Obituary: Daniel Kryzer fought ALS as his mother battled cancer
March 14, 2016 - als
They gave Daniel Kryzer 5 years to live, and he scored seven.
Two Decembers ago, Kryzer reported a news on Facebook that he’d defied that initial diagnosis. Because of Lou Gehrig’s disease, he’d already mislaid his ability to travel or speak.
“Five years ago Dr. Walk told me that we had ALS,” Kryzer posted. “Now, I’m violence a contingency and a insurgent with a means to live to see my children get married.”
Hundreds of “likes” and sentiments showered a page he combined in 2009, a year a illness was diagnosed.
Kryzer, of New Brighton, died Feb. 26, dual weeks after his wife, Andrea, died of breast cancer. They faced depot illnesses while lifting their kids Jax, 9, and Ella, 8. Kryzer was 40.
Kryzer saw his finish entrance usually as vividly as he saw other secular events, according to his Facebook posts. He saw a Wild diversion final St. Patrick’s Day while sipping a Coors. He saw many episodes of “Sons of Anarchy.” In 2014, he saw “Interstellar,” starring Matt Damon — and was “on a fence” about a improbable ending.
“Thought is slower than a speed of light,” he posted. “I’m stranded on a ending, bad ending.”
He saw that former Penn State football star Steve Smith also had ALS, and kept fighting it, and he felt inspired. He saw that a new breakfast sandwich — a greasy, sausage-patty dream on an English muffin — was entrance to a State Fair. He saw Jax’s ball games final summer.
“If there was something, he was always there,” Kryzer’s mother, Diane, said. “Birthday parties, births, somebody got sick, he was always there to help.”
Before a diagnosis, before a wheelchair, before a feeding tube, Kryzer played football.
He played in high propagandize while flourishing adult in New Brighton, and again in college during a University of Northwestern-St. Paul. He graduated and worked as a mechanism programmer for Oracle — once meditative he’d be an oceanographer or pattern video games.
Kryzer had a bad concussion once, his mom said, and a alloy during a neurological hospital told him he’d find out a repairs when he was 40.
“Well,” she said.
His younger hermit Darrell sensed a red dwindle when Kryzer mislaid during an arm-wrestling compare during a bachelor party. On Darrell’s knee, a injure still reminds him of a childhood day when he knelt into a rusty nail, secluded by grass, and Kryzer slung him over his behind to run home. His comparison hermit was tough, strong.
“It was tough to understand,” Darrell said. “I didn’t unequivocally know most about a disease.”
Behind his black, thick-rimmed glasses, Kryzer’s clear blue eyes still twinkled during 40 — generally during his kids. His high propagandize buddies used to call him “Cruiser” since of those eyes. He took a organisation of them to Texas Roadhouse when he initial found out a news. They still played their annual breeze final summer, entertainment for pizza during New Hope Bowl.
“It was like someone punched me in a stomach,” pronounced Chris Meyer, a longtime family friend.
Kryzer wheeled by his mankind with fervor, staying young.
“He did a lot of things that expected wouldn’t have happened had he not finished adult carrying this disease,” Meyer said.
Gazing into a video camera, he available a delivery of “Let It Go,” a renouned strain from a Disney film “Frozen.” He missed some of a lyrics, laughing, and posted a video on his YouTube account: “Daddy singing Frozen for Ella.” On Facebook, he added, “What we do for a daughters.”
A few years after his diagnosis, Kryzer’s friends and family took him for a one-week outing to Las Vegas. He saw a steel concert, one of his favorite genres, and a inhabitant rodeo finals. He peered over Sin City during an aerobatic disturb ride.
“Well, what kind of float do we wish to have today?” a user asked.
“I’ll have to tell we like it is,” Kryzer said. “I have ALS. we usually have X-amount of time left.”
So what’s your speed?
Besides his children, Kryzer is survived by his parents, Diane and Steve, brothers Douglas and Darrell, and a sister, Stephanie Kryzer. Services have been held.
Natalie Daher • 952-746-3285