Illustration by Dan Baril · Click to enlargeI didn’t know Claude Lemieux personally. Like most, I knew him as a singular talent—a player cut well above the rest. His records and accomplishments on the ice are forever etched in history.
Beyond that, what gives me the right to speculate? Nothing. My role should simply be to show respect: to quietly observe and celebrate him in the wake of a life that will surely be honored in the coming days, including tonight, during Game 5 between the Canadiens and the Hurricanes.
Yet many of us, myself included, cannot help but wonder what happened. It is the inevitable human response; when a cause of death is not volunteered, we gravitate toward the same dark conclusion. We aren’t supposed to say it out of respect—at least not publicly. Some believe this unwritten code of silence is a final show of grace, while others believe it only serves to bury awareness and stifle the discussions we so desperately need. There is a time and a place for both, I suppose.
For me personally, I can only speculate through the lens of my own perspective: that individuals who achieve greatness and fame in their prime are too often unprepared for the "afterlife"—the temporary one, not the permanent state. The return to normalcy, and the question of what to do with oneself once the cheering stops, must bring a solitude that few are prepared to handle.
I can only imagine that the recognition of carrying the ceremonial torch at the Bell Centre on Monday night served, only three days later, as a painful reminder of the perceived emptiness some feel when the lights go down.
It is a tragedy that so many are not taught to find meaning outside the "bubble" that once made them feel whole. Sadder still is the devastation felt by those closest to him, who may have been powerless to see or act on the signs—if there even were any.
Let this be a reminder of Robin Williams’ most famous refrain: "Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always."
This is especially true of the people we never meet. Claude Lemieux’s memory would be best served as a reminder that we all owe a duty to one another—to look out for each other in the quiet moments, not just the celebrated ones.