Justin Hall

With memories of dad in tow, Jesuit football player bids touching farewell to the sport

Jesuit High Schools Jacob Hall has had numerous injuries that have sidelined him at the end of his high school football career. His father, Jesuit teacher and coach Justin Hall, suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or CTE, caused by concussions during his football career which including college at Notre Dame. The neurodegenerative disease culminated in his suicide four years ago. Moments before their game against Vista del Lago on Saturday, April 17, 2021, Jake shows a table that honors his father on campus at Jesuit High School in Carmichael. Xavier Mascareñas [email protected]

 

Jake Hall stops by the table most every day, to reflect, to wonder what was and what might have been.

The Jesuit High School senior will also look to the heavens and speak in spirit to the driving force in his life. It’s the silence of no response that pains Hall the most. The nameplate fixed to the campus structure is a memorial marker for his father Justin Hall, a beloved teacher and football coach at the school for nearly 20 years. He died in 2017.

Hall is closing in fast on graduation and the start of the rest of his life. It will be a journey that will no longer include the highs and rigors of his favorite sport. That adjustment is difficult to accept. Hall was deemed as Jesuit’s best player by Marauders coach Marlon Blanton, and one of the school’s top scholars with a 4.3 grade-point average. He is also perhaps Jesuit’s most courageously strong individual.

“What an incredible person Jake Hall is, just wow,” said Jesuit’s longtime football public address announcer, Tim Fleming.

“This season,” Hall said in soft tones, “has been the hardest, the most painful, but also in some ways the most rewarding. I know I’ll never play football again, but I know I have teammates and coaches who care.”

The spring football campaign started with the 6-foot, 170-pound Hall bounding into the mix with visions of touchdown receptions, crushing tackles on defense and playing small-college ball in Southern California. The season was marked by searing agony, of surgically repaired shoulders getting torn apart in a game against chief rival Christian Brothers. His screams on that cool March 26 night in Oak Park reverberated in a Christian Brothers stadium half full due to the pandemic.

On April 17, Hall was back in uniform, incredibly, but he was a shell of his playing self. He caught the ball on the first play from scrimmage against Vista del Lago on the Marauders’ home turf and hustled out of bounds. He had to get out of harm’s way, his shoulders too battered to do much more. The play was by design. Coaches from both sides agreed to this move of sportsmanship and closure. Some two hours later, the contest ended with Hall taking a knee for the Marauders in victory formation to cap a 56-42 triumph. He was embraced by coaches and teammates, and later family, a memorable Senior Day if there ever was one.

Hall said this all comforted him, a good thing, because he cannot escape the hurt. His heart hurts. His surgically repaired shoulders hurt. His pride hurts. He visited that memorial table an hour before his football grand finale, wearing his familiar bright red No. 29 jersey, relieved that his body has waved the white flag, but saddened also that he cannot continue his father’s college legacy.

“I’m honored, touched, and proud that my dad had that sort of impact on people, and that people miss him, because I sure know that I do,” Hall said, sitting at that table. “I think about him every day, at every game, on every play. He’s the reason I love this game. He continues to give me strength. Dad went through his own injuries and pain, and it was something years later that he really struggled with. That’s the saddest part. We couldn’t help him or save him.”

Losing a coach/father/mentor

Coach Hall died by suicide on Nov. 27, 2017, shortly after coaching his oldest son in junior varsity football. Jake Hall believes his ailing father held on long enough to be able to coach him before he lost his will to live.

Coach Hall helped anchor two state championship teams in high school in football-mad Texas and grew into a mountain of a man at 6-foot-5 and nearly 300 pounds. He met Jen at Notre Dame and they married after relocating to Sacramento. She worked in the football office, handwriting letters to recruits.

Coach Hall told Jen before his death that he was worried about his own behavior, his irrational thinking. Their final six months together were not easy. He was emotional when he told her, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He feared he was slowed by countless football practice and game collisions — concussions — as a Notre Dame lineman, a run that included the 1988 national championship under coach Lou Holtz.

Coach Hall told Jen he wanted to have his brain studied after he died at Boston University for Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, a degenerative brain disease found in athletes with repeated blows to the head. Coach Hall lived long enough to see his son earn team MVP honors on the junior varsity. He was found days later in the family garage, before Hall and his two younger siblings, Caleb and Abby, got home from school.

As traumatic as it was, Jen said it would have been a great deal worse had the kids found him first.

“We learned that Justin had Stage 3 CTE, really bad, and the fact that Justin was even functioning at all was amazing,” Jen Hall said. “I was in Seattle for a work trip when I got a call from Jesuit that Justin hadn’t come to school for work. I knew something was terribly wrong. At that moment, you know life is changing for our family, and you shift into survival mode: get to the kids, take care of them, hug them, love them — and do the best to explain it to them.”

She paused and added, “Jake as the oldest has been amazing. He’s handled it so well, as have his siblings. Proud of all of them. Jake has been outspoken about mental health, and we wonder and wish his dad had done things differently. But his brain was damaged. It’s frustrating and it hurts because we want things to be fixed.”

Jen Hall speaks openly about CTE. She doesn’t avoid the topic with family or friends because she understands the CTE toll families.

“We don’t know how to fix CTE without not playing sports at all, but we know what leads to it — blows to the head,” she said. “CTE hurts more than just the player. It hurts everyone who knows and loves that player.”

Letting him play

Jen was worried about Jake playing football. Concussions happen in this sport, certainly, and her son never played cautiously or in slow motion. He was a full-bore. player His father coached him to compete like that.

Imagine, then, Jen’s anguish when she watched her son writhe in pain against Christian Brothers. He landed awkwardly on his left shoulder, and the force tore through seven titanium anchors that held the shoulder together from previous injuries. As Jen stood stunned in the stands, hands on her face and her eyes welling with tears, she was most moved by teammates and coaches rushing to console and comfort her boy. She also didn’t want to be the sort of mom to scale the fence to rush to his aid.

“It was the most painful moment of my life, because it made me think of my dad, that loss, not having him when I needed him, and then knowing I was badly hurt,” Jake Hall said. “I was screaming because I knew football was over for me, that it was finally over. It all hit me at once. My shoulder had already been dislocated 15 times in high school. Just too much. It just can’t handle it any more of this game. My body was telling me to give it up, and that’s hard because you want to play forever.”

Hall caught his breath and added, “I was lying there on that field, my mind a blur. I’m thinking of what my dad might say to me, and then coach Blanton grabs my head, looks me in the eye and tells me, ‘It’s OK!’ That was a special moment. He was right. It was going to be OK. I needed to hear that. All things considered, I was OK.”

Jen views football differently now.

“I used to watch football for fun,” she said. “Now I watch to make sure everyone is standing up after plays. That’s the evolution of a football mom. When Jake went down against Christian Brothers, it became surreal. Oh, he’s not hurt. Then you realize it’s your son, and you hear him in horrible agony, and you know he’s there playing for his dad. It wasn’t just a game. His career was ending. It was surreal and sad.”

The return

With the blessing of his family doctor and his mother and coaches, Hall talked his way back into playing one final set of downs, to exit the sport on his terms. No tackling, no blocking allowed.

Jen watched from the bleachers, as she always has. This time, the tears were for the end of a playing era. She said she was at peace knowing her son was able to walk away from the sport before it dictated the terms. Blanton was emotional in talking about it.

“Jake’s a Marauder through and through,” he said. “He means a lot to the school of Jesuit. He’s more than a football player. We wanted to honor him any way that we could in this final game.”

Jen Hall said in her home, her three kids talk openly about their father. They don’t hide any sense of shame. Brain trauma happens, and suicides happen, sadly.

“I never wanted to pretend that their dad didn’t exist,” Jen said. “Sometimes, suicide is so painful to talk about, to deal with it. We let it out. We talk about it in our house.”

She added, “There was a lot of good about Justin. I was always so proud of him as a coach, for making such a difference for so many kids.”

After a moment, she added on any perception that her husband was selfish in taking his own life, “When someone has that sort of brain damage, they’re not in their right mind and their brain is simply not functioning properly. For anyone to judge a man like Justin for what he went through and did is highly inappropriate. I’m no mom of the year winner, but I do my best, and they’re thriving, happy kids. And we’ve learned a lot, that life really is a journey and it’s how you handle things.”

Making dad proud

Jen said she was touched members of Notre Dame’s 1988 title team attended Justin’s funeral services in 2017. Players hugged her and comforted her and the kids. Younger son Caleb is a 15-year-old freshman who wore his father’s old No. 73 this spring season. He is a large kid at 6-foot-4, following in his father’s size. Jen will not prevent Caleb from playing in the trenches, never mind the dangers. Older brother Hall is writing a research paper for school on CTE. He said the rewards of football still outweigh the pain of the sport.

“You have brothers and memories to last a lifetime,” Hall said. “Football is about life, and I’ve had a good one.”

He added, “We know that football is much safer than it’s ever been with concussions. My brother knows this. I tell him to be aggressive in football but to be smart and safe. It’s OK to leave the game if you feel like you’ve taken a shot to the head, or to avoid someone going for your head. That doesn’t make you a coward. It makes you safe and smart. I’m proud of him. Dad would be proud of him.”

Hall said the table bearing his father’s name was a surprise donation from his best friend, Ronan Brothers, through an Eagle Scout project. Hall recalled a moving conversation with his father, weeks before his death.

“He sat me down and told me that if anything were to ever happen to him, that I needed to take care of mom and the younger siblings, to be there for them, to be strong for them and for me,” Hall said. “I thought maybe he was talking about if he were in a car accident or something. I didn’t understand the depth and meaning of what he was saying, but I do now. I’m grateful for the time we had with dad, our special bond, and I will always be inspired to do the best, to be the best I can be, and I will. I’ll make him proud.”

 

Evan Hansen

Evan Hansen was an all-conference linebacker and captain for Wabash College football. He worked hard to get good grades. He had a girlfriend. He was well-connected on campus. He was fluent in Spanish and after Wabash planned to work in healthcare in Latinx communities. It would be easy to forgive someone for believing Evan Hansen’s life was perfect.

But Hansen’s father Chuck has a different word to describe the final months of his son’s life.

“It was like an imperfect storm,” Chuck said.

Chuck and Mary Hansen first noticed their son’s athletic prowess when Evan confidently and stably walked across their living room. He soon became a crib escape artist, foreshadowing a life full of adventure.

Evan’s athletic exploits easily translated from the nursery to the field. In youth soccer, Evan’s advanced coordination and speed often led him to enter halftime with more than 10 goals to his name.

He started playing tackle football when he was in the third grade. His natural gifts and fearlessness immediately earned him a role as a do-everything running back and linebacker.

Mary says Evan was “all in” with whatever he did. Tackling was no exception. The family rarely saw a ballcarrier push Evan back for extra yards after first contact. Evan suffered one diagnosed concussion at Guerin Catholic High School when he took a knee to the helmet that left him unconscious on the field for upwards of ten minutes. Outside of the missed time from the concussion, Evan rarely missed a snap.

Many mornings after games, Evan clocked in to work the counter for Joe’s Butcher Shop in Carmel. With an enormous grin on his face, he greeted customers by first name as they entered the store.

“He was humble and unassuming,” Chuck said. “You would have no idea the night before he had 15 tackles and ran for 100 yards.”

Evan’s generosity and kindness weren’t reserved for customers. The book of Evan Hansen is full of stories of service to others.

Evan once finished football practice and rather than going home to rest, stayed at school to encourage a friend who was competing in their first cross country race. The friend finished last by several minutes but crossed the finish line to see Evan as animated as if they had won the Boston Marathon.

After graduating from Guerin in 2015, Evan received a scholarship to play football for Wabash College, a Division III powerhouse. Hansen arrived on campus intending to study Biology and Spanish and, as he told his parents, “light it up” in fall camp so he could earn playing time immediately.

His star shone bright almost immediately. He quickly catapulted up the Wabash depth chart and became the starting middle linebacker as a freshman in 2015. He recorded 67 tackles for the Little Giants on their run to the Division III quarterfinals.

“His tackling was how he got noticed right away,” Chuck said. “When he saw a hole, he knew someone has to fill it.”

Evan recorded 209 tackles in his first three seasons for Wabash. He was never diagnosed with a concussion in college. In hindsight, the Hansens believe Evan had regretfully mastered the art of “shaking it off.”

“He had mashed fingers, knee injuries, back injuries and all kinds of scratches and bruises,” Chuck said. “For him to make a tackle and to feel a little dizzy or disoriented, I think he just figured that that was part of football.”

Evan was never at the top of his class by sheer knowledge alone; he had always been able to put in the work to achieve the grades he wanted. But after the fall term in 2017, Evan told Mary he was struggling emotionally and with his schoolwork.

“’I’m depressed and I have no idea why I’m feeling this way,’” Mary remembers Evan saying.

Evan’s admission shocked his family and those close to him. The Hansens responded by taking Evan to doctors who prescribed different therapies and medications to manage Evan’s depression.

Temporary relief came when Evan went abroad to Spain for his spring term in 2018. He thrived in Wabash’s pass/fail grading system for students abroad. His days were spent traveling and honing his Spanish. Mary joined Evan at one point in Europe and saw her son rejuvenated.

“I think our concerns kind of disappeared,” Mary said. “We thought he just needed a change of scenery and a little bit of pep in his step to finish his senior year.”

Evan returned to the U.S. and completed an internship as a translator for Mansfield-Kaseman Health Clinic near Washington D.C. before returning to Wabash. He was regularly seeing a therapist. He was on medication. From the outside, his mental health seemed managed.

“But anytime you asked him about his treatments, the answer was, ‘I don’t think it’s helping,’” Mary said.

With Evan as a captain, Wabash opened their 2018 season with a win at Hiram College on September 1. They came home for Senior Day on September 8, winning 16-13 over University of Wisconsin – Stevens Point. Evan’s grandparents were in attendance. The family went out to a celebratory dinner afterwards. Evan went to a fraternity party that night.

The next morning, Evan attended Wabash coaches meetings and seemed like his normal self. It was the calm before the imperfect storm.

On Monday, September 10, 2018, Evan Hansen died by suicide. He was 21 years old.

Chuck and Mary Hansen sat at the cemetery in the days following Evan’s death when Chuck received a Facebook message from CLF’s co-founder and CEO Chris Nowinski, Ph.D. Nowinski asked the Hansens if they would donate Evan’s brain for CTE research at the UNITE Brain Bank. They obliged.

While the family awaited the diagnosis from the Brain Bank, the Hansens poured themselves into research about CTE. They learned the symptoms of the degenerative brain disease could affect a patient’s mood, behavior, and cognition. They learned repetitive, nonconcussive impacts, not concussions, are the driving force behind CTE. And they learned how CLF’s Flag Football Under 14 campaign aims to prevent CTE by avoiding the nonconcussive impacts from youth tackle football before the brain is fully developed.

In fall 2019, Brain Bank researchers told the Hansens their son was diagnosed with Stage 1 (of 4) CTE.

The news confirmed the Hansens’ suspicions. Evan had played 14 years of tackle football prior to his death, 10 of which he played on both sides of the ball. His mood and mental health had declined over the last year of his life, as had his ability to focus and excel academically.

Chuck’s storm analogy describes the confluence of factors surrounding Evan’s suicide. Evan had CTE, which could have contributed to his depression and impulsivity. But he was also on medications that may have affected his cognition. Before his death, Evan was scheduled to have bloodwork done as a first step towards finding depression medications that were more tailored for his genetic profile.

Chuck and Mary have been told by many how Evan had world-changing potential before his death. They can also close their eyes and imagine Evan as a loving husband, an amazing father, a championship coach, or a community leader someday. But they choose to focus on the future.

“We’re trying to help other people learn the dangers of potential brain injuries,” Chuck said. “We want to shed light on all the things we didn’t know about.”

Since Evan’s death, Chuck and Mary have been fundraising and raising awareness for mental health, concussion, and CTE. Among many ventures in Evan’s name, they started an internship at the Merciful H.E.L.P. Center in Carmel where Evan managed the Tools for School program as a summer intern. And in honor of Evan’s #32 at Wabash, they will be donating $3,200 each year to CLF. Their gifts will go towards CTE research and some of our programs that could have made a difference in Evan’s life: the CLF HelpLine, Flag Football Under 14, and Team Up Against Concussions.

Losing someone who was as outwardly strong as Evan sparked a conversation about mental health at Wabash, in Carmel, and elsewhere. For football players and other youth athletes at risk for concussion and CTE, the Hansens think the conversation needs to be more a nuanced one.

“I try to tell people that if they are finding out their child is depressed,” Mary said. “Just make sure that whenever they talk with professionals, they tell them that they played tackle football and for how many years. That needs to be part of the discussion.”

Through his story, Evan continues to help others. A friend of the Hansens wrote to them saying how because of Evan’s tragedy, their grandson was going to stick with baseball for now.

 

 

 

Tyler Hedtke

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

Tyler was his parents’ firstborn, deeply-beloved child. He was a sweet, curious boy and hilarious big brother. He was a full-tilt football player and a lifelong, committed friend. He graduated from high school in 2013, earned an associate’s degree in automotive technology, and had a passion for fast cars, his favorite being BMWs. Tyler held a universal curiosity for life’s adventures, meaning, and beyond. He loved deeply and tried hard, fully expecting to master every skill on his first attempt. His teen years and adulthood were complicated by addiction and the search for contentment. He saw himself as a leaf on a river and encouraged us to resist trying to control the river. He helped and was helped by many people. Tyler died by suicide; choosing to be done struggling to find peace. We wish that he could have realized his greatness…maybe he has.

“Today well-lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well therefore to this day.”

~Francis Gray

Scott Heisler

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

Tenacious: not readily relinquishing a position, principle, or course of action; determined.

My brother Scott was nothing if not tenacious. It’s the word my mom used most, when describing his personality. Determined for sure, and always with an ornery little twinkle in his eye!

As a small child Scott was an early walker and then an early climber – of all things. When he was only two years old, he was caught halfway up a light pole during one of our dad’s slow-pitch softball games. The umpire stopped the game and asked whose kid was up there. Can you even imagine?

He also learned to ride his bike early, at just three and a half. He could ride it but couldn’t stop. A problem he solved by simply putting his feet down, which is why he always had bruises on the back of his calves… from the bike pedals hitting them each time he “stopped.”

Scott had lots of energy as a child. Our mom had him tested for ADHD because of his hyperactivity, impulsivity, and inattention. During his testing though, he was perfectly behaved and played nicely with his toy cars the entire time. Almost as if he knew exactly what to do to get out of the appointment. Since we didn’t have the information or help back then that we now have for these types of disorders, my brother was never officially diagnosed.

Scott was also very athletic, involved in several sports growing up. He started out playing baseball, like most young boys at that time. We moved from our small town of Oskaloosa, IA, to Des Moines, IA, before Scott’s 4th grade year. That fall he started flag football with our dad as his coach. He found his sport of choice! He would also try out wrestling and track along the way, but football was his constant, his passion.

He progressed to playing tackle football in 6th grade. We just didn’t know then; all we know now.

Scott played tackle football for the Des Moines Catholic League from grades 6-8. He then played four years for his high school team, the West Des Moines Valley Tigers. He made varsity from grades 10-12, making 1st Team All-State Defense as a senior. There were never any reported concussions during those years, but Scott played hard, giving 100 percent on the field and at practice. He loved the sound of helmets cracking, loved “hitting hard.” Again, we simply didn’t have the knowledge in the early ‘90s that we have now. If only we’d known.

After giving college a try for one semester, Scott decided to enlist in the Marine Corps. He did so without much discussion with our parents, typical of him because he could be very impulsive. I think he also liked the idea of being a Marine and what they stand for: honor, courage, and commitment. He saw them as the best and the strongest of all the lines of service.

Our dad recalls Scott’s four years in the Marines:

“Scott enlisted in the Marine Corps in December of 1994. He went to basic training in San Diego at the MCRD for three months. While in bootcamp he was exposed to many instances of blows to the head and entire body during self-defense and combat training.”

His permanent station was at Camp Pendleton in California. His MOS was a TOW rocket operator (tank assault team) which obviously included being around explosions, concussive blasts, and other explosives.

Scott was recruited to be a member of the Marine Regiment football team. He played three years and made All Base team twice. I would compare the level of competition to be similar to NCAA Division II but in much more “aggressive manner.”

I know for a brief period he and some teammates were using PEDs, obtained from across the border in Mexico.

Scott was the victim of an attack by another Marine while on duty in Arizona, patrolling the border. The fellow Marine struck Scott in the back of the head with a lead pipe. He spent at least one night in the hospital after this attack.

My brother completed his four years in the Marines and returned home to Des Moines in late 1998.

He returned to school at our local community college the following spring, then got married a year later. It was during this time Scott started to struggle with alcohol. He had been drinking since high school, but this is when we all saw the abuse begin. In hindsight, I think this might also be when he started to “self-medicate” with drinking, for reasons we still didn’t understand.

Scott was larger than life, a big personality who loved to have a good time. But he could be having fun and suddenly get pretty loud and opinionated, which sometimes got him into trouble.

One of those times was in the spring of 2001. He was out with friends and had had way too much to drink. He ended up in an altercation when leaving the bar. He was pulled out of his car and beat over the head with a Maglite by three attackers. He was beaten to the point where he was unconscious. The first responders on the scene told police that they didn’t expect him to make it. Scott spent two nights in the hospital, the first in the ICU with severe brain swelling. He clearly had a concussion from this incident, but to all of our recollections he didn’t do any sort of therapy to help with his recovery. Another example of, “if only we had known…”

Scott got divorced shortly after. Fast forward to the summer of 2004 and he was still struggling with alcohol, having also gotten at least two DUIs by this point. He was working as a bartender at a popular neighborhood bar and attending classes at Grand View College to complete his degree. Despite the setbacks he experienced with his excessive drinking, life was good, and he was having a great time.

Scott also met who would become his second wife that summer. They had a lot of fun together and dated intermittently for several years, before marrying in 2010.

His ex-wife has said, “His goal was always to make others laugh.” When they were first dating though, my brother was convicted of yet another DUI which resulted in him being sentenced to a work release facility for almost a year. It was during this time he picked up running, to pass the time. His ex-wife remembers:

“He was incredibly determined and needed something positive to pour his energy into. Given his athletic abilities, he was a natural runner. He started signing up for half marathons, marathons and eventually took on triathlons and then an Ironman. Scott’s desire to beat others and his own personal times kept him motivated throughout the years. He always needed a goal. His race accomplishments made him seem supernatural!”

She also said, “Scott’s competitive drive is the reason I also started running and eventually signed up for my first half marathon. He helped me realize I could do it. He saw a drive in me I never knew existed.”

I love that memory of Scott – of him being able to inspire his ex-wife to become something greater than she even realized she could be. One of his longtime high school friends shared a similar feeling about him:

“Scott was an encourager. Sometimes bad, but I would never have started running without him. I still hear his voice late in a workout or when things get physically hard saying, ’Don’t give up, let’s go!’ A lot of my best finish times came from fear of being chased down by Scott late in a race. Once I could get out in front of him, I did not want to hear him say something as he was passing me. And you know he would always have a smart remark!”

Scott and his ex-wife had a daughter in 2014, then divorced a little over a year later in 2015. She said, “During our time together, Scott drank too much. He hid bottles throughout our house. He said he had a hard time falling asleep, so he’d take Benadryl late at night to help. We fought about that, and the drinking, a lot. Eventually, I couldn’t live with it anymore.”

Over the next five years, they tried to be a family again a couple different times but just could never make it work. It often had to do with his alcohol addiction and major mood swings.

My brother, my beautiful, beautiful brother. He was struggling more than any of us knew. Again, if only…

During the summer of 2016, I remember my parents threw out the idea that Scott was possibly suffering from CTE, in response to some erratic behavior he was exhibiting. I completely blew it off, scoffed even, that they were simply making excuses for his bad behavior. After all, he hadn’t played football in 20 years! I wrongly assumed (did not take the time to inform myself) CTE could only happen to football players, and it showed up shortly after they were done playing. I could not have been more wrong.

From 2015-2020, Scott competed in countless races. Running was his other addiction. He loved the challenge that triathlons gave him but running was his passion. He was an incredible runner. So fast. He participated in our local IMT Des Moines Marathon every fall and was able to qualify for the Boston Marathon with a qualifying time of 3:07. He then ran Boston in 2015, finishing in 3:30. That year, the weather was especially bad. It was cold, rainy, and windy. Brutal conditions for my brother, who was an absolute lover of the heat.

Something I haven’t mentioned is that Scott was also an avid smoker. I know, an incredible athlete who treated his body like a temple when it came to exercising and the food and supplements he put into it, but yet he could drink like a fish and smoked too! One of the things that drove me crazy about him was how, after a race, he would immediately pull out a cigarette and light it up. Right in the middle of the crowd of runners who were likely not interested in inhaling his secondhand smoke. Back to his run in Boston; I was scrolling through his race pictures online, after he passed, which was a very bittersweet experience. I came across a string of three or four and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. He had stopped during the race, lit a cigarette, and then was running while smoking. Clearly, he had had it with the weather and the race! Such a funny moment, one I wished I’d known about prior to him dying, so I could razz him about it.

Scott’s biggest race accomplishment would undoubtedly be his Ironman. He did Ironman Wisconsin in September of 2018. Scott got his last DUI in April of 2017. Long story short, he ended up with an ankle device for a year, was not allowed to drink for that next year or he would go to jail. Scott poured all his energy into getting healthy and training for and then completing that Ironman.

Sadly, once the ankle device came off, he started drinking again. He thought he could handle it, control it. A game so many addicts play.

He continued to run in races, up until the world shut down in March of 2020. I think he was supposed to participate in our local St. Patrick’s Day run that March, but was unable to after its cancellation.

Scott’s drinking was getting out of control, though none of us fully understood how bad it was. So many who knew him, who loved him, have said, “if only he could have had his races, maybe they would have provided the focus he needed…”

In 2020, Scott would have done the following races, because he had done them for countless years before: Drake full or half marathon in April, DAM to DSM in June, then he would have been training for the IMT Marathon in October.

The world had shut down though and all runs had become virtual. He didn’t have his running community, the connection he desperately needed.

Another one of his longtime high school friends wrote this:

“Scott was a true friend. I thought I knew most of what was going on in his life. There were certainly a few flaws (which we all have), but things on the outside seemed to be just fine. His story is a good reminder to dig deeper to make sure your friends are okay, and to make sure they know to call if they need someone. Scott’s one of a kind, a hilarious super athlete who was always down for a great time. I think about him every day, and am really sad we could not give him what he needed in the end.”

I wish more than anything that we could go back, help Scott, save him. If only we had known then, what we know now.

When I look back, things really started to unravel for Scott the last eight weeks of his life. But in actuality, it probably started happening many months before that. Our dad’s thoughts on this:

“Scott’s patience and mood changed slowly the last year or so leading up to his death. He dramatically became more negative and there were many incidences of Scott quickly losing his temper, having seemingly unprovoked outbursts. He knew something was wrong with his thinking and ability to control his temper. We talked about it, and he decided to see what could be determined by seeking medical help. Unfortunately, he never made it to that appointment.”

The appointment our dad refers to was one at our local VA. It was an appointment to see if Scott was suffering from a TBI, or traumatic brain injury. His appointment was scheduled for October 7, 2020. He never made it because he died by suicide on September 18, 2020.

Some of my recollections during those last several weeks: My brother was upset about his ex-wife  meeting someone new. He apparently thought they still had a chance at getting back together, becoming a family again. He started calling her incessantly, made a verbal threat of harm towards her new boyfriend, just a couple examples of his erratic behavior. She took legal action and had a no contact order, and then a restraining order, filed against Scott. We fully supported her. All of this, along with the fact we didn’t fully understand how depressed Scott was, how out of control his drinking had become, or how to get him the help he desperately needed, led to his first suicide attempt on September 7, 2020.

As I sat with him in the hospital that night, he told me he was tired of being a burden. It broke my heart. He was absolutely not a burden to anyone. Was he scaring all of us? Yes, absolutely. His behavior was out of control. He was out of control. He also told me something was wrong with his head and he was going to have a TBI study done soon. At the time, I had never heard of a TBI. When he explained to me what it meant, I told him he just needed to stop drinking and get on the right antidepressant. He had a brain injury, was literally losing his mind, but I simplified it as, “just stop drinking and get on the right meds…” If I’d only had the information then that I have now.

My brother was released from the hospital the next morning and then arrested the same afternoon for breaking the no contact order. When he attempted that first suicide, he had done it on his ex-wife’s front steps. How much that scared her, I will never know. I am certain Scott’s intention wasn’t to scare or hurt anyone. Yet, that’s exactly what he was doing, scaring all of us.

He spent four nights in jail. Our dad bailed him out on Saturday morning. He came over to my house and had dinner with us. There were lots of tears and honest conversations, lots of hugs too. He felt so bad about what he had done, how he might not get to see his little girl for a long time due to his actions. He seemed to be in the right head space though, seemed to “get it” and wanted to take the steps to be better, and get better.

As the week went on, he started to get more and more agitated. We were texting a lot throughout the day each day. He came over for dinner again on Wednesday night. Looking back, he had been drinking. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking and I didn’t think (at the time) he was. As he was leaving we stood outside and talked for probably 30 minutes. The conversation was one I had a hard time following. Scott was so upset again, angry, and not making a lot of sense. At one point he was tapping the back of his head, saying, “I know there’s something wrong with my brain!” I was trying to talk him down, but he left mad. I wish so much I could go back to that night and just hug him, hold him, and tell him I love him, that it would all be OK.

I talked to our dad the following evening, explaining how I didn’t think Scott was doing very well, and seemed really agitated again. We agreed we needed to take steps to help him. The next morning our dad called and spoke to Scott’s therapist about our concerns. Scott then had a virtual appointment with her, where she shared our worries with him. He texted me after saying he shouldn’t have shared so much. I said no, he should definitely share, just not threaten harm. I explained we were all so worried because of how erratic his behavior had been lately, and if he hurt the boyfriend, he would effectively end his life as he knew it, meaning he would go back to jail. His response was, “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt him.” I will forever regret not responding with, “Don’t hurt yourself either,” but I didn’t. We texted a bit more, about how he was going to come over in the morning to go on a 50-mile bike ride with my husband. My husband was training for his first half Ironman and Scott was going to ride with him. A ride that never happened.

Approximately three hours after our last text, my brother would die by suicide. He had driven by his ex-wife’s house, breaking the restraining order. The police came to arrest him again. My dad called Scott, explained they were on their way and told him to comply. Scott pulled a pellet gun on the officers. It wasn’t a gun that could do real harm, but it looked like a real gun. Scott purchased it during quarantine for target practice to get him out of the house. Having been a Marine, he had a lot of respect for authority and would never hurt a police officer. They had no choice but to shoot him though. It’s what my brother was counting on, for them to end his suffering.

The morning after Scott died, our dad called the medical examiner, asking him to please have Scott’s brain tested for CTE. Due to the manner of his death, we were only able to send the UNITE Brain Bank small samples of tissue from Scott’s brain. It often takes close to a year to get the test results back. We got the results back on October 11, 2021. It was confirmed, tau protein was found, which is consistent with early-stage CTE, but the researchers needed the whole brain to get an official diagnosis. Still, the study provided so much validation because Scott knew something was wrong with his brain.

I am sharing Scott’s story, so many details of his story, because I hope (we hope) it will help someone. If someone can read this, recognize these symptoms in their loved one, and help them, then his death won’t be in vain. I urge all parents to consider programs like Flag Football Under 14 to prevent unnecessary repetitive head impacts when children are too young. I don’t want another family to have to live with the “what if” and “if only” we live with. If only I had known what CTE really was, if only I had seen CLF’s website and social media page sooner, where you can read about the signs and symptoms of CTE.

On October 28, about six weeks after Scott died, I came across a post a friend had made on Instagram. It was a post about a charity event for CLF, the Concussion Legacy Foundation. I clicked the link and started reading, then started crying. I saw the post which listed the signs and symptoms of CTE. It was all there, and it was all so clear: THIS is what my brother had been suffering from. And there was a Helpline. A Helpline?! What if I had seen that Helpline?

What if I had seen it six weeks before Scott died, instead of six weeks after? What if? If only..

To my beautiful, beautiful brother: You were loved. Loved SO much. You were worthy. Worthy of a GOOD life, free of the pain you were suffering from. And you were never, EVER, a burden.

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.

 

Zach Holm

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

Special. This is the word most often used to describe Zachary Ryan Holm. The first time we heard it was when he started played flag football at age six. Growing up in Florida, Zach was very blessed to have been coached by former NFL and college football players. From an early age, Zach was encouraged to work hard and was told he would be able to go as far in football as he desired. Zach took this to heart. He was a big kid, so he began playing competitive youth tackle football at age seven, playing every position on the team. At age 10, his coach called him “hybrid” because he was big, strong, fast, and smart. He started playing quarterback and continued all through high school. Going to a small high school in Colorado, Zach ended up playing both sides of the ball and led his team in touchdowns as well as tackles. Zach was recruited to play safety at the University of Wyoming. At six-foot, he was considered “short” for a quarterback but UW coaches were impressed with the hard hits Zach delivered on defense, so they recruited him to play safety.

Those hard hits over many years Zach delivered on defense, and the hits he took as a QB set him up for CTE. Zach had five known concussions, the first of which came at age nine. He started having problems with depression at age 13 and had difficulty sleeping and with concentration at age 16. Zach started attention deficit disorder (ADD) medication at age 18. The medication initially helped with depression and concentration, but the therapeutic effect started to wane. Zach was excited to be recruited to play football at a D1 school, but his depression worsened. He told me, “Mom, the football wasn’t hard, it was the depression that was difficult.” Zach resigned from the UW team during his freshman season in December 2016 and never returned to football. Zach’s first paper at UW was about CTE. He highly suspected he had CTE from playing 12 years of tackle football.

After UW, Zach transferred to a private college in Florida and really struggled with depression. He returned to Colorado to be near family. Zach battled suicidal thoughts and was open about his suicidality. Zach felt guilty about being depressed because he felt like he had everything going for him. He started feeling “numb” and said, “my brain is broken.” Zach participated in any form of therapy offered. He tried multiple medications and even ketamine infusions which helped for about 24 hours. He was compliant with every therapy and was disappointed when none of them helped. We talked about CTE. Zach knew it was a diagnosis only made at autopsy.

Zach attended a private Christian school in Tampa from ages four to 13. This is where his Christian faith was solidified. He was a leader both in the classroom and in every sport he played. Zach was called very “special” by his teachers and classmates. His kindergarten teacher described him as “a mix of sweetness and testosterone.”

Zach loved tattoos and had scriptures tattooed on his arms. In 2016, he decided to get a chest piece tattoo depicting a demon fighting an angel over his heart. Zach said he always wanted to be reminded he was not alone in his fight against depression and the devil.

Zach’s depression was growing worse, and he was getting daily headaches and hearing high pitched noises, causing physical pain. An MRI of his brain was normal. Medications were not helping with his mood. He was evaluated by five psychiatric professionals, the last of whom informed Zach he had treatment resistant depression. He tried nonprescription drugs which helped a little. Despite all these mental health challenges, Zach was attending the University of Colorado and getting excellent grades. Then he got COVID-19 in November 2020 and had to take a medical withdrawal. Zach was set to begin classes again in June 2021 with the eventual goal to attend law school. He was extremely driven as can be seen in the following excerpt from his LinkedIn page:

“Most people who know me describe me as a chronic perfectionist, as I give everything that I do my full attention and effort. In conjunction with time management, perfectionism is very beneficial. From my perspective, there is no point in me doing something if I do not intend to do it to the fullest of my capability. I am driven to be the best at whatever it is that I decide to do.

What differentiates me from the rest of the pack is my passion and drive for success, which is reflective with my persistence and consistency in terms of my work ethic; once I set my mind to something, nothing will be able to stop me from achieving it.

This is reflective of one of my firm views, which is the significant dislike of complacency. There is nothing more detrimental to the individual than complacency.”

Zach met a special young lady in the middle of his physical and emotional turmoil, and they were blessed to bring a beautiful baby girl into this world in 2020. Zach was an excellent father. His baby was the light of his life and became his purpose for living.

Zach became ill with acute respiratory symptoms in March 2021, and he took over the counter cold medicine which negatively interacted with his depression medications. He died from serotonin syndrome on March 27, 2021. We were able to donate Zach’s brain to Boston University for their CTE research. An hour after we heard of his death, we were contacted by Donor Alliance because he had signed up to be an organ donor. They described Zach as “special” because he was young and muscular and would be able to help about 50 recipients with the donation of his corneas, skin, bone, and muscle.

At Zach’s memorial and for months afterwards, we were contacted by people who had been touched by Zach’s life. Stories of him feeding the homeless, stopping someone from jumping off a bridge, and being a “special” person because of his incredible faith and love for his family. Zach always looked out for people who struggled. We often had stray kids staying at our house when they had difficulties at home. Zach was described as “kind,” and received the fruit of the spirit award at Christian school for “gentleness.” All of these attributes were far more important to him and to us than his stats on the football field.

Ten months after Zach’s death, we had a meeting with Dr. McKee from Boston University. She verified Zach had stage 2 (of 4) CTE. Zach had multiple lesions in various areas of the brain responsible for mood and impulsivity. Dr. McKee described Zach’s severe brain damage as unexpected in a 23-year-old. Also, it was no surprise to Dr. McKee hearing none of Zach’s medications really helped with his depression and anxiety.

This news from BU was devastating but also comforting, because Zach knew his brain was “broken” and he worked hard to stay ahead of his depression and suicidality. After meeting with Dr. McKee, I had my first dream about Zach after 10 months. In it, Zach was whole and happy. He also had a bounce to his step, and I am sure he was telling me, “I was right about my brain.” Zach always liked to be right!

We are blessed to know our very special son is still helping others. Zach’s experience and study participation are helping researchers to make changes in football so it is safer, and his death is helping to develop more useful ways to diagnose and potentially treat CTE. We are crushed about losing our son. At the same time, we are proud of his insight into brain injuries and his prediction regarding his CTE. Zach’s knowledge fueled our desire to donate his brain to Boston University. As everything else Zach did on this earth, his participation in the BU study was “all in.”