around my neck.

“Okay.”

He looked incredulous. “Okay? That it?”

I smiled. “You can play Philadelphia tomorrow. Go tell Coach Bylsma what I said, and then you’d better go home and pack.”

He let out a whoop and hugged me tightly. I laughed as he spun me around before darting from the room. I snapped my gloves off and tossed them into the trash can beside the sink. I washed my hands, and as I was turning to dry them, there was a knock on the door.

“Hey!” It was Sidney. Sid, I told myself, thinking of what Max had told me: "It’s all in the nicknames. You’ll see."

I reached for the paper towels, glancing over my shoulder at him.

“Hi. Let me guess: Geno told you the good news?”

“Yep.” He leaned in the doorway while I dried off my hands. His arms were folded over his chest, and he was wearing his usual gray Penguins shirt and black Penguins hat. “It’ll be great to have him back.”

“That’s if--” I faltered for a moment, “Dan says that it’s all right. I am the physician, but it’s truly up to him.”

Sid smiled. “He was waiting for your go ahead. He puts a lot of faith in our doctor, as do the rest of us guys.” He paused for a beat, licking his lips. “He sent me to ask you to come with us.”

“Excusez-moi?” I couldn’t help staring at him incredulously.

“We know you’re not going to be around forever, but we want to get to know you! This is the perfect way. Plus,” He muttered under his breath, “You’re much nicer than the guys in Philly.”

I laughed. “Are you kidding?”

Sid frowned. “No. We really want you to come with us. Think of it as a great way to learn everyone’s names!”

I blushed. It was no secret that I was having a hard time keeping track of everyone, especially since the only two that I had really gotten to know were Jordan, also known as Staalsy, and Evgeni, also known as Geno. As much as I was sure I would only be in the way, I knew Sid had a point.

“And you say Dan sent you to tell me?”

“I can go get him, if you’d rather hear it from his mouth.” He was almost out the door before I stopped him.

“That’s not necessary, I believe you.” He poked his head back in as I smiled and shook my head. “This is crazy.”

“What? Following around a bunch of hockey players with band-aids?”

I laughed. “It’s a bit more than that, I’m afraid.”

“Well what else? Kisses to make it better?”

Oh, my. A blush spread across my cheeks. It was no secret that there were quite a few eligible bachelors playing for the Penguins, and I’d gladly give a handful of them kisses. I wasn’t going to tell Sidney that, though. After all, I was a doctor, a healer, and there was such a thing as drawing a line. All of my relationships with these men had to remain professional.

Even if they’re so good-looking that angels cry.

That night, I did as was requested of me. I packed two light bags, one full of supplies that I had taken from Dr. Burke’s cabinets, and a bag of clothes and other essentials. I had never been to Philadelphia and though I knew I wouldn’t get a chance to look around, I was excited. I could barely sleep the night before.

I woke up early, showered, and threw on jeans and a Penguins shirt that Dan had thought to give me. I pulled my hair back into its usual bun, and after grabbing my bags, was off in the rental car that Dr. Burke had left for me. Traffic was manic that early in the morning, with people on their way to work, and I just made it to the airport in time.

Everyone had already assembled on the plane by the time I arrived, and I chided myself silently, embarrassed, as I showed my identification and boarded. Dan smiled at me like it was no problem, as did everyone else, but I still felt like an idiot.

I felt like even more of an idiot when I looked around at the seats. It was like the first day of high school all over again. Where did I sit? Did it matter? I bit my lip nervously, knowing that I was standing for too long, that it was obvious that I was looking for an open seat… And there were several, but who did I sit by?

A throat cleared in front of me, to my left. It was Kris Letang. Tanger, I remembered from Max’s quick lesson on nicknames. He was looking up at me expectantly, strands of his long, dark hair hooked over one ear.

“You can sit here,” He said quietly, his accent much thicker than mine. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sitting with anyone else.”

“All right.” I put my bags up in the overhead rack, pausing only to pull out my iPod and a book. I sat down beside him, leaning back. “Do you always fly like this?”

Kris looked at me, a curious frown crinkling his brow. “Like what?”

“It’s just so… nice.” I stared around at the expensive charter plane. It was spacious and cool, with so much leg room that I was practically lost just sitting beside Kris. Attendants were walking up and down the aisle offering drinks and snacks, and I could hear quiet conversations and laughter that stretched the length of the plane. It was first class, hockey style, and I was embarrassed by how awestruck I must have seemed.

Kris just laughed softly. “You get used to it.” He sat back in his seat, pulling out a sleek black device. A PSP. Looking around, I noticed some of the other guys had them too.

“You all play together?”

“Yes. Do you…?” He looked over, at the book that I was holding.

I shook my head, smiling. “No. But I bought one for my cousin last Christmas. He seemed to enjoy it.”

Kris nodded, still staring curiously at the book. It was a large hardcover, and on the front was a girl holding up her hair and showing her back. Spreading down her bare skin were tattoos of angel wings, and below her neck, a Celtic cross. In the center of her back, not a tattoo but part of the cover, was a flaming heart. The Gargoyle, it read.

“La Gargouille,” He read in French. “Un roman.”

“The author’s Canadian,” I said, shrugging. “I found it once in the library. It’s become my favorite book since then.”

He ducked his head, absorbed in his game. Still, I heard him say, “Dites-moi à ce sujet.”

“You really want to know?”

He shrugged. “It’s not a long flight, but talking means you won’t fall asleep. If you don’t fall asleep, I can get up and move around.”

I laughed. “Oh, I see. You have a grand scheme to ensure that I don’t box you in here. All right, then.” I had nothing to lose, so I talked. I told him about the nameless male protagonist, and how he gets into a life-changing accident, all because of one cocaine-induced hallucination. On the road to recovery he meets a strange woman, and she turns what is left of his life upside down with her fanciful tales and strange belief that seven hundred years prior to the present time, they were lovers in Europe during the time of the Crusades.

By the time the plane had landed about an hour and a half later, Kris had stopped playing entirely. At first, he had started paying less and less attention, and when Sid killed him for the fourteenth time in a row, he gave up playing and instead focused his attention on me.

“So?” I asked, setting the book down between us and getting up. “What do you think?”

For the first time since I had known him, he smiled. “I think I’d like to borrow it.”

They lost that night, 3-2. It had been a valiant effort, and I had watched from the tunnel with some of the equipment staff. It didn’t matter to me that they had lost, ending their winning streak, but I knew it hurt for them. Sid had gotten a point, which everyone was pleased about, and Geno had done wonderfully. That was why I had been asked to come along, I realized. It was my job to keep an eye on him and monitor his knee, making sure he didn’t overdo it. He didn’t. If anything, he reminded everyone just how dangerous he could be on the ice.

Despite all of that, I knew the flight back was going to be difficult for them.

“Man, I hate losing,” Mike Rupp said, as he walked past me on the plane. The Rangers were coming to play the very next night, and we needed to be back in Pittsburgh so the guys could get some rest.

“So do I,” Sid replied, sighing as he sat across the aisle from Kris and I. “It is the worst feeling in the world.”

“But think of it this way,” Max piped up. “It’s just Philly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sid scowled. “They’re one of our biggest rivals. It’s a huge deal, and we blew it.”

“Nah, you’re going about it all wrong. It’s--”

“I get it,” I interrupted. Everyone in a three foot radius looked over, stunned, at the sound of my voice. “I understand what you’re saying, Max.”

I turned my eyes on Sid. “He’s saying to make them less in your mind so that they can’t bother you. They’re just Philadelphia. They aren’t important enough to get under your skin, so brush it off. Wake up tomorrow knowing that you can do better.” I settled back in my seat, switching on my iPod. “Eleanor Roosevelt once said, ‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’ So don’t let them.”

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes, mulling over what I had just said. As I was leaning back in my seat, a pillow under my head, I caught Dan’s eye. He smiled and nodded at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

That was when I knew it. I belonged in Pittsburgh, at least for the time being, and if I could help bolster these guys physically, as well as emotionally, then I would have done something worthwhile. And this, it wasn't just for you, but for me as well. Because even though I knew it was unwise, I was starting to undoubtedly fall head-over-heels in love with the Pittsburgh Penguins.