The tragic deaths of Johnny and Matthew Gaudreau will leave an irreplaceable hole in the hockey world's fabric.
There's a psychological term we use called "flashpoint memory".
It means you remember where you were when you saw or heard a big news story.
I'll certainly never forget where I was on January 26, 2020, when Kobe Bryant passed away, and March 11 that same year, when the world changed forever due to COVID-19.
My parents would point their fingers at June 17, 1994, when O.J. Simpson led the nation and the world on a chase through the streets of Los Angeles.
But today is different.
As broken by ESPN and multiple outlets earlier this morning, Columbus Blue Jackets forward Johnny Gaudreau and his brother, Matthew, were killed in a bike-car crash.
And thus, today, we sit stunned.
We sit heartbroken. We sit mourning.
As a hockey fan, I first heard the name Johnny Gaudreau burst onto the scene when he was with the high-flying Calgary Flames of the early 2010s.
Sure, Sean Monahan and Sam Bennett may have stolen the spotlight in some games, but when Johnny Gaudreau played, you knew where he was at all times.
At just 5-foot-9, he would dart effortlessly up and down the ice, stick-handling like a newborn Patrick Kane, and score at will on hapless goaltenders.
He brought a newfound flair that not many American-born forwards had done, but he also played with joy and happiness. Gaudreau never seemed to be fazed by the big moments, but he welcomed them, and he took advantage of them.
That's why when the puck drops in a few weeks, there will be a massive hole left in our hockey community.
There will never be another who played the game with as much joy, with as much flair, and as smoothly as Johnny Gaudreau.
Johnny Hockey forever.