Jason Bryngelson

The day it happened was the same as any other day. I was cooking dinner. Jason asked me to call him when it was done and went up stairs to his room where I could hear the clanking of his weights, which was nothing unusual. I asked Duane to call Jason for dinner. He called and got no response so he went upstairs to his room. Next I heard him yell at me to “Call 911, Jason is having some kind of seizure.” The nightmare had started, the hell that we were going to be living had started. I kept thinking to myself, “He’s a young, strong kid. He hasn’t been sick at all. I know it’s serious, but he can pull through this.”

Let me tell you who Jason was. He could light up a room with just a smile. He could make you laugh no matter what mood you were in. He would keep after you until you did laugh. So many times I would be upset at him for something and he would keep pushing at me until I couldn’t help but laugh.

He was one of the most giving people, with what he had and of himself. If anyone asked him for help with anything, he was always there.

Jason has a sister, “Chris.” She is 12 years older than him. She always felt the need to protect him. Being her little brother she would always tease him and try to make him mad. The day came when he was taller and bigger than she was. She started with the teasing and he picked her up and tossed her onto the couch. The teasing stopped that day.

Jason and his dad, Duane loved Halloween. Every year, all those different costumes, never knowing what kind of weather they were going to be facing. It could be cold and raining, but that didn’t matter- out they went. What they would do for the all important “candy!”

Jason was always big for his age, but he had such a calm and quiet personality about him, unless he was on the football field all was different. People would always come up to us and ask us how could such a quiet, polite and respectful kid be such a beast on the field, we had no answer.

He tried other sports. He played basketball for a number of years, but when he first started football you could tell he loved it. Jason played for about eight years both offense and defense. He would come home with so many cuts and bruises on him from practice I was afraid to take him anywhere. I was afraid that people might think I was abusing him. They were his “war wounds” as he called them. As we were driving to his first high school game he would be playing under the lights, I remember him telling me, “Tonight I get to play under the lights, if after the game I die I would be complete and happy.”

The other thing he found he liked as much as football was lifting weights. It made him a better football player. His last couple of years of high school, if he wasn’t playing football he was in the weight room lifting weights.

After school was done and football was over, Jason seemed a little lost not knowing what he wanted to do with his life. A friend introduced him to an Army recruiter and, after talking to him, decided he wanted to join the Army. On February 22, 2010, the day Jason was supposed to sign the final paperwork, he passed away. We still don’t understand everything that happened. It also seemed like the doctors didn’t know what had happened.

The day it happened was the same as any other day. I was cooking dinner. Jason asked me to call him when it was done and went up stairs to his room where I could hear the clanking of his weights, which was nothing unusual. I asked Duane to call Jason for dinner. He called and got no response so he went upstairs to his room. Next I heard him yell at me to “call 911, Jason is having some kind of seizure.” The nightmare had started, the hell that we were going to be living had started. I kept thinking to myself, “he’s a young, strong kid. He hasn’t been sick at all. I know it’s serious, but he can pull through this.”

The next morning we found out the doctors wanted to have a discussion with us. Once everyone was there they came in and told us that the Jason we knew was gone, his body was being kept alive by machines. They ran numerous tests and they all came back showing no brain activity. All we could do was cry in disbelief, this should not be happening. Less than 24 hours ago he was standing in front of me talking to me. I thought, “this is my baby, he’s not supposed to go before me. He’s so young and had so many plans for his future.”

We returned to his room, knowing that we had to make a decision about keeping him alive with the machines or turning them off and letting him go. I have never made a more difficult decision in my life, but we needed to do what was best for Jason, so we decided to turn the machines off. He was given a shot for pain. The doctor explained it was given to all patients coming off life support to make sure they’re in no pain at all. I remember how quiet it was in his room. It wasn’t long after the shot was given that they started to back off on the machines until they were completely off. He was gone, I held on to him crying, asking him to open his eyes and come back to me. I’d lost my baby, my son. I didn’t know what to do next. I was completely lost.

The following day, Jason’s very first football coach and good friend came to the house (Jason had kept in touch with him for years after playing for him). He started to inform us about the Concussion Legacy Foundation and the work they do along with Boston University, the testing for brain injuries and trying to find ways to make sports safer to play. He explained to us that they had never had a donor of Jason’s age that had played football as long as he played—Jason always played a lineman, whether it was offense or defense, he was always a lineman. Being a lineman helmets would be crashing almost every play.

We always knew Jason wanted to be an organ donor, but because he had multiple organ failure, most of his major organs could not be used. We were saddened by this but we understood. When we were told about the institute and the work they do we knew right away that this would be something Jason would want. Any way he could help to make the game of football safer—the game he loved to play safer for kids and adults—he would jump at the chance.

Memories…you have good ones and you have bad ones. You find that you remember the good and the bad just float away. You take all the good memories and lock them away in your heart, because that’s all you have left.

Jason touched so many lives and had so many friends. I know we only had him for 19 years, but I thank God every day we had those.

As parents we spend years trying to teach our children the right values in life. You know how they are at home, but how are they are outside the home? We were always told over and over about how polite and caring he was to others, and always so respectful. We know we had one of the best sons anyone could ever ask for. We will always be proud to say we are Jason’s parents.

Being his mom I will sit alone and talk to him knowing he hears me feeling the love in my heart staying strong and growing with every conversation.

He will always have a special part of my heart forever.

We love you for all time,

Mom and Dad

Darrell Burris

On a cool November day in 1934, in a small Oklahoma house with a dirt floor, Darrell Gene Burris began his journey, touching the lives of thousands. What day, exactly, that was, became a point of contention, because the doctor went on vacation and ultimately forgot the exact date he was born.

“I remember,” his mother Ruby would tell him. “I was there.”

From that humble start, Darrell began a life filled with service to others, not only because it was his faith, but also part of his being. He helped his late father Gene Burris paint and wallpaper houses at a very young age. When his sister Paula (Burris) Casey and brother Randy Burris were born, he helped his mother shower them with love.

When he was just 17-years-old, he saw a tall, beautiful girl walking to school and asked if she wanted a ride. Despite being a baseball, basketball, boxing, and football star as well as a handsome high school teen, she told him “no.” Day after day he would drive by her and ask again until finally, she agreed to have a coke with him after school. Less than a year later, when Mary Lou Porter was just 15-years-old she and Darrell snuck off to get married.

For six months they kept their marriage a secret by continuing to live with their families and longing to be together. Her father was furious and threatened to annul the marriage when he discovered it. Darrell fought to keep Mary Lou and they remained married for 35 years until one freezing day in 1987 when she was taken too soon in a tragic car accident on the Overholser Bridge on Route 66 near Bethany, Oklahoma. She was just 50-years-old. He would never remarry.

Besides Darrell’s love for his wife Mary Lou, he loved his family and many friends. He enjoyed the service members he met during his basic training in the U.S. Army at Ft. Sill, Ft. Polk and Ft. Belvoir. He excelled at artillery, but one day he confessed to his commanding officer that he didn’t think he could ever kill another person because he was a Christian. Instead of sending him for further combat training, they sent Darrell to the Ft. Belvoir print shop, where he learned a trade that would carry through the rest of his life.

Civilian life allowed Darrell to use his printing skills by working at several companies including OPUBCO while always dreaming of owning his own shop. In 1979 in Oklahoma City he finally achieved his goal and opened Burris Printing. The company printed material for many clients including Braum’s Ice Cream & Dairy, the National Weather Service Training Center in Norman, Oklahoma, and Stucky’s Diamonds in Houston, Texas, just to mention a few.

When his granddaughter Sarah Katheryn was born, Darrell and Mary Lou’s lives changed forever. After his wife’s death, it was his time with Sarah he said, that saved him. “You’re going to have to learn how to use the dishwasher,” Darrell remembered Sarah telling him. At age 6, Sarah literally saved him when he accidentally caught his kitchen on fire while cooking as he watched a basketball game on TV despite the house filling with smoke. There were also times Sarah tried to force him to eat his vegetables and she would later find them hidden in his napkin. Darrell struggled with diabetes and she would frequently find his freezer full of Nutty-Buddies and chocolate milk.

His Yukon, Oklahoma home frequently became a favorite place for his granddaughter’s giggling teenage friends to hold their slumber parties and New Year’s sleepovers. To this day, a whole generation of Yukon graduates, teachers, and administration staff refers to him as “Papa.”

After retiring from printing, Darrell joined the team at Lowe’s working part-time, always promising his customers 10% discounts. He enjoyed using his time away from Lowe’s at the Yukon Bowling Alley where he volunteered to teach over a hundred children in youth bowling classes. Many of his students even went on to win tournaments. Darrell’s family and friends lost track of the number of perfect score-300 games he bowled but each game would bring a gold ring he kept lined up in his sock drawer.

Darrell joined his wife Mary Lou in Heaven on Wednesday, April 22, 2020. His granddaughter Sarah and his sister Paula lovingly held his hands while playing his favorite Elvis songs.

Those left behind are his sister, Paula (Burris) Casey and husband Mike Casey of Oklahoma City, brother Randy Burris and wife Vicki of Sautee Nacoochee, Georgia, son Michael Burris and wife Susan of Yukon, son Samuel Burris of Los Angeles, California, granddaughter Sarah Burris of Washington, D.C. as well as nephews Michael Siekel and wife Jeri of Oklahoma City, Scott Wallace and wife Jennifer of Southlake, Texas, nieces Jennifer Burris and Andee Allen of Georgia as well as great-nephews and nieces Lucas, Lilyan, Jacob, Brandon Kyle and Dee.

Neurologists were never able to fully diagnose Darrell’s dementia. There were suspicions of Alzheimer’s Disease, questions about CTE and others. So, Darrell donated his brain to the Boston University’s study with the Veterans Administration investigating how concussions can contribute to degenerative brain diseases. The family’s hope is that their struggles to diagnose him and searches for solutions for care can help other families.