Both my parents passed away while I was playing professional hockey in Japan. I was 4700 miles from home. Both times. And both times, I never told anyone.

My dad died on Mother's Day, 1997 — a heart attack, no warning. I was in Tokyo. I flew home for the funeral, consoled my mom, and flew back to finish the season.

My mom passed on December 14, 2003. I'd flown home twice that season thinking it was the end — she bounced back both times. The third call was the one.

The team knew. Nobody pushed. I just kept playing. My wife told me recently that I didn't call her for 24 hours after my mom called me about my dad. I don't remember it that way. But I trust her.

The irony: I'm now the person athletes call when they can't handle something alone. I'm the Goalie Therapist.

This video is about what athletes actually do with grief when the season doesn't stop. The good, the bad, and the ugly of compartmentalization.