The following was written by Sheldon Kenny, Lyndon’s brother four months after Lyndon’s death. Sheldon’s story originally appeared in The Sheaf, the University of Saskatechwan’s student newspaper in March 2012. 

This past November I lost my brother Lyndon Kenny to suicide.

Lyndon was a very good hockey player. He was drafted by the Brandon Wheat Kings of the Western Hockey League and he was not only a highly-skilled defenceman and strong skater, but also the toughest person I have ever known.

His ability to scare opponents and produce game-changing hits and fights was unparalleled for someone of his age.

Unfortunately, this enforcer style of play made my brother vulnerable to multiple concussions and, therefore, more susceptible to depression.

Enforcers are the designated tough guys on a hockey team. Players in this role often struggle with depression not only because they suffer numerous and severe head injuries, but also because they must deal with the pressure of fighting almost every game in order to keep their spot in the lineup.

Lyndon was no exception.

My brother became addicted to alcohol and drugs at an early age. His addictions carried on through most of his life, even with multiple stints in rehab centres.

He was not a drug addict like those on TV shows, though. He hardly let it show in his personal life. He was the most loving and caring person I knew and was constantly looking out for others.

He struggled to explain his problems to me and our family, however, and for a long time he turned away from those closest to him — as the archetypal tough guy, he tried to cope with his struggles alone.

It was only recently that Lyndon came to understand that he needed help. He began to open up to our family and made an effort to guide me down a better path of life than he had taken.

He had been drug- and alcohol-free for two months before he took his own life on Nov. 1.

The depression and anxiety proved too much for him.

Only a few weeks before his death, Lyndon left a comment on a sports medicine website indicating his struggles.

“I’m 27 and have been on a serious decline since [my] early to mid teens,” my brother wrote.

“I have had hundreds of blows to my head since I was around age five. Most occurred from my reckless style of hockey throughout my teens. Here’s a list of symptoms I have — Lack or loss of knowledge, insight, judgement, self, purpose, personality, intelligence, opinion, reasoning, train of thought, motivation, relationships, thinking, humour, ability to process information and learn, organize, planning, communicating, finding speech, decision making, visualizing, interest, sensitive to sound, ears ring, trouble sleeping, head aches, PCS [Post Concussion Syndrome] etc.”

Lyndon’s comment ended with an appeal: “Protect yourselves and loved ones! What a scary situation. I feel so bad for my family.”

His final wish came in the form of an unsent text message intended for me. Lyndon wanted to have his brain donated to research at the Boston University School of Medicine so we could have the answers he had sought for years.

Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy

Lyndon was adamant that he suffered from Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE).

He knew everything about it and the pursuit of the answers he needed led him to many medical professionals who could have helped him. However, he was extremely frustrated by every doctor’s complete refusal of his claims and he was angry with himself because he felt like he could not explain to them exactly how he was feeling.

It has recently been released that legendary professional hockey players Bob Probert and Derek Boogaard both suffered from extreme cases of CTE, which is no doubt directly related to their roles as enforcers.

When a team needs something to give them a momentum boost, enforcers are counted upon to go out and get a big hit or to get in a fight. This physical playing style leads to more blows to the head, resulting in concussions.

But the evidence does not stop with Probert and Boogaard. Rick Rypien and Wade Belak both died by suicide this past summer after lengthy battles with depression. Both players played a tough game and they no doubt suffered many concussions.

While we have yet to hear the results of the tests performed on Lyndon’s brain at the Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy in Boston (now the UNITE Brain Bank), it is obvious looking back at all the conversations we had and the symptoms he listed that he had battled with CTE for a long time. Update: Lyndon Kenny was diagnosed with stage 1 CTE at the Brain Bank.

Sadly, there is no known way to reverse the effects of concussions. Even sadder is the fact that CTE can only be diagnosed after death.

As of 2009, only 49 cases of CTE have been researched and published by medical journals.

However, the Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy recently began a clinical study of over 150 former NFL athletes aged 40-69 and 50 athletes of non-contact sports of the same age, all of which are still alive and participating in sport. The goal of the study is to develop methods to diagnose CTE before death, which can hopefully lead to a cure in the future.

The future

After witnessing my brother go through all he did, all I want is to see a higher level of understanding for concussions. They can be deadly.

The cultures of all sports, not just hockey, need to change to adjust for this growing problem. Most importantly, the stigma of being the one to leave a game due to a concussion needs to stop because, in hindsight, the ones who take a step back and admit that there is something wrong are the tough ones.

I would be lying if I said I was not scared for myself.

I’ve played a lot of hockey in my life, have suffered a number of hard hits to the head and have been knocked unconscious twice.

In the past few years I have dealt with depression and anxiety and, although it can’t be proven, the fact that they may be a result of my concussions is a very real possibility.

I have also started to notice that I am dealing with some of the same symptoms that my brother felt he was experiencing. I have noticed a loss of personality, intelligence, motivation and humour. My ability to learn and communicate has decreased and I have had trouble sleeping.

I hope for my own and my family’s sake that I am simply reacting to the loss of my brother, but right now I cannot be certain.

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call. If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, consider using the Lifeline Crisis Chat.

If you or someone you know is struggling with lingering concussion symptoms, ask for help through the CLF HelpLine. We provide personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide and may be triggering to some readers.

Eric was a truly caring, sensitive soul, with the very best sense of humor. He was charismatic, handsome, and fit, with a great smile. Most who knew him personally were in awe of his athleticism, which was only rivaled by his determination and competitive spirit. He was a naturally gifted athlete from the time he could walk and picked up any sport with enviable ease. After his professional hockey career, he would often joke about joining the PGA Tour, if he could only spend every day out on the golf course. For so long, sports were his life, and he had a love for them like no other. Playing them, watching them, understanding them. Even the earliest baby pictures show one-year-old Eric with either some sort of ball or a hockey stick.

Looking back at old photos, it’s hard to find many without Eric, an adorable little towhead, in a Whalers or Bruins jersey, or Red Sox hat and coat. Eric’s later success in sports came from more than just natural talent though. He was dedicated and willing to sacrifice more than most could have, or would have been willing to, at such a young age. He truly loved the game of hockey, and it was a huge part of his life from the time he was two years old.

He attended Providence College on a full athletic scholarship, where he met his soon-to-be-wife, Caitlyn. He was drafted in the third-round of the NHL draft at the ripe age of 19. The world was truly his oyster. After graduating PC, he went on to play professionally in the minor leagues for four seasons. By the end of his hockey career, Eric was ready to move onto the next chapter. He and his wife welcomed two of the most beautiful babies into the world. They were Eric’s biggest joy in life and what I think he was most proud of. His love for his children was apparent to all, and Eric couldn’t wait to teach Zoey and Ty how to play the sports which had brought him so much joy. We all thought he would transition from world-class athlete to world-class coach, even if only to his kids.

From the outside, life looked perfect – beautiful wife, two amazing children, a picturesque home, good job, and a rascal of a dog that was Eric’s best bud. However, unbeknownst to most, Eric was secretly struggling. What first manifested as depression and severe anxiety turned to issues with anger, impulsivity, drastic mood swings, drugs, and alcohol. The issues became less of a secret as, what we now know to be the effect of a lifetime of concussions, had more serious consequences. It happened somewhat slowly at first, with some debate as to how serious his issue with alcohol abuse was, or whether the depression could be more appropriately medicated, but seemed to accelerate over the last few years.

Eric tried to cope in whatever ways he could, but what seemed manageable at first spiraled out of control and eventually took over his life, and consequently our family’s lives. Before our own eyes, we witnessed Eric’s kind soul be taken over by demons that seemed determined to destroy everything in his path. We all lived in fear of the next proverbial shoe to drop, leaving us to help clean up the pieces of another mess.

Between the ups and downs of rehab, hospital visits, doctor appointments, accidents, jail stays and ICU admissions, there were glimpses of the man we once knew – the man we were all so desperate to get back. The most heartbreaking moments were when Eric himself seemed to realize something was drastically wrong but was powerless to change it. Those who loved him most were unrelenting in their attempts to help him, but the progressing disease was equally determined to push people away. Watching Eric turn into a person who was unrecognizable left our family shattered and completely helpless, literally on our knees praying for a miracle. Eric didn’t want to be the person he had become, we know that, just as we know he was scared and suffering more deeply than we could have imagined.

After years of struggle, Eric left the world on his own terms by taking his life at just 38 years old. The pain of losing him has been extremely difficult; it has left our family shattered. While Eric physically left this Earth on April 26, 2021, those who really knew and loved him had been grieving him for much longer. In an effort to understand our own experience, and possibly help others, we chose to donate Eric’s brain to the UNITE Brain Bank. The results confirmed what we all suspected: Eric was suffering from stage 1 CTE.

There was nothing anyone could have done to make things better for him, which was the hardest part. Our Eric, who had once filled so many lives with joy and happiness, could no longer face the every day struggle stemming from this irreversible disease. He fought a long battle, every minute of every day. Eric loved his family more than life itself, and while his struggles pulled him away from them, that love will live on eternally. The irony of the fact that the sport which brought him immeasurable joy, also resulted in this level of pain does not escape us. We only hope he has now found the peace he was so desperately seeking, and that his donation will help to find treatment for others suffering from this disease.

This article adheres to the Suicide Reporting Recommendations from the American Association of Suicidology.

Sometimes even warriors need to ask for help.

On August 16, 2019, Colin Meany, known as “Patches” to family and close friends, took his own life at the young age of 17 after a two-year battle with significant post-concussion symptoms. It wasn’t until after his tragic death that his family and friends learned the extent of the pain he had been suffering in silence.

Colin was a very popular teenager just a week away from starting his hockey career at the University of Scranton. News of his suicide rocked the Jersey Shore community. Within hours of his death, hundreds of people gathered at a candlelight vigil near his home. Overwhelming emotions of inconsolable grief and shock filled the community. How could Colin Meany, a confident, outgoing student athlete, who always seemed so happy, decide to end a life that seemed so amazing? His own closest friends, who were with him just hours before he died, could not believe what had happened. Later, they began to realize how Colin’s life was deeply impacted by his concussions.

Even the veteran Major Crimes Detectives and other police officers who responded to the Meany home were affected by Colin’s death and discussed how “this one just doesn’t make any sense.”

In a clear and well-thought-out letter to his family and friends, Colin expressed his frustration with his post-concussion symptoms and pain that he fought silently as an athlete. He wrote about his fight with depression and anger for the two years since his concussions. He believed no doctor or medication could help him. He kept those feelings to himself, so others weren’t able to help him find resources for his pain.

Unfortunately, just like so many other athletes, he never fully understood that his painful daily struggles were not uncommon for someone healing from his injuries. Research has shown a link between concussion and suicide risk, with one study finding those who suffer a concussion are twice as likely to take their own lives.

The first concussion

Almost exactly two years earlier, on Labor Day Weekend of 2017, 15-year-old Colin suffered a concussion while playing in a junior hockey game for the Jersey Shore Whalers. Immediately upon speaking with Colin, his father Mike says he knew Colin sustained a significant concussion. During the car ride home Colin told his father it felt like his brain was shaking in his head and he appeared as if he were intoxicated. Without delay, Colin’s parents brought him to a concussion specialist affiliated with a well-known and respected medical center.

During his initial assessment, Colin revealed he sustained what is now believed to be a previous concussion during a game just two weeks before this more severe concussion. When asked by his father why he hadn’t said anything about the prior injury, Colin replied, “I just wanted to keep playing and I knew if I said something I wouldn’t be able to play.”

Approximately three weeks later Colin expressed to his father for the first time in his life thoughts of depression. He texted saying, “This is driving me crazy. I can’t fall asleep, I’m depressed over nothing and it’s just making me mad.”

Colin continued to see the concussion specialist and was medically cleared to return to the ice, which is all he wanted. He once told his older brother Jack he felt his best when he was out on the ice.

Colin returned to play the sport he was so passionate about. He had been playing ice hockey since he was five years old when he started with the Old Bridge Junior Knights. After finally being cleared to play again, he returned to play for the Jersey Shore Whalers and continued to play with his teammates and friends on both the Jersey Shore Wildcats and his high school team at Saint John Vianney High School.

During that time, Colin’s headaches and inability to sleep continued. His parents brought him to a highly respected neurologist who was known for helping patients, including military combat veterans, with post-concussion symptoms. Colin was prescribed medications for the severe headaches.

By all accounts the brief period of depression had been resolved. When repeatedly asked by his parents and during numerous subsequent doctor visits, Colin always denied having any symptoms of depression. None of his family, many friends, teammates, or coaches would have described Colin as depressed or potentially suicidal.

After his death however, Colin’s friends described that after his concussions, Colin would continuously fall asleep in class and would often leave loud parties early (Colin never wanted to miss a party). He would also sometimes want to leave the beach due to the bright sunlight that would cause him to have severe headaches. But he never complained or asked for help.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, suicide is a complex public health concern, and there is no single cause. Suicide is often preventable and most often occurs when stressors and health issues converge to create an experience of hopelessness and despair.

After Colin’s death, his parents also learned he was texting himself sports-related motivational reminders. It became apparent he knew he needed help but tried to cope on his own.

The hockey community comes together

Suicide impacts communities in profound ways. The outpouring of love and support from the hockey community after Colin’s death was a true testament to his character. More than 1,000 people including so many young men wearing their hockey team jerseys attended the funeral services for their beloved teammate. The young men all described Colin as a tough, gritty, and loyal teammate who always had their back on the ice and made them laugh on bus rides and in the locker room. Even members of rival teams paid their respects and described Colin as a well-respected opponent.

In such a sad and obvious way, the faces of the young people, just like the faces of so many others who attended Colin’s services, were the same. They all showed overwhelming emotions of grief, fear, and confusion. Once again so many people attending the services said, “this just doesn’t make any sense.” Colin kept his struggles to himself.

“Colin was a tremendous teammate and always played with high energy and tenacity,” said Hugh Donoghue, one of Colin’s youth hockey coaches. “Colin was a skilled goal scorer and always found the back of the net when our team needed it the most. I will forever remember his smile and enthusiasm. We were down a goal or two in a game and he said to me don’t worry coach, we got this. True to form he tied the game up and assisted on the winning goal. Colin was beloved and respected by his teammates and coaches.”

Mick Messemer, the current and long-time head ice hockey coach at Saint John Vianney High School who coached Colin for years, described Colin as “one of the best teammates to ever put on a Lancer uniform, regardless of sport.”

“Colin’s love for his school, program, and teammates both on and off the ice will live on forever,” Messemer said.

He also noted that Colin’s work ethic to be the best player he could be was well respected by the locker room and coaching staff.

Even a long-time Jersey Shore hockey referee felt compelled to talk about Colin. Paul Murray described how he spent many hours on the ice with Colin as a referee.

“I enjoyed them all and had so many conversations in between whistles and face offs,” Murray said. “He was genuine, he was funny, he was tough. He was a great kid on the ice, and I enjoyed every interaction with him.”

The Meany family continued to see an outpouring of love and support.

On October 27, 2019, the University of Scranton Ice Hockey Team played the New Jersey Institute of Technology in a Colin Meany Charity game. At the game, Colin’s parents Mike and Karen Meany and his older brother Jack were presented with the #2 Scranton Royals Jersey.

On November 20, 2019, the New Jersey State Policemen’s Benevolent Association Hockey Team played the Saint John Vianney Alumni Hockey Team in the First Annual Colin Meany Memorial Hockey Game. The game was organized by Dan Tacopino, captain of the PBA team who also coached Colin at Saint John Vianney.

There were more than 600 people in attendance to watch the emotional pregame puck drop ceremony when Colin’s father dropped the puck with the PBA Team captain facing off against Jack Meany.

“Colin Meany is one of those kids that you would want on your team,” Coach Tacopino said. “Every sprint he would want to be the fastest, every drill he would want to come out on top, every shift he would want to score or make a big play, and every game he would want to win. Concussion is a serious topic that cannot be overlooked. The fact that Colin put his health aside to assure the team would be successful will show you his dedication and unselfishness he had toward the game he loved. We as coaches, parents, spectators and friends need to assure the health of our athletes. We know a lot of kids who are competitive in their sport and are willing to keep going after an injury. The brain is not a muscle that can recover like a torn tendon or a bruised muscle. You cannot put a cast on your brain or do a certain exercise to rejuvenate it. The brain is a delicate part of the body that needs to be taken more seriously. Colin was a tough athlete and showed no injury. The only time he showed it was when he took his own life. Missing a practice, missing a shift, missing a game can be the difference to a life altering decision. I was Colin’s coach for four years and he always wanted to be the best to ensure his team would be successful. Colin was the true meaning of grit, strength, toughness and heart.”

“Meany was a true warrior,” Jersey Shore sports reporter John Christian Hageny wrote about Colin after the memorial game. “A tough, hard-nosed forward who left it all out on the ice… Injured shoulder in final of the Shore Conference Handchen Cup but kept playing for his SJV team… was a real pleasure covering this young man, rest easy Colin.”

The Meany family wants to thank everyone for their love and support since Colin’s passing. They hope no family has to feel their same unthinkable sorrow. They are pleading to those who are courageously and unselfishly fighting through this battle to speak up about their pain. Mike, Karen, Jack, and Colin’s friends, teammates, and coaches have raised tremendous support for CLF to help prevent future tragedies like Colin’s. We are honored by their generosity after incredible heartbreak and vow to continue to raise awareness, support patients and families, educate the public, and advance research in Colin’s honor. To make a gift to the Concussion Legacy Foundation in Colin’s memory, click here.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call. If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, consider using the Lifeline Crisis Chat.

In August 2021, Colin’s friends honored him

On Sunday, August 8, 2021, many of Colin’s friends and teammates gathered at a basketball court near Colin’s home for a dedication ceremony for a memorial bench in Colin’s name. The basketball court is a place where Colin would often go to work on his agility skills, always striving to be the best hockey player and teammate that he could be.

It is important to understand the manner in which our father lived his life: his compassion for others, his ability to meet a stranger and make a friend, and his devotion to family and friends defined him. Our father was born in Sokolce in 1940, then a part of communist Czechoslovakia. At the age of 8, his aunt and uncle visited to ask if they could adopt Stan and raise him in Canada. Stan’s mother, Amelia, and father, George, refused. Then came the miscommunication that would change the course of Stan’s life: the hungry 8-year-old came in to ask for a snack. When Stan was sent back to bed without his snack, he cried. His parents thought he was upset because he wanted to live in Canada, so they changed their minds and let him go. That small moment set in motion a series of events that greatly impacted our dad’s life.

When he arrived in Canada, Stan did not speak the language. He looked different than the other kids and he was not with his “real” family. Even though he was 8 years old, he was placed in a Kindergarten classroom due to his lack of English language skills. He was bullied, he was called a DP (displaced person, a great insult), he had no friends, and in his mind, he didn’t have his family.

In the midst of that great loneliness, he found the game of hockey, which would go on to become a great joy of his life. While our dad’s professional hockey accomplishments were many, we are most proud of his legacy of giving back and caring for others.

Those early moments upon his arrival in Canada made a lasting and profound mark on our dad. He learned what it was like to be alone in a world full of people, and how to reach out to others who felt that way. Our dad was a husband, father, and grandfather who fiercely loved his family above all else. A friend who would always lend a hand and never missed an opportunity to pull a prank. A kid from Czechoslovakia who never forgot the sacrifices his parents made, his feelings of being different and left out or his humble beginnings. A selfless Chicagoan who felt a duty to give back. A human who saw other people with differences as simply that – people.

As a father, he taught us by example about acceptance, compassion and patience, often reminding us that it doesn’t cost anything to be nice to people. He stressed that everyone is equally worthy of respect and kindness; that people are more alike than they are different. Our dad would ask us if we wanted to go to a track meet or a visit a hospital with him. He never qualified these outings as doing charity work or made note that some of the participants would be mentally, physically or medically challenged. We were just going to cheer some people on. We accompanied him to be “huggers” at the Special Olympics when he helped start the program in Chicago. When our dad and Uncle Irv founded AHIHA (American Hearing Impaired Hockey Association) in 1973, we were all involved from the beginning, helping any way we could. AHIHA is still going strong, fielding the US Deaf Olympic Team. The next generation of Mikitas, the grandchildren, continue to support the program by volunteering on and off the ice. Many of our good friends are AHIHA families. On Thanksgiving we would go to Larabida Children’s Hospital to play and have lunch with the kids and their families.

Several years ago, our father began declining mentally. Almost overnight, our mother’s partner of 52 years was mentally gone but physically still here. Our loving father and doting grandpa was suddenly confused and different from the person we knew.

This new journey was a change for all of us. As a family we decided that it was important to share news of his dementia. Our public statement was met with sorrow, understanding, compassion, love and support for both Stan and our family. We knew we were not alone in this journey, ours was just going to be a little more public than most because of Stan’s name and notoriety.

This is not a path any family foresees for a loved one, but it is, unfortunately, one that unites many of us. One amazing revelation was that once people knew that Stan was suffering with dementia, almost everyone who reached out to us had a family member or loved one fighting the same battle.

Because of the way our dad lived his life, during the end of his life, we were supported and loved by so many of the people he had touched. Friends, former teammates and rivals, kids he visited at schools and hospitals, old neighbors and strangers all reached out to offer comfort and share memories.

In keeping with the way he lived his life as a giver, it was our father’s idea to donate his brain to the UNITE Brain Bank upon his death. He made his wishes abundantly clear, and as he said in his book, “This is a serious issue, and I am willing to be part of a test group. While I’m alive, I will gladly cooperate with the investigation of post-concussion syndrome. It’s the least I can do.” He visited Boston in 2013 to undergo baseline testing with Dr. Stern. He knew this was not diagnostic testing and he would not be receiving any medical treatment to help his memory loss, but that this information would be able to help others in the future. He told our sister Meg after the testing, “I told them they could have my brain, but not yet, I’m still using it.”

Our dad ended his book, Forever a Blackhawk with this quote, “By now, I thought for sure that I would be forgotten. Instead, I am still being remembered. How lucky can a guy be?” We were lucky to have him as a dad and friend, and we are honored to continue Stan’s wish to give back.

-The Mikita Family

Jill Mikita – wife

Meg Mikta

Scott Mikita

Jane Mikita Gneiser

Chris Mikita

Nick was a vivacious child and a charmer. He was always a balance between rugged and sensitive; shy and intense; carefree and caring.

He grew up surrounded by his family, making memories with his brother, cousins, and friends whether it was playing games in the backyard, golfing, fishing, kayaking, visiting the White Mountains of New Hampshire, Chatham, the Caribbean or trips to Disney World, where he went more times than he could count!

Nick kept the people he liked close and was fiercely loyal to his family and friends. He was always there to lend a helping hand, watch sports, or just hang out.

Some of his earliest and closest friendships came from hockey, which was his passion from the first time he put on a pair of skates.

When he looked in the stands, he always saw his mom there and often other family members cheering him on. He could always find his dad watching rink side, near the goalie net because he wanted the best view of Nick when he scored a goal!

Nick carried with him his father’s voice booming: “Skate hard!

Nick played with grit and determination. He was never afraid to go up against larger opponents and battle it out in the corners. In early adolescence, he suffered two significant concussions that we sought treatment for.

But the extent of Nick’s head trauma was not limited to those two diagnosed concussions. Later in life, Nick revealed to his family how he had his “bell rung” more times than he could remember. He never considered these incidents as concussions or told us about them when they happened.

Nick hid the physical and emotional pain he was in from others. His friends never knew what he was going through and, initially, neither did we. But his suffering began to manifest in ways we could pick up on.

We noticed he had immense difficulty sleeping and was plagued by waves of headaches. He didn’t tell us when his head bothered him, but we could tell he was in pain when he had to step away from TV or video games.

His mental health also declined as he entered his early 20’s. He had mood swings. He lost his motivation and his sense of drive. He began to isolate from others and showed signs of depression.

Nick was seeing a family doctor and began seeing a therapist. There was reason for optimism from how the sessions were going. But even after seeking help, we still saw Nick suffer from many of the same problems.

On September 7, 2020, Nick died by suicide at the age of 22.

Upon Nick’s death, we donated his brain to the VA-BU-CLF Brain Bank. There, researchers found Nick did not have CTE, but said he could have eventually developed the disease later in life. Researchers also reported Nick had damage to his frontal lobe, and had brain bleeds deep inside his brain. They noted those types of brain bleeds were greater than expected for his age and may be related to his repetitive head impacts.

Our goal in sharing his story is to highlight the connection between brain trauma and suicide. A 2018 study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association found those who were diagnosed with concussion or mild TBI were twice as likely to die by suicide than those who had not been diagnosed with a concussion or mild TBI. A 2019 study from the University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston found teenagers with a history of concussions reported having thoughts of suicide and feeling sad or hopeless at higher rates than teenagers without a history of concussions. The more educated players, coaches, and parents can be about the signs and symptoms of concussion, the safer our kids can be.  If you notice a change in behavior on or off the ice, speak up!

Something happened in Nick’s brain that we do not fully understand. But with more research like the work being done at the UNITE Brain Bank, we hope to prevent another family from going through the unbearable pain of losing a child.

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you. Click here to support the CLF HelpLine.

This is the story of my brother and best friend Drew.

Andrew ‘Drew’ Mulligan, was born on June 15, 1993. It wasn’t much longer after that day that Drew met the love of his life: the sport of ice hockey. Being 4 years younger than Drew, I don’t remember a time where his schedule did not revolve around practices or games. I know it’s cheesy to say but he really did eat, breathe and sleep hockey. Even towards the end when things got bad, hockey always put a smile on D’s face. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Drew played hockey his whole life, spending weekends traveling with his teams and weeknights practicing. His senior year of high school, he lived with our aunt in Pennsylvania so he could play juniors hockey. He took online classes before returning back to our local high school when the season ended. Drew graduated from RHAM High School in 2011 and then went away to North Carolina to attend High Point University.

Everything seemed to be going well for Drew. As hard as it was saying goodbye to him and adjusting to being an only child, he was happy. He quickly made friends and started to get serious about his school work. But, when I think of High Point now, one story comes to mind… one where his concussions impacted him off the ice. He was playing basketball with friends and fell, hitting his head. Luckily one of his friends from home also went to school there and he called her. Obviously, when you hear someone hits their head, it is a given that they are in a lot of pain. However, his speech was slurred and he wasn’t making much sense. This is when I began to realize how damaging head trauma is.

I always knew Drew had a history of concussions. At a very young age, he got his first one during a game. Being 6’4” and scrappy, Drew was always the first to jump off the bench to defend his teammates or run his mouth and antagonize his opponents. Being the “enforcer” comes with lots of responsibilities, but in Drew’s case, it also came with a lot of concussions.

To be honest, I am not sure just how many concussions D had in total… sometimes I felt like a simple bump of the head brought on symptoms. Sometimes, I think he wouldn’t say anything because he didn’t want to be taken out of the game. But, it wasn’t until the last concussion that made brushing them under the rug impossible.

I will never forget where I was when I got the phone call saying that everything changed for the first time. He had come home from college his freshman year and joined another junior hockey team in Massachusetts. I was at my friend’s house when the home phone rang for me. It was my mom. I always had a fear of not being at Drew’s game in case something happened. 9 out of 10 games he was ok… This game he wasn’t. Someone checked him, but it was not a normal check. The other kid’s stick was pushed against his chin, popping Drew’s helmet off. When he landed, his head hit the boards then the ice. My mom had said he was coming home after going to the hospital.

When he came home, he was out of it and in a lot of pain. His last memory was being hit, but he completely forgot the process of going to the hospital and getting home. After going to the doctors, they told him that his brain damage was so severe, he was never to play a contact sport again. This is when his worst nightmare came true and mine started.

After that hit, Drew was never the same. For weeks, he sat in a dark room refusing to talk to anyone. Yes, he was in pain from his concussion… but I think that what hurt more was losing hockey. Desperate to get back on the ice, he used to hide his hockey bags in the bushes in hopes my mom didn’t see.

I find it hard to verbalize who Drew was, because quite honestly, I have never met anybody like him. He was kind, but protective. He was smart, but an idiot at the same time. He was capable of being serious, but preferred not to be. After a bad day, I would come home to his freckled-face and goofy smile and no matter my mood, laugh until tears rolled down my cheeks. He made everyone laugh. Underneath his 6’4″ stature, Bauer jacket and exterior “game face,” lay a heart of gold. He would do anything for anyone if they just took the time to ask. He did everything for me. Most of what I know today, Drew taught me. Most of who I am, Drew inspired me to be.

After that hit, the Drew I knew was not there anymore. His whole demeanor changed. Drew scored a 2100 on his first attempt at SATs. However, simple things that once were easy for my intelligent brother to accomplish became frustrating. School work that I used to ask him for help with became so challenging for Drew, I found myself tutoring him. He became irritated a lot faster, snapped a lot quicker and smiled a lot less.

With this being said, Drew attended trade school to become an electrician and graduated top in his class. The work, though harder for him, got done. Concentrating, which was again more difficult, was accomplished. He did it. He started playing men’s league, which was non-checking, and reintroduced hockey into his life. He got hired by a local electrician shortly after and started working immediately. He loved it. I was so proud of him. I thought things were looking up for Drew and I had high hopes that his new-found success was enough to keep him here. I so badly just wanted him to be happy.

However, on February 17, 2016, Drew died of suicide. This was when my life changed forever. The pain is indescribable and every day it consumes me.  It has been over a year and I still can’t understand why or how… “why did he leave, how am I never going to hug my brother ever again, why didn’t he say something that night, how am I going to live life without my best friend?” I will never get any of these questions answered.

Drew used to tell me that he knew his brain was not working and that there was something wrong. He said he could feel himself being incomplete. He felt his brain change. I so desperately wanted to help him or give him answers myself. However, at the time, there were none.

However, after deciding to donate Drew’s brain, some of my family’s question found clarity. His brain was diagnosed with chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) as well as Post-Concussion Syndrome. The more I learn about CTE and PCS, the more I answer Drew’s questions. I wish I could call him and tell him he wasn’t crazy… that the changes and confusion he was feeling, he was not alone in feeling. Maybe he would still be here today if he had the answers.

My brother’s death was my worst nightmare that every day I wish I could wake up from. But I know I never will. With this being said, what my family and I went through is something that another family should never have to experience. Drew’s death is a reminder of how important safety and observation is. No matter how bad they want to get back on the ice or field, don’t let them until they are ready. No matter how much they love the sport, no game is ever worth saying goodbye.

Although Drew’s earthly journey has ended (far too soon), his passing continues to teach me things every day. I now realize that brain injuries are not something to mess with. Although the consequences can be life-altering, if you realize the severity and the potential dangers, avoidance is possible. So, if you or anybody you know suffers from similar conditions, please please please seek proper medical attention for the sake of you and your family. Had Drew known then what I know now, things could be different. Regardless of circumstances, Drew has always been and will always be my big brother–partner in crime–bodyguard (at least he’d like to think so)–role model, but most importantly–my very best friend. I know he walks beside me each and every day and I feel blessed to even have had the opportunity to have him in my life for the time that I did. We’ll always be together in mind & in spirit, jamming to our favorite song… “Like an ocean you can’t see, but you can smell…but I do know one thing, where you are is where I belong.”

Since his passing, our family and friends have been committed to spreading the word of CTE and brain injuries. Each year we host an annual golf outing in his honor. All proceeds are donated to Boston University and the brain bank to further research and hopefully help other families.

However, I do not want his death to be the only thing his legacy stands for. I want my brother to be remembered for the happy, loving, wiseass he was. I want memories of Drew to bring smiles to people’s faces. I want Drew to be remembered as the real Drew, who he really was before CTE. With this being said, I want his absence to serve as a constant reminder to all…

No matter how much they love the sport, no game is ever worth saying goodbye.

Love you always, D

Continuing the Legacy

A five-year follow-up to Drew’s story, written by Karly Mulligan

Time is a funny thing. These past five years have managed to feel like five minutes and five decades all at the same time. It was right around five years ago that I sat down to write my original piece about my brother’s story and my family’s decision to donate his brain to CLF. A lot has changed in this time but my intentions for writing and sharing my brother’s story have remained consistent a half decade later. As is the case for many of the Legacy Donor families, the decision to donate your loved one’s brain was not an easy one. There is not a day that goes by where I do not miss him. However, personally, I think this was one of the best decisions my family and I could have made. There is power in education and knowledge. Those who suffer or suffered from brain injuries as well as their friends and family are not alone and are heard. And the efforts put forward by CLF as well as the Legacy Donor families are all striving towards making stories like my family’s no longer needing to be told. I am honored to be a part of such an amazing movement.

When I first lost my brother Drew, my baseline knowledge for concussions and the effects of brain injuries was limited. Drew was a hockey player who was labeled as an “enforcer”, so fights and concussions were not foreign concepts to me. His protective nature translated on and off the ice and his first documented concussion occurred in youth hockey at a very young age. While I knew what a concussion was, something much bigger was happening right in front of my eyes. I understood only what he was able to express to me about his symptoms, but never knew what those symptoms spelt out. As my knowledge grew, the more I was able to make sense of what my brother was describing. The headaches, the inability to focus and remember things, the irritability… it all started making sense. And while the diagnosis was not an easy pill to swallow, I personally felt like this may have been one of the last gifts I could have given my brother. This was validation for him. What he was describing was something real. What he was feeling was valid and had a medical catalyst behind it. What he struggled so hard to explain and express was finally labeled – stage 1 (of 4) Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy and Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS).

While I knew the diagnosis did not change that my brother’s life was over, it did spark something inside of me that has since shaped mine. Selfishly, I admit I was and still am worried that his memory will be forgotten. But, more importantly, I am worried that his passing would be in vain. As I involved myself in the CLF, it became apparent to me very quickly that my brother’s story is one that many people can relate to. My family’s grieving was one that so many others are also experiencing. Friends and teammates of my brother’s too started expressing eerily similar symptoms and experiences. I knew that even if it would touch one person who read my piece I wrote on my experience with CLF as a donor sister, then it was worth it. I applaud each and every person that has had the courage to share their stories as they truly do make a difference. The more we talk and share, the more educated people will be. This is in locker rooms, on the side lines, at dinner tables. This is looking out for friends, family and teammates being an advocate for them. This is knowing that brain trauma is real and that there are resources out there. This is knowing you are not alone and that foundations like CLF are here to help. This is knowing your story and experiences matter and your voice can make a difference.

Through finding my voice, I was fortunate to have others who also shared the same mentality as me. Family, friends and those closest to Drew also agreed that in addition to donating his brain, there was more we wanted to do to contribute. My family is forever grateful for the support we have received and continue to receive because we could not have done it alone! We have held six annual Drew Mulligan Memorial Golf Outings, which is a great day for charity as well as a conversation starter in Drew’s memory. A group of families who have been friends of ours since the start of hockey have been beyond instrumental with making that day happen. In addition, teammates, friends, teachers and supporters show up each year to not only celebrate the life of Drew, but to play golf in the name of concussion research. Each year, the proceeds are donated toward CLF and we look forward to continuing to do so. I have been fortunate enough to attend a few CLF Galas, which highlight all the progress that has been made in both education, prevention and resources available.

The progress made in the last five years alone has blown me away and motivates me to continue. I am excited to see where things will be in another five years let alone decades later when my kids and grandkids are playing sports. And above all, I am hopeful.

Thank you so much for reading!

Bob Murdoch was born on November 20, 1946, in northern Ontario, Canada, the youngest of three siblings. Growing up in a small community, his family embraced an outdoor lifestyle filled with activities like baseball, football, skiing, and hockey. From an early age, Bob developed a passion for hockey, becoming exceptionally skilled at the sport.

Though he had the chance to attend an American college, Bob chose the University of Waterloo in Ontario, where he played hockey alongside his childhood friends and earned a dual degree in Mathematics and Physical Education. His contributions to the school were later recognized when he was inducted into their Athletic Hall of Fame.

Known as “Mud” on the ice, Bob represented Team Canada and was later signed by the Montreal Canadiens, launching a remarkable 22-year NHL career that included two Stanley Cups. He played for several teams, including the Los Angeles Kings, Atlanta Flames, and Calgary Flames. After retiring as a player, Bob transitioned to coaching, leading teams such as the Flames, Chicago Blackhawks, Winnipeg Jets, and San Jose Sharks. His coaching prowess earned him the Jack Adams Coach of the Year award in 1990 for his work with the Jets. Bob also fulfilled his dream of coaching internationally, for six seasons in Germany, as well as some Olympic and World Championship events. At age 55, Bob decided to retire to spend more time with his family.

Bob married in 1972 and had four children from his first marriage. In 1986, he married his current wife, Bev, with whom he had two more children. Bob was a devoted husband, father, and grandfather, leaving a lasting positive impact on everyone he met. His infectious smile, quick wit, and playful humor endeared him to many.

In addition to family time, Bob enjoyed traveling, fishing, gardening at his summer cottage, cross-country skiing, and playing old-timers hockey.

Around the age of 65, Bob developed atrial fibrillation, a condition which ran in his family. He began experiencing vivid dreams of fighting other hockey players and, after struggling with snoring, eventually got a CPAP machine for sleep apnea. Despite these health issues, Bob did not connect them to dementia or CTE.

In 2017, a memory test showed Bob scored 30 out of 30, reassuring the family there were no immediate concerns. However, in late 2018, a neurologist noted some irregularities in his movement and suspected mild Alzheimer’s disease. Subsequent MRI and PET scans in mid-2019 led to a diagnosis of probable Lewy Body Dementia and Alzheimer’s. Although CTE was discussed, it could only be confirmed post-mortem. Given Bob’s lengthy career in contact sports, the family suspected CTE might be a factor.

Despite the diagnosis, Bob remained resilient, continuing to travel and spend time with family. In early 2019, he underwent a right knee replacement and worked hard to return to old-timers’ hockey, but after just two games, he suffered a shoulder injury that ended his playing days.

Though Bob’s cognitive abilities remained stable, both his neurologist and family doctor advised him to stop driving due to worsening eyesight. He had always struggled with vision issues, stemming from a “lazy left eye” diagnosed at age five, and despite two major eye surgeries, his vision did not improve.

Over time, Bob became quieter and less his usual witty self. He stopped driving both his car and boat, and in 2020, the difficult decision was made to sell their cottage. They relocated to Canmore, Alberta, closer to medical facilities and family support. This transition felt like a series of losses, not unlike grieving.

By the summer of 2021, Bob’s condition had deteriorated significantly. Sleep became elusive, and he experienced frequent awakenings and violent hallucinations. It became necessary to place him in a private care facility near his home, with support from the NHL Alumni staff during this challenging transition.

Bob entered long-term memory care in January 2022 but was hospitalized for over three months due to rapid progression of his illness. Despite never being aggressive, he exhibited threatening behavior during episodes, leading to police involvement. In the hospital, Bob faced confusion and worsening delusions. After a fall which resulted in a broken hip, he was transferred to a complex dementia care facility, where he never walked again.

On August 3, 2023, the family was called to be with Bob due to a GI bleed. He passed away later that day at the age of 76, surrounded by loved ones, filling the room with warmth and love.

Following his passing, Bob’s brain was donated to the UNITE Brain Bank for research. By March 2024, the neuropathology report revealed severe brain atrophy, CTE stage 3 (of 4), Lewy Body Dementia, Alzheimer’s disease, and TDP (ALS). The family expresses gratitude to the Boston University CTE Center and the Concussion Legacy Foundation for providing closure and a deeper understanding of Bob’s illness, knowing their research will help save lives in the future.