When tragedy strikes in college sports, it lands with a kind of silence before the shock. It’s the pause in a group chat, the unread message you stare at twice, the moment you instinctively say “Wait—what?” because your mind needs a heartbeat to catch up. That’s how it felt learning that two young women’s soccer players, Lauren Turner and Mia Hamant, had passed away within weeks of each other.
It felt impossible. Because in our world, this is SO not normal. Thank God this is rare.
But when it does happen, everything stops and nothing really makes sense.
The story of Lauren Turner has been sitting heavy with me. She was just 19, a sophomore at Cal State Fullerton which feels local as a resident of LA. She was just riding scooters with a teammate near campus one night in late September. A collision with a box truck left her in critical condition. She fought for nearly six weeks. Her teammates described her as the funniest, most charismatic, most loving person on the roster—the kind of teammate who makes long bus rides shorter and training days lighter. The kind who walks into a room and lifts everyone else’s shoulders an inch higher. Those are the players teammates never stop talking about, even years later.
And then there’s the heartbreaking news out of Washington. Goalkeeper Mia Hamant. Another young woman whose life ended far too soon after a hard-fought battle with kidney cancer. Another program grieving. Another team learning the awful truth that no one is prepared for this. Two losses so close together is something this sport has rarely had to process.
ST LOUIS, MISSOURI – NOVEMBER 9: A general view during a moment of silence for Washington Huskies goalie Mia Hamant who passed away after a battle with kidney cancer before the finals of the 2025 Big Ten Soccer Championship against the Michigan State Spartans at Energizer Park on November 9, 2025 in St Louis, Missouri. (Photo by Jeff Curry/Big Ten/University Images via Getty Images)It feels unprecedented because it is.
We’re a community of competitors, but we’re also a community of sisters. There is a reason the response to these tragedies feels immediate and instinctive—teams halfway across the country posting tributes, rival programs sending flowers, alumni checking in on players they haven’t spoken to in months. This sport has always been built on something deeper than formation lines and final scores.
I can’t think about moments like this without thinking about Katie Meyer. When Katie died in 2022, the shock of it moved through the women’s soccer world like a tidal wave. Her death forced an overdue reckoning with mental health in college sports. It changed the language around stress, anxiety, identity, and pressure. It inspired universities to hire more mental-health professionals, pushed coaches to create safer spaces, and gave athletes permission to say what they had been holding inside.
Katie’s legacy is that players today are more supported than players a decade ago. And yet, even with that progress, we are reminded that we still don’t have every answer. We don’t always know why tragedies happen. We don’t know every burden someone carries. But we do know this: when the unimaginable happens, the women’s soccer community shows up with everything it has.
That is what makes us extraordinary. Community literally is our superpower. Not the wins or the championships or the highlight-reel goals. It’s moments like this, when everything is stripped down to what matters, and what remains is love, compassion, and a kind of unity that defies logic.
We will remember Lauren. We will remember Mia. We will remember Katie. Their stories don’t disappear because their seasons ended. We carry them with us—not as headlines, but as reminders of how precious these young athletes are.
Tragedy may be rare here, but the way we show up for each other is not. And that, ultimately, is what keeps the heart of this sport beating even in the heaviest moments.