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Laura lays on the foot of the bed, mimics a noose with the telephone cord
Doctor’s on the phone and she hangs up and says, “I ain’t ever gonna see the winter again.”
And I don’t know how, but she smiles.
~Ryan Adams, September
February 2018
Sidney refuses to come in to the doctor’s office.
The doctor gives Geno a look, raising his eyebrow and looking over the top of his glasses. Geno gives the doctor a look right back.
“Where is Mr Crosby?” the doctor asks, skeptical.
I am Mr Crosby, Geno thinks. “Sid not want to come in,” he explains, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
“I would really rather prefer to talk to Mr Crosby directly…”
Geno fixes the doctor with the look that Sid has come to call the “don’t fuck with Russians” look. He is a happy guy, an affable guy, but he knows he looks intimidating and he isn’t afraid to use it to his advantage.
The doctor relents. Pulls scans of a brain--Sidney’s brain--out of a manila folder that sits on the desk. “As you can see,” he begins, “Mr Crosby has two tumors. The one on the frontal lobe--here--is treatable with surgery. The one here, on his brain stem, is not. There are treatment options to keep him comfortable but…”
“A year?” Geno asks.
The doctor averts his eyes. “Six months. Maybe.”
Geno nods, taking this in. His fingers go absentmindedly to the newest addition to his necklace collection, three square tiles, each bearing a letter. S.P.C. “I go tell Sid. We come back. He will decide. Ok?”
The doctor gives Geno a pitying look, which Geno ignores, but nods his head.
For a man about to hear his fate, Sidney looks remarkably calm. Geno is sure he looks like a mess in comparison, a six foot three inch puddle of anxiety and barely-withheld tears. He’s sure that Sidney knows exactly what he’s about to say before he says it. He sits down anyway, reaches for Sidney’s hand and strokes it gently, trying to memorize its familiar warmth, the size and shape of it. He is all at once aware of the impermanence of time.
“Is tumor, Sidney,” he says after awhile. “Is bad tumor. Is no operation.”
Sidney considers this, studying Geno’s profile. Geno braces himself for Sidney to cry, offering his hand a supportive little squeeze. Sidney does not cry.
“I guess returning this season is out after all,” he says. Most incredibly of all, he’s smiling while he says it.
They drive home in silence. What is there to say, really? If there are words, Geno doesn’t know them.
Sidney wants to nap when they get home, which is not an uncommon occurance these days. This time, though, he pauses at the bottom of the stairs and turns to Geno. “Come with me,” he says, and it’s not phrased like a question. Geno has never napped with Sid. He is too restless a sleeper, Sid says. It is impossible to get a good nap in with someone squirming and wiggling around. But today, Sidney wants him there, and who is Geno to say no?
Sidney is asleep almost instantly, but Geno lays awake, perfectly still, his arms wrapped protectively around him, lost in thought. They will have to tell the team, somehow. Sid will probably have to issue a statement to the whole NHL...tell their families. He twists the white gold band on his finger anxiously. They’ve been married a year and a half now. Will they make it to two? He doesn’t want to think about it. Instead, he studies Sid in profile, sound asleep, and wonders how he can lose something so solid.
They hide out for three days without speaking to anyone but each other and the food delivery people. On the third day, Sidney says, “We need to make a plan.” He doesn’t want any medical intervention, he says, unless the pain is too great. He doesn’t want to be in the hospital. He’ll skate until it’s a physiological impossibility and he wants Geno to skate with him. When he dies, he wants them to bury him in Cole Harbor. He wants Geno to read the eulogy. “And I want you to hold my hand until the very end.”
“What if am not home?” Geno asks.
“Then I’ll wait for you.” The look on Sid’s face suggests that he’s not kidding.
On the fourth day, a Tuesday, they sit in the boardroom at the Penguins’ head office with their entire team. Sidney reads a statement they sat up late preparing.
“The thirteen years I have spent with the Penguins organization have been the best thirteen years of my life. This organization has been a family to me, through the best seasons of my career and the worst. I do not believe that I would have gotten to where I am now without this organization backing me up. As a leader, I have watched many of you go from young rookies to flourishing players in command of your own skills and abilities. I am proud of every one of you. The last few years of my career have not been without health struggles. Many times, it felt like I wouldn’t make it back, but I always did. When you’re young, you feel like you’re invincible, like you’ll always come back. On Friday, I received the news that I have not one, but two brain tumors. I’ve decided not to pursue treatment and, as can be expected, I won’t be returning for this or next season. I know that Geno--” he reaches for Geno’s hand, takes a deep breath, and continues. “--will be an incredible leader through this season and onward.”
Everyone cries and hugs them both, tells them how much they love them, promises their support. Rutherford tells him they’ll find him an administrative job, tells Geno to take as much time as he needs. For the first time, it feels really real--Sidney is going to die. One day, sooner than Geno would like, his husband is going to die. He will be alone.
He takes the next two weeks off. He and Sidney spend their time napping, reading, shopping--normal, couple things. They write a will. Sidney has good days and bad days. On good days, their morning skates last for hours. Sidney races Geno and wins, they have sex and fall asleep curled up in each other’s arms. On bad days, they might spend 15 minutes on the ice and Sidney leans heavily on Geno. He’s never angry or bitter, not even when he realizes that his hands are so weak he can’t tie his own skates at the end of February. Every time they step off the ice, he tells Geno the same thing-- “Best morning skate ever.”--and kisses his nose. Geno is hard pressed to disagree.
In these early days, when Sidney has more good days than bad, it’s hard to imagine that this will all someday come to an end. Maybe the doctors were wrong. It has happened before, and if anyone could defeat the odds, he knows it would be Sidney. It’s not hard to feel like this might last forever.
June 2018
Sidney’s decline is slow. He has more good days than bad for the first three months. He doesn’t take anything for the pain. Some mornings he’s a little slow to get up. He’s a little weaker than usual. Sometimes he loses the plot in the middle of his sentences, but it’s nothing they can’t handle.
His inability to play frustrates him, although he’s careful not to let anybody know that--except Geno, who holds his hands and pets his hair when he cries. He flourishes in his position as “player consultant”, giving direction and providing encouragement. Everyone plays a little better, works a little harder, puts in a little bit better than their best effort. When they make the playoffs, there’s a do it for Sid chant every night, no matter where they are, and they do. They play 19 games to defeat the Oilers in a sweep for the Cup, their first in almost ten years, at home. They retire Sidney’s number that night, and Geno helps him hold the Cup.
It’s the beginning of the end, they both know, but it’s not so bad yet. He’s healthy enough that they go up to Cole Harbour for the summer. They apologise a thousand times to Geno’s parents that they won’t make it out to Russia, as if it’s their fault, and are surprised when they’re waiting for them, beaming, in the airport in Halifax.
They spend six beautiful weeks soaking up the feeling of having nothing to do and Sidney’s relative good health. They sleep until noon, lounge on the beach, and Geno does his best to read Sidney the books off of his summer reading list in his broken English. Toward the end of the month, he complains of headaches, especially upon waking, and his doctor prescribes him something for the pain. He’s sleeping 18 hours a day now, waking up late in the afternoon. Sometimes he doesn’t know where he is, but he always smiles when he sees Geno. Always says the same thing when Geno sets him right about his whereabouts: “home with my baby, just what I need”.
On Canada Day, he wakes early. Geno makes him a breakfast of coffee, eggs, pancakes and bacon and he eats robustly, like he hasn’t in weeks. They walk down to the beach, a spectacle that takes almost an hour and a half. Sidney refuses a wheelchair, but he doesn’t mind shuffling along with a walker as long as Geno walks in step with him. Geno always does.
On the beach, they watch children play in the water, red maple leaves painted on their faces. They watch parents dispense sunscreen and snacks, help build sand castles or examine shells. While Sidney dozes on the blanket, a little girl comes up with a bucket in her hand and asks Geno to build a castle with her. After some unspoken communication with her dad and a moment of fussing over Sidney on the blanket, he rises to his feet and joins the little girl a few feet away. They make a plan, and within an hour or so, a castle has been formed, photos have been taken, and Sidney is awake on the blanket.
“I have go now,” Geno tells his new little friend. Taylor, like Sidney’s sister. “Husband is awake on blanket.” She nods and waves, happily distracted by her game, and Geno makes his way back to his smiling Sidney.
“Make new friend. How was sleep?” he asks, helping Sidney to sit up in his arms, offering him a bottle of water from the cooler.
“Good,” Sidney concedes, and then gets quiet. Just when Geno thinks he’s asleep again, he says, barely audibly, “I’m sorry we can’t have that.”
Geno takes a sharp breath. He’s tried to avoid thinking about it. They’d been talking about adopting when Sidney’s symptoms had gotten bad--had even found a little girl they hoped to commit with. She has Down syndrome, like Geno’s favorite babies to visit in the orphanages at home. But when Sidney was diagnosed, they had to put everything on hold. Geno hasn’t thought about that little girl in months. “Is not your fault, Sid.”
“I know,” Sid says. “But it’s the one regret I have, you know? Not getting to have a family with you.”
Geno kisses the top of his head. “You would be best dad, Sidney.”
“You would, and Zhenya? Promise me you’ll do that, when I’m gone. Promise me.” It’s the first time Sidney has talked about dying, and it catches Geno off guard. He’s not ready. He’ll never be ready. Sidney will be taking his dying breath, and Geno will be pleading with God for one more minute. He can barely contain his tears, but somehow, he does. He knows Sidney doesn’t want him to cry.
“I promise,” he says, the sound of his voice muffled in Sidney’s hair. “I will name him after you.”
He swears he can feel Sidney smiling. “You better.”
That night they watch the fireworks from the front porch. Sidney falls asleep in Geno’s arms under the quilt that Sidney’s mother made for them when they got married, and Geno wonders if they’ll have another great day like this again. All he can do is hope so.
August 2018
The good days become fewer and further between after Canada Day, until the bad begin to greatly outnumber the good sometime in the middle of July.
Geno’s birthday is the last good day. Geno’s mom and Sidney’s mom team up and make a huge meal, with cake and ice cream and all of Sidney’s and Geno’s favorites. Sid takes bites of everything and that is Geno’s greatest gift of all.
A few days after Canada Day, Sidney finally gave in and got a wheelchair. That night Geno wheels him down to the beach to watch the sun set.
“Was it a good birthday?” Sidney asks. His hand in Geno’s feels less substantial than it did five and a half months ago, and his voice sounds thinner. There is not much of Sidney left.
“It was best birthday, but every day is best day with you,” Geno says, and Sidney smiles. They sit in the cooling night air, watching the sun sink lower and lower into the ocean. They do not talk about what’s to come, about death or their nonexistent future. They soak up this moment with each other, and Geno feels completely at peace.
When Sidney falls asleep that night, he does not wake up. For three days, Geno thinks it’s the end. He keeps a constant vigil, barely sleeping. Their mothers bring him food in bed, which he scrupulously divides in half--just in case Sidney decides to wake up, just in case he’s hungry. He sings to him in English and in Russian, he tells him all of the things he loves about him, and every night he pleads with him to wake up. Just one more day, just one more day, that’s all he wants--just one more day. But Sidney does not wake up, and Geno keeps waiting.
On day four, two days before his birthday, Sidney wakes up. He sits up in bed, he drinks an entire bottle of water, and says, “I’m so scared.”
Geno strokes his hair. “Do not be scare,” he says, “You are safe, you are with me.”
“I feel different,” Sidney persists. “I’m so scared.”
Geno remembers reading about this, knows that sometimes this happens when death is near. “No need be scared,” Geno promises. “I am here.”
Sidney relaxes, settles into Geno’s arms. “I think I’m going to die soon,” he says softly.
Geno starts playing with his hair. “I think, too,” he agrees. “Is nothing be afraid of, my love. You go, whenever you are ready.”
“I’m so scared to leave you,” Sidney whispers. Geno takes a deep breath, tries not to cry, and says, “I am scared lose you, but...I do not want you in pain anymore.”
“I’ll miss you...I love you,” Sidney says and closes his eyes for the last time.
Sidney dies on August 7th, 2018, four hours and five minutes after he turns 31. He dies peacefully in his sleep, curled up in Geno’s arms. Geno feels him take his last breath and counts to sixty, then one hundred and twenty, then one hundred and eighty. “Moya sladkaya detka,” he says. “Ya skuchayu po tebe.” He holds Sidney’s body close, unable to let him go, until he sees the sun creeping up through the window. He calls for an ambulance, and they come to take his baby away. He declines an EMS officer to stay with him, makes a cup of tea, and watches the ambulance disappear, feeling a kind of emptiness he hadn’t previously known could exist.
MALKIN, Sidney Patrick ONS
August 7 1987-August 7 2018
Sidney Patrick Malkin (Crosby) died peacefully in his sleep the morning of August 7, what would have been his 31st birthday, after a brief but valiant battle with cancer. Sidney is survived by his mother, Tricia, his father, Troy, and his sister Taylor, as well as his beloved husband, Evgeni (Geno).
In life, Sidney was a talented hockey player. Drafted first overall in 2005, he spent his entire career with the Pittsburgh Penguins and was made captain in 2007. He was the recipient of numerous awards throughout his hockey career, including two Stanley Cups. His number was retired on June 10, 2018 in a ceremony in Pittsburgh.
Sidney was awarded the Order of Nova Scotia in 2008 for his outstanding contributions as a Nova Scotian to Canada and to Canada’s game.
When asked, Sidney was fond of saying that his greatest accomplishment in life was his marriage. He married Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin on August 25, 2016 after a 3-year engagement, making history as the first players in the NHL to come out as gay, leading the way for several other high profile hockey players to find the courage to come out.
Sidney loved hockey, music, and the outdoors. His days were full of all three until the end, and he was famous in Cole Harbour for inviting bands like Great Big Sea and the Black Eyed Peas to perform at his parties, to which he invited the entire neighborhood.
A public memorial service will be held on August 15, 2018, in Pittsburgh and will be broadcast nationwide. A private memorial service will follow in Cole Harbour.
In lieu of flowers, donations to the Sidney Crosby Hockey School, the National Down Syndrome Society, or The Malkin Trust for Russian Orphans are greatly appreciated.
-Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, August 10, 2018.
They carved your name into a stone and they put it in the ground
I run my fingers through the grooves when no one’s around
Drink til I’m sick and I talk to myself in the dog days of the summer
Then I feel you coming and I don’t know how…
~Ryan Adams, September
February 2019
Geno announces his retirement three days after Sidney’s funeral, and they retire his number, too. He watches them raise his number up into the rafters, right next to Sidney’s. There, they’ll be together forever. Long after Geno has joined Sidney wherever they go when they die, their numbers will be next to each other in the Consol Energy Center. It makes him feel like Sidney isn’t really gone after all, like there’s a part of him that’s still alive.
He moves to Cole Harbour and takes over running the Sidney Crosby Hockey School full time. He finds that he loves it, especially running programs for the Little Penguins. He pours his heart and soul into those babies until he can feel the hole in his heart slowly closing over.
In the evenings he visits Sidney. He talks to him about everything, and after awhile, he stops wishing that Sidney could answer him back. He misses him, but it’s no longer all-consuming. There is life without Sidney because there is still a Sidney--a little bit of Sidney that lives on in everything Geno does.
On February 24, 2019, he stands in front of a judge and promises to take full responsibility for the care and guardianship of Sydney Natasha Malkin. The little girl they had planned to adopt before Sidney got sick was still in foster care, and Geno knew exactly what he needed to do. He took custody of her that October, and today, it becomes official.
The ink on the adoption certificate barely dry, he steps down off the judge’s podium and holds his arms out to his waiting daughter, scooping her up. “Come on now, Sydney,” he says into her mess of dark curls, “We go home and I tell you about your daddy.”