Ryan left no note or indication that he would be leaving us on that evening in November and we will never know his thoughts or the circumstances of that horrible day. Ever since, our lives have been filled with tears, anguished thoughts and tortured questions; and while his diagnosis was a very important answer that provided clarity for us as a family, it could not provide closure.
Ryan was always gifted athletically both on and off of a playing field. He was voted MVP of both his high school basketball team and his Tarheel football team in 1997, his senior year. Ryan's position at UNC was offensive left tackle #79. According to Wikipedia, the 1992 season was the start of UNC's most successful period since the late 1940s. The Tarheels finished in the final rankings in four out of five years, including two straight appearances in the top 10. Games were often packed to capacity. While at UNC, Ryan played in the Gator Bowl, Sun Bowl and Car Quest Bowl and a long list of Ryan's teammates went on to play in the N.F.L.
His death came on the heels of a twenty year downward spiral. My family fought valiantly to obtain resources and support for an issue that was essentially an enigma at that time. Nobody talked about C.T.E. or even hinted that playing college sports could contribute to health problems down the road. I'm almost certain that none of the coaches or other smiling people present the day Ryan signed to play had a clue. It was a happy day which was followed by several happy, exciting years as the entire family embraced all things Carolina Blue.
Ryan's symptoms began immediately after graduation from college. His initial post collegiate years were punctuated by instances where he was mislabeled, misdiagnosed and misjudged. Toward the end, I believe that Ryan's trials left him feeling depressed and locked in a cycle that he couldn't break despite trying everything. Over his lifetime, we all collectively tried too many times to count to find help from physicians, therapists and hospitals, all to no avail. The debilitating headaches, insomnia and seizures plagued his everyday and made things unbearable. The young man that was so admired for his dry wit and joking manner all but disappeared from our lives as his struggles became more prevalent. C.T.E. kept robbing Ryan until toward the end of his journey, he couldn't even keep track of essential things such as a mobile phone, keys or the many "lists" that he constantly had to keep around. As life became more disappointing to Ryan due to unhappy circumstances that were manifesting, he eventually dropped many of his former friends and became more comfortable with acquaintances he met on the street whom he perceived as "real" people that weren't "fake". At the time of his passing, Ryan was voluntarily homeless because he preferred living on the streets due to his self-perceived feelings of being a burden to friends and family. Nothing could have been further from the truth for us, but his final illness had progressed to the point that none of us were dealing with a brother, a son or a father any longer. When you spoke to Ryan, you were speaking to the disease that was strangling his thoughts and contorted him into a college graduate that couldn't focus enough to keep track of his license, which ultimately delayed his identification at the scene of his final accident and the call that I received from the Haines City Police Department 24 hours later to inform us of his tragic death.
Our family unanimously moved to honor Ryan's last wish to donate his brain to the Boston University Research CTE Center. Thanks to the work of the doctors and scientists at The Institute, the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place several months later; Ryan was diagnosed with Stage 2 C.T.E. postmortem.
