A tale of the Stanley Cup … and Alzheimer’s

The Stanley Cup has been mute witness to some pretty incredible events. It was once drop kicked into the Rideau Canal. Another year an irate fan stole it from its display case in Chicago Stadium. It was once hidden in Guy Lafleur’s car trunk. Red Kelly’s three month old son is said to have left a deposit in it. And once it was rumoured to have sat at the bottom of Mario Lemieux’s swimming pool. But, following the first NHL championship victory in Detroit since 1954 55, Red Wing forward Brendan Shanahan took it to a cemetery near Toronto.

“It was about 5 o’clock on a beautiful Saturday afternoon,” the 28 year old Shanahan remembers. “The whole cemetery was empty. And I just sat there at my father’s grave and said, ‘Look… Look what I brought you…’ I wanted to share it with my dad. It made me feel better.”

Donal Shanahan died of Alzheimer’s disease in 1991. Ironically, it was the very year Brendan was drafted into the NHL (1987) by the New Jersey Devils, that his father Donal was first diagnosed with the disease.

In fact, Brendan’s mother came home reporting that her husband had either suffered a series of small strokes, or that he’d been stricken by this strange illne She had to look it up in the dictionary.

Alzheimer’s disease (AD) is a degenerative brain disorder that destroys vital brain cells. There is no known cause or cure. More than a quarter of a million Canadians suffer from the disease today; and by the year 2030 it’s estimated that over three quarters of a million Canadians will have AD or related dementias.

However, in 1987, when he was 18, Brendan’s reaction was much different from his mother’s. He denied his father had Alzheimer’s. “He was too smart, too strong. It was too unrealistic to think that in five to ten years he wouldn’t remember who I was, recognize his own wife, be able to feed himself, even walk or do the most basic of things.

“I was angry with him a lot. Like, ‘Snap out of it! You’re giving in to this thing.’ I got angry with him that he couldn’t remember my name, or even where the front door was.”

According to specialists, Brendan’s denial and anger reflex is not uncommon. He was seeing a side of his father that he’d never known. He was frightened that his father was changing right before his eyes. The dad with whom Brendan had shared so many Saturday mornings at the minor hockey rink, quite simply wasn’t capable anymore. The man who carried a newspaper under his arm in the dressing room and who tapped Brendan’s boyhood teammates on the head for good luck – “Father Don,” the parents and coaches called him eventually couldn’t read nor even fend for himself.

Brendan knowingly witnessed his father’s desperate attempts to shield his family from the inevitable. He watched his father grow more food than usual in the backyard garden. He saw him put away his favourite pipes and stop smoking altogether. He sensed Donal’s desire to be provider for as long as possible. But as difficult as accepting that his father was irreversibly ill was the frustration Brendan felt. As he grew from adolescence into the responsibilities of manhood, his father was going in the opposite direction and becoming more dependent on his family. The roles of father and son soon reversed. Decision making, leadership and protection slipped from Donal to Brendan and other members of the family because “all of a sudden we were feeding him, helping him get to bed, or bringing him back to bed when he wandered at night. As the disease progressed, it was harder on our family… but in some ways easier on him.”

It was then that the smallest things provided the greatest joy.

“I remember getting up early one morning,” smiles Brendan, “and going into his bedroom. He was lying awake in his bed. His eyes were wide open. He seemed very peaceful. And I’m sure that all the injustices that awaited him hadn’t yet clouded his mind. And when I walked in he looked at me and said, ‘Hello.’ It was a real recognition, like ‘My son, where did you come from?’ For me that was really special, a very brief moment. But for me it was a great moment, one I won’t forget.”

On another day, as is the option for all members of an NHL championship team, Shanahan was allowed to take the Stanley Cup home for a couple of days. He threw a party for about 300 family members and friends at a downtown Toronto restaurant. Then he took the coveted silverware to visit fans in his old stomping grounds – Mimico, Ont. And then “one of those nights, I put the Cup beside my bed and went to sleep with it there in my bedroom. And waking up in the morning, rolling over to see it there, seeing it beside my bed… It was like a pet, staring back at me. That was great fun.”

Most championship athletes are asked about the lasting images of victory.

For Brendan Shanahan, Detroit’s June 14th Stanley Cup win was relief, finally winning it all for Red Wings fans after a 42 year drought. It was the image of teammates Kirk Muller and Adam Graves hoisting the trophy high over their heads for the first time. It was getting his chance for 15 or 20 seconds, to kiss and hold the Cup above his head. And it was the quiet Saturday afternoon he was able to share the joy of his accomplishment at his father’s grave site.

“For all the times he took me to the rink as a kid and tied my skates and got up in the morning or drove me to tournaments,” says Brendan, “I regret that he wasn’t able to see me play in the NHL… or watch me win the Stanley Cup…

“But my biggest regret is that Alzheimer’s didn’t let me know him man to man. There are questions you would ask your father as a 28 year old, that you wouldn’t have asked as a 14 year old. I wish I could have talked to him that way, gotten his advice, and spoken man to man… But in spite of that, throughout his illness, I had ample opportunity to tell him I cared… He knew I loved him.”

Their mutual affection and understanding, in the face of medical adversity, likely sustained them both.