5am drives to practice. Every single morning for four years. You never complained even though you worked nights. I’d sleep in the car and you’d have coffee and we’d listen to sports radio. I didn’t make varsity. Quit junior year. You said that was okay. That you were proud of me anyway. The car accident happened on your way home from your shift. Someone ran a red light. You died doing everything for everyone else like always. I never said thank you enough. Never told you those drives meant more than hockey ever did. I’m sorry Dad.