My name is Elijah J. Yates; the year was 1948, summer was fading, and autumn was on the brink of its birth in the town of Athens, Ohio. I was fresh out of college researching the rehabilitation efforts at The Ridges Sanctuary. For the first few weeks, I aimed to get to know the patients and gain a sense of familiarity with them. This was an arduous task as many of them were rebellious and reluctant to speak to me, and patients came and were gone like leaves falling and growing on a tree, hard to keep track of. But there was one specific patient I remember above the rest, Diego Ramirez, a veteran of the Second World War, a not-so-short, not-so-tall, not too good-looking but not too ugly kid, not that intelligent, not too dull; he seemed almost too regular, but there was one thing that always stood apparent to me, and that was his ability to no matter what he faced or what situation he had just faced he somehow put a smile on his face, born around the same time as me, when he first entered the facility I asked why he was admitted, and he spoke of how he was shunned by his family for his unorthodox reactions to particular sounds and or words along with him often losing grasp of the situation almost like his mind was in a different place, what we now recognize as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

  I grew close to Diego fostering a relationship with him, but I tried not to get too close as I was still focused on my goal of research. My construction of a relationship with him helped me break down a wall of mistrust with other patients. I grew fond of many different colorful and bright characters, but I do not write this story to tell of a great time. I first noticed it with the patient Maria Ward. She was a middle-aged woman who left her abusive husband and was admitted for leaving without notice, and she always spoke of missing her playful labrador named Daisy. I spoke with her for three days up till her lobotomy procedure, she seemed ecstatic and joyful when in the common area but was very resistant to treatment, proclaiming there was nothing wrong with her resulting in harsh treatment, but she continued to talk of her hope to leave and somehow see her Daisy again. I waited outside the operation room to see immediate and short-term results. As she was going in, she was screaming, no screeching as she was dragged along like a child's doll across the ground, screeching that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, a sound I shall remember till I take my last slumber. What I remember most, though, was how she said my name, asking for help, ¨ HELP ME ELIJAH!!!!¨ she said, still to this day, sends chills down my spine; she sounded like a baby bird screaming for its life to a predator, like helpless prey. After the operation, she was unresponsive for a few days, but when she gained some level of consciousness, I spoke with her again; she was like a shell of herself, a living mannequin, a body, and figure but no personality or awareness, she was very unresponsive and did not answer any of my questions, so I resorted to what she always spoke of, her labrador Daisy. She said words that startled me so much that I dropped my notebook and pen, ¨Whos Daisy¨ she said, slurred and mumbled. I stopped my research on her after this; she died several days later due to bleeding in her head. Even after they had told me of her death, I could still hear her in the halls of the building calling for her Daisy and her sirening voice.

   While I was doing this research on the patients I took priority to Diego, I do not know if this was because I fonded him or I could see some of myself in him, but I chose to focus my attention on him, as I stated earlier he suffered from what we now know as PTSD resulting in him being easily triggered and or frightened by certain noises as well as phrases, I concurred his condition had a connection with his time in the war as when there was an alarm or siren in the building he would break into a sweat and find the nearest shelter and take cover mumbling to himself things like ¨Why…god help me…….please help me¨, but I then calmly talked to him and as I spoke of earlier he ended up with a smile on his face when he realized where he was, the same happened if I spoke of phrases he had heard in his time of war, as one time we were having a playful conversation and I jokingly responded, ¨Aye-Aye soldier¨, as I said this he broke into a cold sweat shaking and shivering like he was stuck in a tundra. This made me empathize with him, and I felt his pain as if it were my own. Diego came in only a few days before I arrived but was given treatment very soon. I learned from my experience with Maria that I would not get any immediate information, but on the day of his lobotomy, I spoke with him before he was pulled away. He said words that are etched into my brain, ¨Why am I treated the way I am? What is so wrong with me?¨ he said softly and confused. I told him that they were treating him to fix his condition and that this procedure should help; at least, that's what I believed at the time. Still, after our talk like clockwork, he ended with a smile on his face, even though he was lost and disheveled. Again, I waited a few days to follow up with my research after the procedure. I found myself being anxious and antsy about his operation, hoping it was different from Maria´s as I could still hear her voice through the halls, but nothing could have prepared me for the horrific sight I was faced with. When I met with Diego again, I wished to have another joyful and delightful conversation with him, but all I was met with was a hollow body mindlessly drolling. I asked the doctor what they had done to him. With a face I will never forget, he said ¨We fixed him¨ he found gratification in his unaliving of Diego´s spirit and soul, he was dead yet alive. Due to his inability to control his body and mind, Diego was found unresponsive just five days later. I chose to end my research here uncompleted as it had taken a significant toll on my mind; as I left the facility for good, I could hear the wind speak to me in Maria calling for her Daisy and Diego asking me why he was treated the way he was, this was not the only time I heard these noises as every time I try to close my eyes and lay to rest I am haunted by the image of those two and their voices linger no matter where I go constantly following me till the day I meet them in the afterlife and I can apologize for allowing them to experience what they had, to me they felt alive yet dead.

I have experienced an odyssey of problems in my life, each breaking me down and allowing me to build myself anew. Throughout this journey, I have lacked consistency in the form of figures in my life, but the one thing that has stayed with me is football. It has always been there for me in times of melancholy and anguish, whether amidst my playing season or being immersed in the television watching my idols. In this, I learned the tales of said idols, discovering that their so-called perfect lives were really like a phoenix rising from the ashes rather than what I believed was a utopian life. This, in turn, displayed to me that if one wishes to achieve their dreams, one must triumph through various trials and tribulations that said path might bring.  and that there must be sacrifices made if you genuinely want to be great, even if your goal may seem like a Sisyphean task. Nothing can stop you if you believe in yourself and your goal's purpose.

 While I speak of many lessons that can be learned from the sport, that does not mean that if you play, said lessons simply come along with it. I believe it is the individual's responsibility to learn from the teachings of the sport, and the best way to learn is first to fail. I did not understand this until the summer of my freshman year. I had just turned 15, and I was contemplating quitting as my dear grandmother had just passed. This caused my mind to fog, and I felt like a lost child marooned by their family. I was extremely close to giving up until I was encouraged by the words of my coach, which I live by to this day. He said something along the lines of, ¨Every time you quit, it just makes it easier the next time,” along with my father's words, ¨Just live to be someone Grammy would be proud of.” At first, I was still in the process of grief and did not fully understand the intent behind their words, but as I had time to let those words marinate in my mind, I thought about how my grandmother would feel or what she would say if I told her I had quit. This motivated me to continue to push through the mental and physical strain. Not quitting through said pains gave me pliability, built resilience, and a growth mindset, and I pursued a leadership role, wanting to show and express the values this sport can teach someone and how it can change lives. As for me, it hashad taken me from a hyper, undriven, and lazy kid to someone who wishes to be a positive example for others and someone that people and my peers can rely on.