Renee Hill studied her son’s face as she sat next to his body in a Calgary funeral home, just as she often did when he was alive. She’d memorized each expression through the 23 years of his life.
She saw him embarrassed as a seven-year-old when he tried to swing from his Buzz Lightyear ceiling fan, like Woody did in his favourite movie, and it all came crashing down.
She saw him beam with pride when he struck out batters as a pitcher in little league, where he was nicknamed Vida Blue. She saw him fall into dreams, as he slept with a football tucked beside him.
She witnessed the dejection when he broke his arm during his final season at Michigan State, and when he returned home after being released from camp with the San Francisco 49ers.
She saw his face full of joy as he played with his two young nephews.
And the look of renewed hope when he told his mom he was heading to Canada to continue his football dream last spring.
But now her son was dead.
Mylan Hicks was murdered outside of a Calgary nightclub in late September, in front of several of his teammates with the Calgary Stampeders. Hicks was in his first season as a defensive back on the team’s practice squad. On Sunday, the Stampeders will face the Ottawa Redblacks in the Grey Cup, still mourning the loss of No. 31.
That morning, as Renee Hill stared at her son through tears, she was haunted by the gun violence that she’d tried to protect him from as she raised him in Detroit. Now, in Calgary – a place she thought was safe – her son had been murdered in a senseless act of rage.
But in the midst of her rising agony, she says, the expression on her dead son’s face seemed to speak to her one last time, as though in his last breath he thought of her and knew the burden she was about carry.
“It was a signal to me,” says Hill. “‘Ma, there was nothing you could do.’”
It was difficult for her to process that message, having fought so hard for so long to keep her son safe, but she soon found herself relaying it to one of his teammates, who wept from the belly as he told her he’d held Hicks as he fought to breathe. She felt him crumbling and, as a woman of deep faith, said a prayer for her son’s teammate. Later, Hill addressed the entire team and told them that, as difficult as it was to accept, her son had died for a reason. That some good would come out of the tragedy; that he took a hit for the team and that it was his time to go.
“That woman is a soldier,” says Josh Bell, the Stampeders’ veteran cornerback. “She picked us up. And when I say picked us up, she gave us a kickstart and kept us rolling.”
Hicks never played a game for the Stampeders, but his impact on the CFL’s Western Conference champions has been profound. The undrafted defensive back earned a spot on the team’s practice squad at the start of the season and quickly ingrained himself within the fabric of the tightly knit group, with his relentless work ethic and generous personality.
Ever since he was a teenager he referred to the work he put in on and off the field as “character mode.” It meant he was focused and driven and nothing was going to stop him. As a member of the Stampeders practice squad, Hicks quickly earned respect for his commitment to that standard. He tried to outplay everybody in each drill, and afterwards he studied the footage from scrimmages for hours to find ways to improve.
He was generous and kind off the field, often taking time to feed the homeless in Calgary with his roommate, Osagie Odiase. The two met during the Stampeders tryouts in Florida and quickly bonded, agreeing to bunk up if they both made the team. They had five channels on the TV in their modest apartment – and when they weren’t watching sports they’d binge watch Marco Polo on Netflix.
The two rookies fit in easily with the experienced vets, who let them know that they were just as important to the Stamps as any of the players in the organization. They grew close with their teammates throughout the season. They were Stampeders, and proud.
After Hicks was murdered, Odiase left a light on in his room each night and laid out his old jersey, some Michigan State t-shirts and a binder full of plays. But he decided the best way to honour his friend was to stay in “character mode” too. When he hit the field, he ran that much faster and hit that much harder.
“I go to practice and work hard everyday, the way 31 worked hard every day,” says Odiase, who played a handful of games with the Stampeders this season.
Like Odiase, many other Stampeders found passionate inspiration within the grief and shock of the murder of their teammate.
As the team pushed towards the Grey Cup, Hicks was with them. He was in the locker room, where his jersey still hung in his stall. He was on their arms, in black bands they wore to honour him. And on Josh Bell’s face, who painted on his initials during a game. He was on Jamar Wall’s back, who has worn his number 31 since his death. And when Calgary beat the B.C. Lions to earn a spot in the Grey Cup they took a moment in their celebration to stop and honour their fallen teammate.
This week, Odiase packed up all of his former roommate’s items and brought them with him to Toronto. He plans to give them to Hill. She’ll be at the Grey Cup with her family, watching her son’s team play for the championship. And as she does, she’ll cling to the belief that there was some purpose in the tragedy that robbed her son of life.
She’ll think about the foundation set up in his memory to help youth in Detroit follow their dreams, like he did – and of the first recipient, who will be announced next week.
She’ll think about the lives of his teammates on the field, wearing his number, forever changed because him.
And at some point on Grey Cup Sunday, Hill will type the message on her phone that she did everyday when he was alive, and has everyday since he’s been gone: “I love you son.”
Then she’ll scroll back – past each unanswered text she’s sent – to that final time in late September, when Hicks replied to his mom the same way he always did. She’ll read those last words, and once again he’ll speak to her.
“I love you too.”
