My name is Ida Ekholm. I’m writing not just as the wife of Mattias, but as a woman who has lived and breathed this season alongside all of you — through the adrenaline highs, the sleepless travel nights, the tears behind closed doors, and the unshakable pride that comes from being part of something bigger than yourself. I know my voice is only one among many, but after this incredible journey — and this painful ending — I felt compelled to write you. This is my open letter to Edmonton.
Let me begin with the hardest part: the loss. Game 6. The way it ended. There are no poetic ways to wrap pain in a bow. There are no metaphors strong enough to soften the silence of that final buzzer, the heartbreak on every player’s face, or the quiet walk back to the locker room when dreams don’t come true. In a city that breathes hockey and in a year when everything felt possible — this hurts. Deeply. Viscerally. It hurts in a way only people who truly love something can understand.
I watched Mattias walk off the ice with his shoulders squared, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize the weight behind that posture. He wanted this — for his teammates, for the city, for every child in an Oilers jersey yelling his name from the glass, and for every person who believed when belief didn’t come easy. This team gave everything. And still, we came up short.
But while the pain of losing is raw and real, it is not the whole story.
The story I want to share is one of love. Of community. Of gratitude. And of belief in what comes next.
When Mattias was traded to Edmonton in February of 2023, we were leaving behind everything familiar. Nashville had been home. We had routines, friendships, favorite cafés, and years of memories. I’ll be honest — I was scared. Uprooting a family in the middle of a season is never easy. The logistics are one thing. The emotional shift is another. You wonder if you’ll find your place. If you’ll be welcomed. If your kids will adjust. If you’ll feel at home again.
And then… we landed in Edmonton.
From the moment Mattias pulled on that Oilers jersey, something shifted. It wasn’t just a new chapter — it felt like destiny reaching out its hand.
You welcomed us like we’d been here all along. From the fans who shouted kind words outside Rogers Place, to the neighbors who shoveled snow without asking, to the women in the WAG community who opened their hearts and their homes — I found my place. And our children? They fell in love with this city before they even understood the full meaning of “home.” They wore orange and blue to school with pride. They knew the chants. They danced in our living room every time Daddy blocked a shot. Edmonton became more than a stop in a career. It became a part of our family’s story.
So many nights, I sat in the stands, holding my breath as the team clawed back from deficits, celebrated shutouts, and rose from slumps. Hockey isn’t just a sport here — it’s a lifeline. I’ve seen it on the faces of fans — generations standing shoulder to shoulder, from little ones with painted cheeks to grandmothers wearing Gretzky’s name like a badge of honor.
This playoff run was magic. You all felt it. The noise. The hope. The fire. I’ve never experienced anything like Rogers Place during the playoffs — the kind of electricity that makes your hair stand on end and your heart feel like it’s beating out of your chest. Every goal felt like a heartbeat. Every block, every save, every hit — it mattered.
And when the Oilers went down in the series, you didn’t give up. You never gave up. Edmonton is a city built on resilience — and that resilience showed up in every game, in every crowd, in every sign taped to a child’s bedroom wall.
I remember watching the team in the locker room after one of the losses earlier in the playoffs. The mood was quiet, but it wasn’t defeated. They were hurting, yes — but also burning with the need to respond. And they did. Over and over again. Because that’s what this team does. That’s what this city does.
Mattias has played in a lot of buildings. He’s worn a few jerseys. But never — and I mean never — have I seen him play with the kind of joy and freedom and pride that he has in Edmonton. He has found something here — in this city, with this group, in front of these fans — that is rare. Something sacred.
I wish you could see what I see behind the scenes. The quiet leadership of guys who never seek the spotlight. The way the team celebrates together and holds each other accountable. The way young players lean on the veterans, and how veterans like Mattias never take that responsibility lightly. The brotherhood is real.
And behind every player is a family. I’ve stood with other partners and wives during the long nights and the longer road trips. We hold each other up. We raise kids together. We cheer, we cry, we pack suitcases, we change flights, we wipe tears. The Oilers family is just that — a family.
When Game 6 ended, there was a long silence in our home. The kind of silence you don’t want to interrupt. It wasn’t just about losing the Cup. It was about the finality of it all. The fact that this team, this exact group, will never be the same again. That’s the bittersweet truth in sports. Each season is its own story, and no matter how many pages remain unwritten, when the last whistle blows, it ends.
But the beauty of this season doesn’t live only in the outcome. It lives in the journey. In the comeback against Vancouver. In the shutout in Game 4. In the moment the Oilers stormed back to force a Game 6 when everyone thought they were dead in the water. In the way the city painted itself in orange and blue. In the way my son fell asleep in his Oilers pajamas, whispering “Daddy’s going to win the Cup.”
We didn’t win it this year.
But please know this: the Cup is not the only measure of greatness.
You showed us what true fandom is. You showed my children what passion looks like. You showed my husband what it means to be truly supported — not just in wins, but in effort. In heart. In the bruises and battles and quiet sacrifices that no camera sees.
To the Oilers organization — thank you. You’ve given Mattias purpose, growth, and a home he didn’t know he needed. You’ve given us lifelong friends. You’ve given our kids memories that will shape them forever. You’ve given me strength in a season that tested all of us.
To the teammates and their families — what a ride. We laughed until we cried. We cried until we laughed. And I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it. Thank you for letting me be part of your lives.
And to Oilers Nation…
Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for your noise.
Thank you for raising your voices when it mattered.
Thank you for your flags and your horns and your late-night honking caravans down Jasper Avenue.
Thank you for being the heartbeat of this team.
We see you. We hear you. We carry you with us.
Next season will come. And there will be changes, heartbreak, surprises. But there will also be hope. Because this team has tasted the fire, and they’re not walking away from it. They’re walking toward it.
And we’ll be right there with them.
I’ll leave you with this — something I whispered to Mattias the night before Game 6:
“No matter what happens, you’ve already won something that can’t be taken away. You’ve won the hearts of a city.”
To Edmonton — our second home — thank you for everything.
We’ll be back.
With love, pride, and hope,
Ida Ekholm
Let me know if you’d like a shorter version, or one adjusted for posting on social media.
