Ron Condrey

 

Ron Condrey was a recently retired veteran of the US Navy from Salisbury, NC, finishing his career as a Master Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) technician and Master Naval Parachutist in 2017. He dedicated himself on countless occasions over 14 deployments, conducting missions around the world in direct support of the Global War on Terrorism. His actions were recognized by numerous meritorious commendations, and for Valor. Throughout his 25 years of military service, Ron sustained a variety of injuries during combat and training, the most harsh of which included a variety of Traumatic Brain Injuries (helicopter crash, Humvee rollover, a fall down a mountain, and repeated blast exposures) and extensive orthopedic injuries, all of which posed significant challenges both during his career and as he made the transition through retirement to find new purpose in the civilian world.

A true warrior whose passion was to serve his country and inspire others, he found purpose outside the military by honoring and supporting our country’s military men, women, and families through his passions of skydiving, athletics, and the outdoors. He captained the Navy’s Warrior Games team and volunteered with Combat Wounded Coalition, Spike’s K9 fund, Navy SEAL Foundation, and Blue Skies for The Good Guys and Gals Warrior Foundation. After retiring from the Navy, Ron and his wife joined Team Fastrax professional skydiving team, traveling the country in support of our veterans and Gold Star families.

Ron ultimately died from the invisible wounds of war, stemming from his Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBIs). He lived in a suicidal state for nearly three years as he transitioned out of the military into civilian life. He felt that he had become a shell of the warrior he once knew: losing executive functioning skills, increased decision-making time, emotional uncontrolled bouts of anger, pushing everyone around him away. For a warrior, these losses meant that his defenses were weak, which resulted in his increased hyper-vigilance and a lack of trust in anyone and anything, to include himself. The TBI symptoms and misdiagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress (PTS) set him into a downward spiral of depression.

Humans know very little about the brain, and doctors found it easier to diagnose Ron with PTS rather than the unknowns of TBIs. They gave him pills and convinced him that he was haunted by the visions of war, which had not affected Ron to date. Ron went to war expecting to see what he saw and returned a stronger warrior for it. Trusting doctors, Ron went through Prolonged Exposure treatment to “heal his PTS”. Instead of helping, this treatment only emboldened Ron’s feelings of worthlessness. Ron spent years of his life trusting doctors and addressing PTS when he could have been focused on the TBIs. While we have no certain answers about how to heal the brain, and the symptoms of PTS and TBIs overlap, their treatments for the most part do not. For a warrior, a visible wound and scar is a sign of pride. Invisible wounds inevitably result in judgement from bystanders and often loved ones, as they provide no immediate visual story or reminder. Yet they contain pains within the individual for which humans have no pill.

Ron would want his life to inspire you to get out and accomplish something greater than yourself: something you feel is just outside your reach. If something sounds like an extreme challenge, he would tell you not to hesitate and to attack it. He loved the quote, “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” Ron has never stopped inspiring, and anyone who met Ron would know that he is grateful his brain and story continue to give back through the Concussion Legacy Foundation.

John Costello

John Bernard Costello was born on September 7, 1917, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and died peacefully at home on September 29, 2011, in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan.

He graduated from the University of Minnesota in 1940 with a degree in business administration, and was a lifelong supporter of university alumni activities. He was a member of Phi Delta Theta fraternity. During his college years he was an avid boxer; boxing was an inter-collegiate sport at that time. He won the 1938 Minnesota Golden Gloves, Bantam Weight Division.

In 1942, he attended U.S.N.R. Midshipmen’s School at Northwestern University, and was commissioned an Ensign in the U.S. Navy. John saw action aboard submarine chasers throughout World War II, both in the North Atlantic and the Pacific. He participated in the invasion of Normandy on D-Day, and eventually became captain of a sub chaser in the Pacific.

John met Marian Greenwood in the summer of 1948 on a blind date at a dance at Interlochen Club in Minneapolis. They were married June 13, 1949, and observed their 62nd wedding anniversary in 2011.

In 1947, John joined Ford Motor Company in St. Paul, Minnesota, as a “Road Man,” calling on Ford dealers in the Midwest. When he was transferred to Dearborn, Michigan, he moved his family to Bloomfield Hills in 1957. John’s work was primarily in fleet sales and leasing, which involved extensive travel in the U.S., Europe, South America, and Australia. At the time of his retirement in 1991, he was Manager of Government Sales.

John and Marian belonged to various dance clubs through the years, and passed on their love of dance and music to their children. John was an amateur guitarist, and sang with choirs at St Hugo and St. Thomas More churches. He was also an occasional skier and an enthusiastic golfer.

John is survived by his wife, Marian, his children Elaine (Thompson) Potter, Robert Costello, Danny Costello, Cynthia (Cimarron) Buser, and Michael (Melinda) Costello. His grandchildren are Mary Potter, Jimmy Costello, Paul and Colette Buser, and Quinn Costello. He was preceded in death by his son James Costello.

 

 

Ryan Covey

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

 

As a kid, Ryan Covey was either naturally good at something or worked relentlessly to become good at it.

Ryan was extremely bright. He excelled in math and science classes his whole life in Methuen, Massachusetts. He took the SATs in seventh grade and nearly scored a 1300. He was accepted into Norwich University’s future leadership camp in his junior year of high school and planned to attend the school after graduating.

Ryan had a creative mind and loved to build things. His father, Ron Covey, remembers Ryan building incredible works out of popsicle sticks and being a maestro with his Etch-a-Sketch. Ryan had dreams of serving in the Marines Special Operations Command and then an architect.

Ryan always succeeded in sports and competition. He began with t-ball, then ventured into basketball, then started playing tackle football at age 9. He and his grandfather were members of the Methuen Rod and Gun Club and Ryan was Massachusetts’ co-junior champion trap shooter in 2006. Ron grew up idolizing Evel Knievel and took Ryan to see Evel when Ryan was 12. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, as Ryan was magnetized to skateboarding and snowboarding.

But above all, Ryan Covey was naturally kind. Ryan came home with a “Star Citizen” award from school too many times to count. He was a fiercely loyal friend. He cherished his brother Timothy and his mother Caryn. He taught his younger cousins how to do all the things he could do.

“He was a beautiful person,” said Ron.

Because of Ryan’s gifts and work ethic, Ron felt his son’s dreams were more inevitable than they were aspirational. But everything came to a screeching halt in February 2006.

Ryan was skateboarding one afternoon during his junior year of high school. A passing driver stopped, left their vehicle, and assaulted Ryan. Doctors found Ryan had a broken nose and a CT scan discovered he also had a brain bleed.

Ryan missed some school to rehab from reconstructive surgery from the injury. When he first returned to school, he was his usual, reserved self. But about six weeks following the assault, Ryan’s ROTC instructor observed him in the school hallways singing, moonwalking, and behaving bizarrely. Ryan became very paranoid about another attack. His cognitive abilities plummeted. He had a psychotic break in late March of 2006.

“It was difficult for him to hook up a DVD player,” said Ron. “It was awful. It was odd. Everything was different.”

Out of concern, Ron admitted Ryan to the hospital, where he was prescribed psychiatric medications for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Ron estimates that hospital stay was the first of more than 40 hospitalizations for psychiatric issues over the next 14 years.

Ryan’s new behavioral and cognitive problems made school, where he had always thrived, extremely difficult. His acumen and work ethic had him way ahead in credits to graduate high school. But obtaining his final credits in an English class became an odyssey over his senior year.

Shela Covey, Ryan’s stepmother, came into Ryan’s life a few months after the assault. She helped Ryan persevere through high school and the two of them developed an extremely close relationship.

After graduating from Methuen High School in 2007, Ryan attended UMass Lowell. He left college before he finished his first semester due to another psychotic break.

“He’d come over and give us hugs and sit with us, but he couldn’t really have conversation. We’d kind of just talk at him,” said Shela. “It was awful.”

Ryan was admitted to Arbour Hospital, a mental health hospital in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, over the holidays in 2007. There, he was diagnosed with Schizoaffective disorder and prescribed clozapine, an anti-psychotic. The new medication helped him stabilize and function again.

During the years following the 2006 assault, Ryan began experimenting with drugs. In 2012, he was believed to be on an extremely high dose of cold medicine and suffered another massive crash while attempting to skateboard down a steep hill near his apartment. Ryan spent days in the ICU being treated for swelling in his brain. He was eventually discharged without any definitive diagnosis of concussion or TBI. Ron and Shela say the 2012 crash precipitated even more drastic changes in Ryan than the 2006 assault did.

“It was a complete game-changer,” Shela said. “His personality changed. Everything changed. He became very withdrawn and upset that he couldn’t do the things he wanted to do.”

After the crash, Ryan stopped taking his anti-psychotic medication. His drug use accelerated. His core group of friends distanced themselves from him. In search of a new community that would accept him, Ryan surrounded himself with new, strange people. Ron and Shela say the new people were not his friends, rather people who used Ryan’s generosity – and his apartment – so they could use drugs behind closed doors.

“He couldn’t understand that,” said Ron. “He couldn’t see the forest through the trees.”

In 2014, a psychiatrist in Andover, Massachusetts was caring for Ryan when he suggested Ryan undergo a functional MRI to assess for brain damage. Until then, Ron and Shela assumed Ryan’s problems were stemmed from his own mental illness, as Ryan had a family history of mental illness. But the psychiatrist was the first person to associate his issues with brain injuries, and suggested Ryan participate in clinical research for brain trauma patients.

The suggestion caused Ron and Shela to ask Ryan about his concussion history. Ron knew of one diagnosed concussion Ryan suffered playing football. But he also skateboarded and snowboarded, so maybe three or four in total, they guessed.

Ryan chuckled at the estimate, leading Ron and Shela to assume he had suffered many more concussions in his life. Ron believes his son, who never quit anything before he had mastered it, could have tried and failed skateboard tricks hundreds of times, usually without wearing a helmet.

For the next five years, Ryan was in and out of various institutions. Mental health facilities in Massachusetts helped him find jobs for brief periods of time, but his impulsive behavior frequently cost him employment.

Ryan’s waywardness continued until it came to a head in June 2019. He was arrested following an altercation with Methuen police after he tried to steal a police cruiser. He was believed to be on drugs during the incident.

The resulting court appearance concluded with a judge ordering Ryan to stay off drugs and alcohol. Ryan diligently followed the orders and the sobriety brought him some long-lost clarity.

“I really got to know Ryan for Ryan,” said Shela. “Because there weren’t all the drugs interfering with his personality.”

Ryan was clean but still not mentally healthy. He was constantly, painfully anxious. He talked openly with Shela about the pain he was in, including thoughts of suicide.

Ron describes Ryan’s 31st birthday on September 28, 2019, as “horrible”. While out to dinner with family, Ryan couldn’t sit still and rocked back and forth violently. He was later admitted to the hospital from an anxiety attack.

“That one pulls at my heart strings,” said Ron of that birthday dinner. “That was an extremely helpless feeling for me. He was tormented.”

On February 3, 2020, Ron went to pick Ryan up so they could go get haircuts. When Ron entered the apartment, he found Ryan dead. Authorities ruled his death a suicide. Toxicology reports concluded Ryan was drug-free at the time of his death.

In their anguish over the next 24 hours, Ron and Shela remembered Ryan’s psychiatrist suggesting CTE in 2014. They called the UNITE Brain Bank and donated Ryan’s brain for research.

“It’s helping the study and the future,” said Ron Covey to the Eagle Tribune after he donated Ryan’s brain. “My son would have loved that.”

Researchers at the Brain Bank did not find evidence of CTE in Ryan’s brain. They did, however, find significant damage to Ryan’s frontal lobe. The damage helped explain Ryan’s behavioral changes, impulsivity, loss of reasoning skills, and diminished cognitive abilities over his last 14 years.

Ron hopes Ryan’s diagnosis will help those who wrote him off as a drug addict understand him differently. He knows Ryan may have been bound to suffer from mental illness at some point in his life. But he believes the 2006 assault completely altered the trajectory of his son’s life.

“He would have been that brilliant, smart kid,” said Ron. “He would have made a fantastic father. Because he was so good with kids.”

Thinking back, Ron and Shela both wish they knew more about the potential effects of brain injury. It wasn’t until after Ryan’s death that they ever heard of Post-Concussion Syndrome or considered the extent to which Ryan’s head trauma may have impacted him. They hope his story can be a gift to other families who are navigating the same waters they did.

“There has to be more out there about traumatic brain injury, not just CTE,” said Shela. “CTE is a good jumping off point that makes people perk up and listen, but brain injuries should not be ignored.”

The prevailing word Ron and Shela use when describing Ryan is love. They remember Ryan’s deep love for his family – extending to Ron, his brother, his cousins, and to Shela and her children. And they loved Ryan, unequivocally.

“I know that he knows that I loved him more than anything,” said Ron.

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

Joseph Coyle

The honor of being at my father’s side when he passed on September 21, 2022, was a day I’ll hold dear the rest of my life. I felt it a privilege to be there in the final moments of a life I believe was that of a hero. For certain, he was a good man. He always tried to do his best and my earliest memories in life are of him and how good a Dad he was, how much he wanted what was best for me.

Joseph “Joe” Francis Coyle was born in the Mission Hill neighborhood of Boston on June 21, 1936. It was a tough Irish Catholic neighborhood and he was definitely a city kid. The 1940s in Mission Hill were much like the rest of America where post-Depression and WWII were the dominant forces for kids growing up. He was very intelligent, however school and academics were not his focus and he enlisted in the Marine Corps at 17.

His strong personality and being from Boston made for interesting stories, including his tour of duty in Korea. He incurred several documented injuries where he suffered head injuries, one in particular was severe and his brain/skull was operated on. He was young, strong, and recovered quickly and probably thought little of it after the fact.

After being discharged and returning home, he worked several jobs, including joining the Metropolitan Police Department (merging later with the Massachusetts State Police). The Metropolitan Police was a department that covered unique jurisdictions ranging from rural state properties to inner city patrol assignments. He did them all with the same intensity as the city kid who joined the Marines.

Before they had some of the current police equipment of today, cops in the 60s, 70s and 80s resorted to much of their suspect interactions using their hands, engaging in arrests resulting from a fight. He certainly did not back down from anyone and from all accounts was in the fight whenever needed. I’m sure he took additional brain trauma in the years he was working nights in Boston.

He was well read, well spoken, and challenged me to expand my goals and intellectual pursuits. He truly was the smartest guy I’ve ever known. He was always available for any advice I ever needed and looking back, he was instrumental in my life and successes. Whether during my time in the Marine Corps, or in college, or at a new job, or in a relationship, I could talk to him and get the advice of a dad who only wished the best for his son. I have so many memories of having a tough, but loving dad that truly wanted and prayed for my success. I’m so grateful for every day I had him and miss him still, always will.

In 2016, when he was age 80, I started to notice little things, forgetful inconsequential patterns which I wrote off to natural aging. Just a missed appointment or repeating himself or losing his train of thought easily – all of which were very new for me to see in him. Concerned enough, I moved him in with me in Boston, so I could look out for and take care of him as he always did for me.

At the time, I was a Boston firefighter and worked 24-hour shifts, but felt calling him often while at work would be OK on those days. It was only living with him that I realized it was so much worse than I thought. I was seeing how short his memory had become and when I returned home, I could tell he didn’t really know how long I had been gone. It was apparent to both of us he needed 24/7 care that I wasn’t able to give him.

Once in the care facilities in Boston, we could really see something was very off. Some medical professionals thought it was typical Alzheimer’s and/or dementia. As a firefighter I had seen a lot of both diseases and just didn’t think it fit him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but knew it was something else.

After seeing several documentaries on CTE in football and some subsequent reading on the subject, I just knew it was the answer. I really had no doubt. I told my dad my thoughts, he would listen and agree and two minutes later he would tell me he thinks he’s having memory issues and wasn’t sure why. I’d tell him about CTE and he would listen and agree – and two minutes later tell me he thinks his memory is failing and he’s not sure why.

I researched BU’s Brain Bank and made a point of telling my dad more than ten times over several months I wanted us to donate his brain for study. We had a laugh once when I told him again about the plan and he sat up and said, “When?!?” I told him, “After you pass.” “Oh that’s fine,” he replied back. I can still hear his laugh, so genuine, just wanting to enjoy the company with him and make sure everyone around him felt good.

Within an hour of his death, arrangements were made with the amazing and dedicated scientists at BU to harvest and study his brain. I was hopeful, if my suspicions were found to be true, some good needed to come from his donation.

In the week between his death and funeral, friends of mine from the military and fire department started gathering to recall stories of my dad and begin to assist me in laying him to rest. It was an honor to have them, heroes of mine, to help me in giving the first hero of my life the burial honors he earned and deserved.

The researchers got back to me once my dad’s study was complete and told me they found stage 4 (of 4) CTE. It was comforting to know the answer as to what had been impacting his final years. To have my friends, all serving in those very roles he served in, carrying his casket I immediately knew I wanted his life and service to continue in the Legacy efforts to help others. I look forward to sharing my dad’s story so military members returning home or young cops on the job might be more aware of the critical education and care needed for themselves and their peers, regarding brain injuries resulting from work related traumas.

The effort was best summed up when I told Congressman Seth Moulton about the report findings and my hopes for my dad’s story helping others: “And now he continues to serve others!” I look forward to the path ahead, gaining education and working together to advance awareness and policy to care for those who protect us everyday.

Maybe my next conversation with Congressman Moulton will be more formal.