There comes a point in life when you realise you’re not just losing time — you’re losing people.
Not in one dramatic moment. It happens gradually. Someone you worked with for years passes on. Another name becomes a memory. Another familiar face is no longer around. You don’t notice it at first, until you look back and see how much smaller the room feels.
In football, I’ve experienced that more than I ever expected.
You lose the good ones, the steady ones, the people who were never chasing headlines but somehow held everything together. You also lose people you didn’t always agree with. Some were difficult. Some made mistakes. Some rubbed you the wrong way. With time, though, you understand them better. You see the pressure they were under. You recognise their contribution. And eventually, you forgive.
Last week, we lost Patricia 'Pat' Modeste.
Pat was part of Trinidad and Tobago football for more than three decades. She worked as an office administrator and secretary with CONCACAF and the then T&T Football Federation (TTFF), and she lived through every high and every low with us. Different administrations. Different officials. Different eras.
They don’t make people like her anymore.
She also served in the office of former TTFF special adviser Jack Warner, and regardless of who you were or where you stood, Pat always tried to help. She had a soft touch, a calm way of dealing with people, and a genuine desire to make things work. Many of us learned more from watching how she handled people than from any manual or meeting.
Before Pat, we lost Raymond Tim Kee, a former TTFF president who helped start a resurgence of the national game in 2012, before he lost the presidential elections in 2015 to David John Williams, who also passed on. His impact was made with the creation of W Connection, which is no longer on the professional football circuit. Before both of them, Oliver Camps, former 1989 team manager and TTFF president, another figure deeply tied to our football history.
We lost national team managers George Joseph, Sam Phillip, and Neil Mollineau. I worked with all three during important moments in national team football. Different personalities, different approaches, but all committed in their own way.
We lost Ikin Williams, the kit manager who was part of the 1989 and 2006 World Cup journeys. One of those behind-the-scenes people you only fully appreciate when they’re no longer there.
This year, we also lost Leo Beenhakker, the man who led us to the 2006 World Cup. His legacy is obvious, but what often gets overlooked is how much belief he gave a small football nation at a crucial time.
But loss in football hasn’t only come from administrators and staff. It has come in some of the most painful ways imagined through players.
I still remember 2001. We were in camp at the Cascadia Hotel. We went to sleep as normal and woke up the next morning to the news that Mickey Trotman had died in a motor accident. It was a reminder of how quickly life can change, even in the middle of preparing to represent your country.
Years later, we lost Akeem Adams, Shahdon Winchester and Michael McComie, all taken far too soon. Those losses hit differently. Players aren’t just colleagues, they’re young men with futures, families, and dreams still unfolding.
Beyond the football space, the losses keep coming. This week, we lost Sharma Basdeo, a man who left behind a clear legacy. Condolences to Jenny Sharma and their two children, who will continue to carry on that legacy.
We also said goodbye to Danielle Diffenthaller, singer Susan Maicoo, and media pioneer Jones P Madeira, among others, people many of us grew up watching, listening to, and learning from. Different fields, different platforms, but all part of the fabric that shaped who we are.
We lost Lennox “Bullet” Pilgrim of the Southern FA, Muhammad Isa and, most recently, Dr David Iloo, my family doctor for over 40 years and St Benedict’s College team doctor in the early 1990s. Not everyone’s contribution is on the field, but all of it matters.
And now, Shaka Hislop, one of our modern-day heroes, is battling cancer, a reminder that even the strongest figures are still human.
When you line up all these names, it forces reflection. How do we make sure their impact isn’t lost with time?
The answer isn’t statues or speeches. It’s remembering how they worked, how they treated people, how they handled pressure, and how they served. It’s telling their stories while we still can. It’s respecting experience instead of discarding it. It’s understanding that history, in football and beyond, isn’t just results. It’s people.
And maybe the simplest lesson of all is this: don’t take the people around you for granted. Especially loved ones, family, and those who have been there with you, even if you wanted more from them, or expected things to be different.
You don’t realise how much people shape you until they’re gone. The circle will get smaller, whether we like it or not. What matters is whether we carry forward the lessons of those who stood in it before us.
I’ll leave you with a scene from the Rocky movie that has stayed with me over the years. Trainer Mickey, older, worn, having already lost so much, tells Rocky that no matter how many people you lose along the way, there still has to be a reason to keep plugging away. He speaks about how people sometimes die when they no longer want to live, and how, little by little, life takes away your friends, your strength, almost everything, until you reach that point where you ask yourself what the hell you’re still living for. 'Little by little, we lose our friends, we lose everything. We keep losing and losing until we say what the hell am I living around here for,' Mickey said. And then he looks at Rocky and says that with him, he had a reason to go on. That he would stay alive, watch him make good, and never leave him.
Maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. We keep going not because the losses stop, but because the people who mattered gave us something worth carrying forward.
