Signs of Life: A Hockey Haunting

My dad and I bonded over many things, but hockey was our strongest connection. We used to text during every Carolina Hurricanes game, offering critiques and celebrating wins as though we were in the same room even though we lived 700 miles apart. Even now, when he's been gone for four months, I find myself reaching for the phone, the text already drafted in my head. And then I remember. I won't get a response. Watching the Carolina Hurricanes, our team, has become both my happiest and most heartbreaking pastime simultaneously. Yet, despite an end to our text color commentary, my dad continues to show up in other ways, like he's still here cheering on the Canes with me.

I bought tickets to the January 29 Canes game thinking me, my husband Derek, and my dad would go on the return half of a business trip to Tampa. I got the seats we always did: third tier bird's eye view, on the side of the rink where the Canes shoot twice. I envisioned this would be a great conclusion to my work trip. Instead, my dad died three weeks before puck drop. My stopover in North Carolina became about packing up my dad's house and retrieving his ashes from the local funeral parlor, neither of which had been on my Bingo card for 2026.

The usher noticed we had three tickets but only two guests. "Please scan the third one," I told him. "He's here in spirit."

We brought my dad's jersey with us to the game. It happened to be Whalers Night, a throwback to the team's roots in Hartford. The team I grew up watching. It seemed fitting, considering all the Whalers games my dad used to take us to, parking in some sketchy lot downtown and paying cash for tickets from a scalper. When we entered Lenovo Center in Raleigh, the usher noticed we had three tickets but only two guests. "Please scan the third one," I told him. "He's here in spirit."

During first intermission, the Canes up 1-0, we watched the jumbotron and waited. We waited through all the birthday wishes and group welcome messages, bright Canes red as the background, upbeat music filling the arena. My dad's message was last, simple white text against a black screen, the music cut to silence. In loving memory of Caniac Charlie Zhe. Well done, Lenovo, thank you.

In the second period, things started to fall apart. The Utah Mammoth scored three goals to the Canes one. Three to two at the end of two. Not in our favor, but not out of reach. When Utah scored again in the third, I knew we had an uphill battle. And when the clock reached five minutes without a Canes response, I felt the game slipping away. Derek must have seen the disappointment on my face because he said, "Come on, you know your dad would want to make this interesting."

Interesting indeed! With just 1:59 remaining in regulation, the Canes scored once to make it 4-3, twice to tie it, and a third time to win 5-4 with just 29 seconds left on the clock. The crowd went wild! If you're a hockey fan like me, you know this is pretty rare - three goals in under two minutes to win in regulation after trailing by two. The Canes are just the third team in NHL history to pull off this feat, one that hadn't been done since 1995.

When the Canes win at home, they do the "Storm Surge" at center ice, a Viking Skol chant where they, and the fans, clap their hands above their heads. I could feel my dad surging in spirit. To many, the word haunting signifies something scary, evil even. But it also means something that lingers in memory. The January 29, 2026, Carolina Hurricanes game will linger in my memory for years to come. Consider me haunted.