His grandfather was a quarterback, his father was a quarterback, his two older brothers dreamed of being quarterbacks. Young Chad Carr, who liked music and puzzles and animals, seemed the only male in his family who wasn’t interested in throwing a football. Perhaps, as his mother would say, “He was put on this Earth for something else.” A cherubic little boy with shaggy blond hair and a cheeky smile, Chad Carr truly looked like he should be attached to angel wings.
And too soon, he was.
Chad died when he was 5 years old, of a brain cancer known as DIPG, or diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma. His clock stopped forever.
His brothers’ did not.
They grew up, as they’d dreamed, taking snaps under center. They became high school football stars. And this weekend, their parents, Tammi and Jason Carr, prepared for the strangest of contrasts.
On Saturday, they planned to be in the stands at Notre Dame Stadium cheering on their oldest son, C.J. Carr, in his first season as starting quarterback for the Fighting Irish.
And on Sunday, they would mark 10 years since they lost Chad.
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal; love leaves a memory no one can steal. That’s an old Irish expression. Mixing those two entities, love and death, is the challenge whenever a family suffers a loss.
“It’s hard,” Tammi Carr admitted. “Even watching these football games. You’ve lost a child and now you’re watching an entire team run after your other child. Like, I want to put my kids in bubble wrap, right?
“But that’s not what they were born to do.”
‘What is truly hard’
Anyone who has lost a little one will tell you there is no greater sadness. And that it affects everything, including the dynamics with your other children. Sometimes, there is overprotection. Sometimes there is guilt. Always there is a shadow.
But rarely do you find yourself on one day cheering for your son on national television and the next day crying on the anniversary of his brother’s death. It’s dizzying. Confusing. You have to find a balance.
“I don’t feel guilty, I feel grateful,” Tammi said. “Grateful that I have two amazing other kids who are doing incredible things and are thriving. And I feel like they’re honoring their brother in everything they do, because I know they’re bringing him with them.”
Tammi admits that she wasn’t always sure how her sons were processing the loss of their little brother, because, as is often the case with teenage boys, they don’t always share their emotions.
But last Thursday, out of the blue, she was told of a long piece that C.J. wrote for the Players’ Tribune. And reading it brought tears to her eyes.
Entitled “100 Years of Love In Five Years of Life,” it was a beautiful, heart-tugging essay about a departed baby brother. C.J. wrote about memories they shared, about their weekly “Boys’ Night” tradition every Friday where they watched movies and pigged out on food with their father, about the way Chad teased the University of Michigan-centric family by saying his favorite football team was Alabama. But mostly about his brother’s incredible courage, battling an inoperable brain tumor that would take his life.
“I think about him all the time,” C.J. wrote, “and at the end of the day, he is a huge source of inspiration for me. For him to go through that tough time, and all that pain, and still keep a smile on his face and keep that positive attitude? I can’t explain to you how much that drives me to push through any challenges that I might face.
“I mean, let’s be real. If Chad could go through chemo and, eventually, not being able to move his left arm and leg at all, and still be cracking jokes and keeping everyone’s spirits up … I can absolutely choose to do hard things. After watching him be so tough, my context of what is truly hard is very different.”
A boy’s mighty legacy
The Carr family often refers to “Chad Winks,” little signs they take as the young boy sending messages from heaven; like C.J.’s first game in Miami, where the opposing team’s colors included orange, Chad’s favorite shade. Or Saturday’s Notre Dame game against Syracuse, whose team name is … the Orange.
But Chad Carr, in his absence from this Earth, has done far more than wink. He inspired the creation of ChadTough, a foundation the Carrs created to help other families battling DIPG and one day find a cure. To date, ChadTough has raised more than $41 million for DIPG research, now the largest single source of funding for that cause. If the disease will one day be eradicated, you can bet ChadTough will be connected to it.
That’s a hell of a legacy for a 5-year-old.
In the meantime, Tammi, Jason, C.J. and brother Tommy, who starred at Saline High School and just committed to play quarterback at Michigan (where his father also played and his grandfather Lloyd won a national championship as coach) will mark a decade without their littlest member, who will remain forever young, if forever gone.
“One of his best friends, he comes and brings me flowers every year on Chad’s birthday,” Tammi said, “and last year he had come from one of the high school football games, and he said, ‘Oh, Miss Tammi, I wish Chad were here. And I wish he was going to be our quarterback.’ And I said, ‘Oh, honey, that’s so sweet. But he probably would have been in the band.’ ”
Like a little drummer boy, Chad Carr marched to his own beat, and while his music stopped 10 years ago, its rhythm continues, in the thumping hearts of excited parents watching his brothers’ football games, and in the sobs of a mother mourning her son on the anniversary of his passing.
It’s strange when those things come on the same weekend. But as Tammi said, “There’s no playbook for this. You just try and give yourself grace.”
By the way, every year, on the anniversary of Chad’s passing, the Carrs try to go to a restaurant, have a meal, and leave a large tip for the wait staff, with a note on the bill about their son and how, in his honor, they’re trying to pay things forward.
The other males in the family may all been quarterbacks, but in that moment, and so many others, little Chad Carr is still carrying the ball, and gaining ground.
Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates with his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow him @mitchalbom on x.com.
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