Mike Albarelli

 

Mike Albarelli was a magnanimous man. He was the type of guy who walked into a room and would instantly lift the room’s energy. His smile was as big and broad as his body and he had a way of making you feel like you were the most special person in the room. He loved good conversations, funny banter, and making genuine connections with people. He had a deep belly laugh and a love for his friends and family as deep as the ocean. Our children meant everything to him.

Mike and I met at Brown University where he was captain of the lacrosse team. Our very first conversation was about a Britney Spears concert we had both gone to.  I was completely taken aback that such a big, burly guy had such a soft and kind soul. A bear on the outside and a mush on the inside, sensitive but strong; he was my dream combination. We spent countless hours sharing stories, laughing, hanging with friends, and creating a meaningful life together.

He was known by his teammates as an intense player who wore his heart on his sleeve and took all losses personally, whether he had played incredibly or poorly. He was the captain of every team he was ever on. He was the epitome of a good teammate. He intuitively knew what his teammates needed to be motivated to do their best. He would listen to music to pump himself up before a game, and then once adequately amped, he would share his energy with the rest of the team.

He did everything full-force. He wanted to be the best at everything. The best athlete, friend, husband, father, brother, the best at it all. He made the most out of every moment he spent on this earth. From skiing, to fishing, to golfing, to traveling the world, he wasn’t someone who ever sat on the sidelines.

He always told our boys that three things were important: always do your best, always finish what you start, and practice makes perfect. He lived up to these ideals until he couldn’t anymore. His unfolding is hard to write about because he had so much pride and when he was in a good place, he was unstoppable.

I feel like I slowly started to lose him a few years before he passed. Around 2015, he became more distant and more disconnected from his friends and family. He fell into patterns of drinking that created a major divide between who he wanted to be and who we were seeing. He and I both knew something was wrong. His ability to regulate his emotions and the emotions of others became paper thin. He tried so hard to be the best dad and the best husband, but he seemed pulled into a darker world, a place he could not find escape from for too long. It was hard on all of us, but hardest on him. I saw so many brief pockets of hope and clung onto those for dear life.

In the end, his demons won the battle. On July 30th, 2018, while intoxicated, Mike fell down the back stairs of our home all the way to the concrete foundation of our house. The impact led to a brain injury that ultimately ended his life. He was just 38 years old.

A year later we received confirmation from researchers at the UNITE Brain Bank that Mike suffered from Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE). This came as no surprise to me and validated our worry that he was struggling more than he ever led on.

At the time of his death he was still highly functioning. He hadn’t started losing his memory, and he was still able to successfully operate as a successful CEO of a company. He may have seemed fine to others, but he was battling something internally that was pulling him away from himself. As his wife, it was hard to watch the man you love be unable to take care of himself and his family the way he would want to.

Mike’s impact on this world was profound. He would want his legacy of generosity, kindness and passion to be passed on. I am committed to working on spreading knowledge about CTE and helping families and loved ones learn to navigate the trauma and grief that comes with this degenerative brain disease.

 

Robert “Dice” Allardice

 

Robert Duncan Allardice was born on July 21, 1947 in Plainfield, New Jersey and moved to Pittsburgh, PA as a child. He was one of six siblings (5th born) four brothers and two sisters. He participated in Boy Scouting and was an Eagle Scout. He earned two varsity letters in football as a DE and HB at North Allegheny High School, one varsity letter in wrestling (180 lb. class) and three varsity letters in track and field for discus where he held a record (which legend has it…still stands). He was captain in track and field and co-captain in football. He went on to play football and wrestle at West Point, graduating with the class of 1969.

In October of 1968 while playing for the West Point football team as a defensive tackle, number 86, Dice sustained three concussions in one week, followed by a broken neck the very next week.

Dice appeared to recover, enough so that he graduated with the class of 1969 and was commissioned in the Quartermaster Corps. He was, however, not medically qualified for the combat arms.  While at his first duty station he was rear ended in an auto accident. The resulting injury, along with those sustained at West Point, led to his medical retirement from the Army in September 1970. He joined the work force and had a successful life.

In 1996, the effects of the injuries that had taken away his dreams to serve his country began to manifest themselves more seriously. By his retirement in 2006 he was noticeably struggling, increasingly confused and losing his ability to communicate. His disease progressed quickly, systematically stripping him of his quality of life. During his courageous battle and before he lost his ability to communicate he made the decision to donate his brain to the UNITE Brain Bank for research. Robert passed away at the Durham VA’s Long-Term Community Living Center on November 7, 2014. As the story goes, 10 Games, 4 rushes for 26 yards, and Stage 3 Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE).

Dice became the first known West Point graduate to have died with the disease known as Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE), confirmed by Dr. Ann McKee and the research team at Boston University.

While the effects of his injuries at West Point took away his dreams as an athlete and the ability to serve his country, he never wavered in his love for West Point and his country. I believe, without a doubt that in choosing to be a Legacy Donor, Dice knew he could help to make a difference in the sport he loved. His brain donation places him at the forefront of research being done to develop safeguards to protect against brain injury, diagnose CTE in the living, and eventually find a cure for what is said to be a preventable neurodegenerative disease.

“Dice” was a man who believed that everyone he met held the potential to be his friend. He owned an infectious knee-buckling laugh, and could dance like no other. He was bound by his ties to West Point and the members of the Long Grey Line. He lived Duty, Honor, Country every day. Integrity was how he lived his life. He was fiercely loyal and an honorable man.

Make an online gift in memory of Robert. 

Read Robert Allardice’s West Point story here.

Patrick Anderson

A HISTORY OF BRAIN TRAUMA, AND THE DEATH OF OUR JOYFUL BOY

My earliest recollection of glimpsing Patrick’s true nature; mischievous jokester, lover of life, occurred at age three. Patrick decided it would be funny if he peed off the upper floor landing while his sister and I were standing in the hall on the first floor. He was giggling and grinning from ear to ear. Seconds after the shockwave came and went, the three of us were crying with laughter. Patrick could be so random! Like the time in high school he asked his friend to pull over while driving through a local park. Patrick jumped out of the car and ran over to a group of folks playing a giant game of Jenga. Without stopping or saying a word he tackled the game pieces rolled across the grass and trotted back to his friends! The video is hilarious. The shockwave for those folks lasted a little longer than a few seconds, his friends are in the car busting a gut! Making people laugh was Patrick’s passion.

Patrick was beautiful. Kind and compassionate, he made friends easily. Patrick approached strangers like he wanted to be treated; with a smile, eye contact and a warm handshake. He didn’t see the color of their skin, or the clothes they were wearing, he saw the individual. Patrick was also blessed with natural physical abilities, instinctively aware of his physical boundaries from a very early age. “Monkeyboy” was his acquired nickname as he would literally climb anything deemed manageable by his young persona, which was most things. We were a good match, my parenting style encouraged discovery. If he felt physically capable of a feat, I rarely ever told him no. Believing in the “Art of Possibility” to build confidence in my children, I trusted their internal instincts.

As Patrick grew older, he ventured into team sports but also had a passion for solo sports. Skimboarding was a favorite from an early age, he eventually acquired the skill to backflip off his skimboard while taking a wave. For obvious reasons this practice was not my favorite. In elementary school a skateboard was his favorite mode of transportation. Confidence, independence, and comfort in his own skin were all traits Patrick displayed from an early age. Patrick played football in the fourth and fifth grade. Being on a team with all African American boys, Patrick learned how it felt to be isolated, how it felt to be the kid that looked different. Navigating “how do I fit in” was an incredible lesson that Patrick never forgot. Patrick was loved by his teammates and he loved them back; he became their friend, their brother. The Tigers won the city championship two years in a row! When my sister asked him in middle school why he didn’t play football anymore he said, “it made my head hurt.”

Patrick started kiteboarding and wakeboarding when he was 13, but his favorite was snowboarding which he started when he was nine. I’ll never forget the look on his face the first time I took him up to Peak 8 in Breckenridge. When he saw the drop into the bowl for the first time, he looked at me like I was the crazy one. I looked him in the eye and told him, “you have this, just follow me and you’ll do great.” Not only did he do great, he was hooked.

Patrick was my adventure buddy. We were adrenaline junkies. From the time he was little, it was always the two of us on family vacations jumping off cliffs/waterfalls and my husband and daughter watching and taking pictures.

Patrick didn’t just have friends; he had a tribe. Kids naturally gravitated towards his non-judgmental attitude. His kind, compassionate nature along with his sense of humor and thirst to find the possibilities in every day was like a light to a moth. Kids were always at our house. The older he got the bigger the group became. I loved having them. Now that Patrick is gone, there is a quietness about the house during the months that he would naturally be home. It’s weird and it takes some getting used to. I play music to keep it from being so noticeable.

A HISTORY OF CONCUSSIONS

When Patrick was a sophomore in high school, he received his first diagnosed concussion. He was running and somehow tripped and hit his head on a concrete parking lot curb. Banged up pretty badly, we took him to urgent care, then to a private doctor the next day. His lacrosse coach was notified and concussion protocol was followed. Two weeks later he was cleared to practice and play with the team. He complained of headaches from time to time but when I took him to the doctor everything checked out OK. If I knew then what I know now, I would have taken him to a doctor who specializes in concussions.

Patrick’s senior year, he was sucker punched while trying to pull a boy off one of his best friends during an attack. It was dark and Patrick didn’t see the other kid coming. At 6’ 1”, Patrick fell backwards hard and was knocked out cold. Another boy who was there said Patrick was unconscious for about a minute.

A third concussion occurred the summer before he started his freshman year at Appalachian State University. Patrick and friends were wakeboarding on a trip to the beach, he wiped out, and the board hit him in the head. He was unconscious in the water for a few seconds. He didn’t go see a doctor after this incident and didn’t make us aware that it even happened until much later in the summer. We found a prescription for Ibuprofen amongst his things, he apparently was still having headaches from time to time.

The last day Patrick was alive was Valentine’s Day 2019. This seems appropriate to me given his ability to love deeply. Other than being Valentine’s Day, it seemed to be a normal day for him at school. We texted back and forth, I sent him $50 and a funny pair of socks for the holiday. My husband talked to him several times that afternoon. He sent a funny picture of himself wearing protective goggles during a routine medical exam with a goofy smile on his face like he was in mid laughter! He put his deposit down on his apartment for the following year and he paid for his spring break trip.

Later that evening Patrick met up with his friends at the “cabin,” a regular hang out spot in Boone, NC. On his way out of the dorm, he ran into his good friend Hannah. She said they chatted for several minutes, caught up, and exchanged hugs before Patrick began his walk.

That night, the boys without girlfriends hung out, drank a few beers, started goofing around and being silly. At some point they started to joke-wrestle with each other. Patrick and another boy ended up falling over the porch railing and down a slight hill. They both said they were OK and the fun resumed. At 10:30 p.m. Patrick asked a girl to an upcoming formal, she said yes. Being a school night, the boys disbanded around 11:30 p.m. Patrick was there with his very best friend Palmer, who he said goodnight to and then walked back to his dorm alone.

There is video footage of Patrick walking into the dorm at 12:10 a.m. His roommate JT wasn’t yet home, he had fallen asleep in another friend’s dorm room. Video footage shows JT entering the dorm at approximately 3:00 a.m. Two minutes later 911 was called. JT tried to revive Patrick but he was gone.

No note, nothing in a text message, or email. Nothing in his sketchbook, no dark poetry. The police interviewed over 20 kids, not one said they noticed that Patrick was different, withdrawn, not himself. We, his family, had just spent 10 days in Belize over Christmas break. My husband bought us all tickets to go see Justin Timberlake in concert. We went to see the latest Marvel movie, Patrick’s favorite. Spent time just hanging around the house together. Everything seemed normal.

So, what happened? Why did this carefree kid, who loved his family, had multiple tribes, and felt blessed to be a part of this college experience at App State suddenly end his life?

This doesn’t make any sense. I realize that suicide survivors often say the same thing about their loved one that has passed. I strongly feel something is out of place. Intuitively, I would have known something was going on with Patrick. We were too close, there is no way I wouldn’t have felt an underlying pain if Patrick was hiding something.

BRAIN TRAUMA AND PATRICK: WHAT MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED.

Concussions, brain trauma and CTE had recently come into focus as more and more research, documentaries, and athletes stepped forward. With that in mind, my focus started to shift to Patrick’s past concussions and the fall he took the night he died. I remember thinking, the fall must have been significant because several of the boys mentioned it to me the day of his service. Was it possible that he hit his head that night during the fall and reinjured a part of his brain that had been previously damaged? While he was alone in his dorm room in the middle of the night did his brain experience an aneurism, did it short circuit somehow?

I connected with several psychic mediums to try and find answers. Through that process, I was able to communicate with Patrick and learn he felt very intense pressure deep in his head that night. He couldn’t process how dangerous his actions were and thought an escape from the pain would mean sleep, not death. This revelation was incredibly significant.

My goal in sharing my journey in connecting with my son after his death is to highlight the connection between brain trauma and suicide. Studies show suffering just one concussion doubles your risk of suicide. Even without any history of depression or observable changes in mood, it’s important for everyone to understand the potential link. Patrick wasn’t depressed, he was hopeful and full of life. Something happened in his brain that night that can’t fully be explained, not yet. My hope is there will be more research and more questions will be asked like, did the deceased recently experience a fall that could have damaged their brain? Was the deceased healing from a recent concussion? Unless this knowledge is documented, how can it be researched? How will we as a society be aware of the danger without awareness and education?

Click here to donate to the Anderson family fundraiser in memory of Patrick Anderson. 

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 988 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. 

This story adheres to the Recommendations for Reporting on Suicide from reportingonsuicide.org

George Andrie

George Andrie was a defensive standout for the Dallas Cowboys from 1962-1972. A five-time Pro Bowler, George was a pivotal part of the Cowboys’ Doomsday Defense. George is still top-five in single-season sacks and career sacks for the Dallas Cowboys. He was a powerful star as a defensive end, and a bigger star in his personal life.

George went to Marquette University on a football scholarship. A phenomenal athlete, he had the opportunity to play basically every sport in college.

George was a man of integrity. He and his wife, Mary Lou, had seven children. They stayed together until the day they died. True love.

Dad had symptoms in the middle of his life that plagued him. He had a series of psychotic episodes, which led him to a 14-day stay in the psychiatric hospital where they diagnosed him with major depressive disorder in 2003. He shared that he heard voices and had hallucinations. Yet after thorough examinations, he was never diagnosed with any mental illness that would explain these symptoms.

But things only got worse. He got lost in his boat on the Great Lakes fishing one day, a trip he had made many times before. Luckily, he made it home as he had forgotten his cellphone. It really shook him, and he began to get very scared. He lost interest in his hobbies and became withdrawn.

He would go to the grocery store with a detailed list and forget how to get there. Then if he did arrive, he forgot he had a list. He would get embarrassed and became a person who avoided social situations where he said, “He might sound stupid.” His short-term memory was so bad that he would walk into a room and forget why he went in there.

Finally, Dad said he was going to a neurologist to answer a question he was asking himself, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

The secret no one knew was later discovered in 2019. After his death in August 2018, George’s brain was sent to the VA-BU-CLF Brain Bank in Boston. There, neuropathologist Dr. Russ Huber and a team of researchers diagnosed George with Stage 4 (of 4) Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE).

George’s stage of CTE was the worst, but also had progressed substantially in the worst stage.

George’s family had suspected he was suffering from CTE for four years before his death. Realizing he might be suffering from the disease helped George understand that he couldn’t entirely control what was happening to him. An improved understanding of the behavior and struggles he faced made an enormous positive difference in the relationships George had with his wife, Mary Lou, and his seven children. This awareness was possible because of the Concussion Legacy Foundation. CLF works tirelessly to spread awareness, research, and support to CTE families. We are eternally grateful to them.

When George learned about the degenerative brain disease CTE, he said he wasn’t surprised. He was especially concerned for his football comrades; those who played before him, and those who would be affected later. He became very vocal and passionate about speaking out to help others understand they were not alone in their suffering. He encouraged his family to turn his illness into positive change for others, never thinking about himself. George said if he knew football would bring him to where he was, he would have chosen differently. He said he would have been a pro golfer Instead.

Make no mistake, George and his family are very proud of his pro football accomplishments. We just wish the outcome were different, but you can’t escape reality.

George has made a difference. His voice is loud and lives on in his family. We will never stop sharing his and our story.

Thank you, Dad…..  For everything….  The Concussion Legacy Foundation and your children will carry on your remarkable Legacy forever.