Barry Beck Remembers His Son

Former defenseman and New York Rangers captain Barry Beck experienced a tragedy in 2020 when his son Brock was killed in a violent altercation. Beck details his journey through grief in his upcoming book, 'The Cell.' The following is an excerpt from the book, with an exclusive introduction from Beck himself:

July 26 is just another day for most. For me, it’s a reflection of my son’s life: what could have been and the expectations we both had. Brock had found his direction through mental health and recovery at university. The future seemed to be endless, and he was excited for the path ahead. Then all was taken away with his senseless, violent death.

I try to focus on the many memorable occasions we shared, the laughter, love and our father/son relationship. It helps me to cope every day.

Sorting out my emotions has been beneficial. The guilt, rage and resentment that I was consumed by, they will eat you up and spit you out. You’re never the same, but you have choices to make: Move forward and try to serve however you see fit, or dwell in the loss of a loved one that is deep and personal.

I try to choose love over hate. This is a work in progress every day. My son’s life was my investment. All taken away. On July 26 I celebrate my son’s life and reflect on the caring individual he was. Healing is never easy but it may come if you allow it. It’s up to you. The simplest parts of life become so important.

I’m no doctor, but I’ve experienced trauma on the deepest level. If you’re trying to climb a mountain and get stuck in the middle, you don’t wait for help or you will fail. Finding another path up is essential to your healing. I’ve been in the middle of that mountain, questioning whether I can make it to the top – or if I even wanted to. Only you can make this decision.

My friends know the way I feel. They know I want justice for my son. There is no court, god or karma that will bring this; it’s only if I want to remain in the middle of the mountain or move upward.

Loving yourself is the single most important quality in my quest for healing. If I don’t, then hate becomes more important than love.

The years always go by fast the older you get. It was just another day home from work. It was summer and hot so I thought I might go down to the pool. My phone had been ringing but I just wanted a quiet day. Finally I picked the phone up at 1:47 pm on July 26, 2020.

It was my brother, Chris. When he said, “Barry!” I knew by the tone of his voice that something had happened. I thought it may have been about my mother.

Chris said “I’m driving, so let me pull over.” He began crying as he pulled his truck to the shoulder of the highway. I remember the words:

“Brock’s gone. He was stabbed and he’s gone.”

Chris was still crying.

“What do you mean, Chris, he’s ‘gone?’ Don’t tell me that!” I said.

“It’s true, Barry. Brock is gone. Kim’s been trying to call you but had to go to the hospital!”

I dropped my phone and put my head towards the ground.

“No. It’s not right. You have the wrong info, Chris. Please call Kim again. Please?”

I was 12 hours ahead in Hong Kong, so there was plenty of time to get it right.

“It’s true, Barry, Brock is gone!”

I was in shock but recovered enough to pick up my phone and listen. I couldn’t speak, just listen.

“The police are saying it was a road rage incident. They’re investigating now.”

“No Chris. It can’t be. No!” I said over and over.

Chris just listened to me moan and groan as I lay on the floor.

“Barry,” I heard him say, “Kim is trying to call you now. I’ll phone you back after Kim calls. She’s not doing very well.”

Chris hung up so Kim’s call could get through. As I waited, I moaned in agony. How could this be? The phone rang and I could hear Kim crying through the speaker. She was just sobbing. There was no talking for a while.

We both cried into the phone because it was all that we could do. Minutes flew by and the crying never stopped. I finally said "It will be okay. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

I don’t know why I said it will be okay. From the time Chris had called me, I didn’t believe it. I stayed on the phone with Kim and was trying to ask her questions, but she was too distraught to answer any of them. She finally put me on the phone with her boyfriend, John Belack. John was calmer as now the emotions were changing.

“The police won’t give me much details as they are still investigating," he said. "They don’t want me interfering by knocking on doors. I had already tried it once and the guy called the police on me!”

Your emotions can change quickly from, first, disbelief to, then, rage.

The news was already all over Canadian TV and radio, so it truly was real now. Brock was gone, but I would never believe it until I flew to Toronto and made my way to Binbrook, 20 minutes from Hamilton.

My phone was ringing now from work and friends. You’re in disbelief, but then the hammer comes down and wakes you up.

I took a taxi back home and then was whacked by all these different emotions. It consumes you in the first 48 hours before you can even breathe. Just waiting for my flight would be difficult enough, and then there were the COVID restrictions. Whatever it was, I was going to make it to Toronto and then see how I would get to Binbrook. All this time, while my colleagues Grace and Stanley were trying to put my itinerary together, you fall into a numb state. You can’t sleep, so you think a lot.

For me, it was the loss of my son. How could it be? How could it have happened when he had everything going for him? Who killed him? How many were there? Deep inside, I knew what I felt like doing – and that was to kill anyone involved. Just get there, I thought. That was my immediate goal. I had one day and a 15-hour flight to Toronto.

John had his hands full with Kim. Kim’s mother and stepfather were on their way from Nova Scotia. John had a trailer in the back of his house that they could stay in.

There was only one other bedroom in the house. That was Brock’s room.

The emotions you have run rampant. You just try to keep yourself together because there’s a lot more still to come. All the questions you have in your mind. It goes on forever. It’s like an out-of-control plane that keeps spinning and you have to stop it somewhere. If you don’t, it’s going to crash – with you in it.

Staying calm, I could fall back on my leadership skills as being a former captain of the New York Rangers. That is what I tried to act like and carry that presence with me at all times. I needed that strength and courage, including my faith, to ride this rollercoaster. Oh, I knew I would break at some point but then it was time to get up and start again.

So when I got off the plane from Hong Kong, that’s what I was ready for.

I stood around and waited a few minutes. I felt a quarantine bus was going to pick me up at any time and take me to a hotel, but it never came. A couple of minutes later, I saw a car coming towards me. He was dropping off a passenger.

I yelled at him “Hey, can I get a ride to Binbrook from you?”

“Sure," he said. "Hop in.”

Wow, I thought, it was great to be back in Canada! This is how you think. One minute trying to be positive, the next you’re realizing why you’re here. As we drove out of the airport, I noticed the driver adjust his rear view mirror. You notice a lot when your son has been killed. All your senses are heightened. The driver said to me, “Are you Barry Beck?”

“Yes,” I answered. I thought he might have been there to pick me up.

“I’m very sorry. I heard about your son on the news. My condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

This all seemed way too easy. We talked about what I knew of my son’s murder, which wasn’t much at the moment. He changed the conversation to the Toronto Maple Leafs, which even I knew in Hong Kong that they were struggling.

“Struggling” was a word I would become familiar with.

An hour later, we pulled onto Binbrook Road. I looked around at everything and took it all in. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. I got out of the car and thanked the driver. He had made my trip quicker and easier.

Kim came out of the house crying and jumped in my arms. She kept saying, “Brock’s gone, Barry. He’s gone!”

We just cried in each other’s arms. We didn’t want to let go and deal with the reality, so we held on. For us, this was a different ball game now.

I could hear a car pull up in the driveway. It was John. We met at his car in the driveway and immediately hugged.

“I’m sorry Barry, Brock’s gone,” he said.

We got dinner on the table, and I think we all leaned on one another for strength.

The two lead detectives would be coming over in the morning with any updates they had, and we had a lot of questions for them. We tried to have a family dinner as we all knew how difficult this road was. Our only son murdered. We didn’t have any other children. There was an emptiness that had us in its grip. A loss that no one could understand – not even us.

At dinner we talked of good memories of Brock and even laughed. The laughing was therapy for us, and we needed it. The laughing was Brock. We could hear him as if he was having dinner with us. Yes, he was gone, but spiritually you could feel him. It was as if we were waiting for him to walk through the door. He had a place at that dinner table and you couldn’t help but feel him everywhere.

After a couple of hours we decided to try and sleep. It had been a long day of travel for me, and everyone sleeps early in the country.

I was staying in Brock’s room. Kim hadn’t touched anything. I pulled my bag inside Brock’s room and closed the door. I started slowly going through his cabinets. I felt like I was invading his privacy, but it was too late for that. The police had already done their search of the house before I came. It helped me to stay in Brock’s room. I needed to be close to him. I could smell him on the blankets and I could feel him in the room.

I prayed that night before I tried to sleep. Prayed that he would have a safe journey. Prayed that there would be justice and prayed for revenge. I looked forward to meeting the police in the morning.

It would be a sleepless night.

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Excerpted from the forthcoming book, The Cell, by Barry Beck.