Erik Kramer Put a Bullet Through His Head. This Is What Happened Next...

The Erik Kramer story should be a tragedy. 

Former NFL quarterback is gripped by depression. He packs a pistol, checks into a hotel room, lies down on the bed and then the calm Southern California night is pierced by a gunshot.

He literally puts a bullet through his brain.

But the story does not end there.

It begins.

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So come on, let it go

Just let it be

Why don't you be you, and I'll be me?

Everything that's broke

Leave it to the breeze

Why don't you be you, and I'll be me?

And I'll be me

"Let It Go," a song by James Bay from the album Chaos and the Calm, has been therapeutic for Kramer. It's good for him to listen to on days like June 24.

As cemeteries go, Pierce Brothers Valley Oaks-Griffin Memorial Park in Westlake Village, about 37 miles north of Los Angeles, is a pleasant place to be. Beautiful trees. Foothills in the distance. Pastoral feel.

Kramer spent the morning of June 24 there, in the aptly named Garden of Tranquility section. He and his girlfriend, Cortney Baird, brought balloons and planted sunflowers. They could hear water running from a nearby stream.

It would have been Kramer's son Griffen's 22nd birthday. If he had lived. Griffen took a fatal dose of heroin five years ago.

Marking this occasion in front of a grave always is sad, but this time there were a few smiles and some happy memories. It didn't seem quite as heart-wrenching as it had been in past years.

There is a peace and calm and optimism about Kramer these days that never has been there before.

A 9mm bullet ripped through his chin, his tongue and his palate, then shot up through his sinuses and frontal lobe and out of his head. But he didn't just survive it. He became less imperfect because of it.

"He is less easily disrupted," Baird said. "He is so much more accepting of people the way they are. He has an authentic appreciation for every experience and interaction. He has acquired some coping skills and honesty and vulnerability that have allowed him to manage his challenges better.

"He has come really far in terms of realizing how important forgiving is and being forgiven and healing. He understands holding onto things takes a toll in one form or another. He wants to live and realizes some things don't matter no matter how painful they are."

Kramer can see it in the mirror. He describes himself as more placid about his desires and more easy-going.

Since the moment Kramer attempted to take his life last August 18, depression left him. "There hasn't been one second of one day when I felt bad emotionally," he said.

He can't feel guilty about what he did because his focus is on his tomorrows. "Guilt has no place in a life that's moving forward and is going to keep requiring you to make choices every day," he said. "It just keeps you further entrenched in your malaise."

From where he stands now, he acknowledges that trying to kill himself was not right. But he is not particularly regretful about it.

"I feel it was all part of the story of me," he said. "We all get to where we get in life through the failures and the successes. All of it plays a role in being who I am today."

It is faith that flushed the guilt and regret away, he will tell you. His faith had waned during his depression, but in the second act of Erik Kramer, God has become a consistent presence again.

He believes there is a purpose for his life.

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The ocean's wide, my boat is small, but God, who watches over all, will bless me with a gentle breeze through the seas.

It was a special day in March the first time Kramer was able to drive his black Audi A6 again. He buckled up, turned the engine on and looked down at the console and saw the prayer card, bent slightly, with that simple verse about the ocean and a picture of a boat. The card had been there a long time, along with a small photo of Griffen. It meant more than ever now.

Operating a car takes mental acuity, as well as motor skills. A driver has to be comfortable with distractions and making quick decisions. Getting behind the wheel was a milestone for Kramer.

At the time, Kramer was at Nevada Community Enrichment Program receiving outpatient therapy—relearning to use his mind and body and trying to understand what he was feeling.

Courtesy of Cortney Baird

About five months earlier, when he was at the Center for Neuro Skills in Encino, California, Kramer was telling a psychologist about how his father and his son Dillon had come to see him, and he went into detail about their conversations. The psychologist let him talk, but she knew it never happened.

When Kramer realized his memory had deceived him, he knew he had to start focusing more and making sure his recollection was on point. His therapy began to focus more on accurate memory.

Now, Kramer's recall is much better. He still is not fully recovered and has some short-term memory loss. Cognitive therapy is ongoing, and chances are good that he will continue to progress for at least another six months or so.

To look across the table at Kramer over a cup of coffee, a country omelet, a bagel and a bowl of cottage cheese, you'd never suspect what he has been through. His blue-gray eyes are as engaging as they were when he was in the prime of his NFL career.

He came out of his ordeal remarkably unscathed. His sense of taste and sense of smell are normal. He is energetic enough to work out nearly every morning and hit the golf course often. Concentration and conversation are not problematic.

"I'm a little surprised I have no significant deficiencies," he said. "My outcome could have been far worse, far worse."

He has a small scar under his chin that only a short person could see. He has a bit of a speech impediment, barely noticeable. It may be the result of the surgery to sew his tongue back together.

Kramer was in a medically induced coma for a month-and-a-half. How many surgeries he had, he isn't sure. It really doesn't matter now.

After "the incident," as he calls it, Kramer had a quarter of his skull sawed off, over his left forehead, to repair damage. During the surgery, he experienced significant swelling to the point doctors had to stop the procedure. After the swelling subsided in subsequent days, the operation was completed.

A couple of months later, Kramer met with the surgeons to discuss having a cranioplasty to fill the void. When he was speaking, he noticed one of the surgeons looking at him as if he were not of their world.

"Is something wrong?" Kramer asked.

"Well, honestly," the doctor said, "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again. When we have to stop the surgery and then finish it later, usually that person isn't sitting in my office a couple months later having a clear conversation about putting his skull back on. That's what I'm thinking. If it's coming out in my expression, I apologize."

The doctor isn't the only one who has looked at Kramer disbelievingly. "I think everybody is surprised when they see me for the first time that I'm not dragging a foot, or drool isn't coming down my chin," Kramer said.

When Kramer was planning his demise, he thought about where to shoot himself. He considered aiming for the heart but didn't know exactly where it was and feared he would miss. The temple was another possibility. But what if his hand moved at the last second and he didn't have a direct hit?

Under the chin, he thought, was his best option. He had no idea how right he was.

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Adversity is the stone on which I sharpen my blade.

The quote was better than the movie it came from—Last Holiday with Queen Latifah. Kramer recites it to himself from time to time.

The ability to overcome adversity was a defining characteristic for Kramer the quarterback. He was undrafted, cut twice and went to play in the CFL before he personally called every team in the league to ask for a tryout. The Lions signed him as a third-stringer, and he wound up leading them to their only playoff victory in the last 58 years.

He joined the rival Bears in 1994, and in 1995 had arguably the best season by a quarterback in team history, setting records for passing yards and touchdowns that still stand.

Simon Bruty/Getty Images

Some will argue that football had a role in Kramer's downfall. Kramer, a fierce competitor with a gentle spirit, will argue that football had a role in his reawakening.

"Football is not unlike life," Kramer said. "There are starts, plunges, starts again. You learn ways to respond and ways to prepare for what's next. No matter the circumstances, you always had the game the next week."

It is too easy to assume head trauma led Kramer to pulling that trigger. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. His ex-wife Marshawn Linville-Kramer thinks it did. Kramer isn't sure. Baird isn't sure.

Kramer, a teammate of Junior Seau's for one season in San Diego, did not experience the symptoms that some other suicidal former players did. No headaches. No rage. No abnormal forgetfulness. He said he had only one documented concussion in all of his football years, and that was in high school.

Last July when he checked into the Eisenhower Center in Ann Arbor, Michigan, for depression treatment, psychologists focused on potential damage to his brain from football. Kramer thought his problems were rooted someplace else, which frustrated him.

Within a short period of time, Kramer endured the death of Griffen and his mother Eileen, who had uterine cancer, as well as the end of a 23-year marriage. Then came another difficult stretch in which his father Karl became terminally ill with esophageal cancer, he endured a difficult breakup with his girlfriend of four years, and he started to lose touch with Dillon.

"You lose a marriage, a son, a mom, my dad was sick, a relationship with a girlfriend," he said. "I was starting the backside of my life [he is 51 now], and it was almost like everything I touched was sort of going away."

Substance abuse never has been an issue for Kramer. He said he never has had financial problems.

Yet Kramer was used to living with a heavy heart. He first experienced depression 22 years ago, shortly after signing a three-year, $8.1 million free-agent contract with the Bears. Early in his first season with the team, he separated his shoulder. Backup Steve Walsh took over and did well. When Kramer's shoulder healed, he was not given back his starting job.

"I'm getting paid like I'm the starter, but I'm not starting," said Kramer, who never started more than 20 consecutive games in a 10-year career. "Injury aside, I played myself out of the job. That realization, and having to still show up at work every day, that weighed on me for quite a while."

The next season was his best as a pro, and he was the toast of Chicago. In the NFC, only Brett Favre and Troy Aikman had better passer ratings.

Jonathan Daniel/Getty Images

He should have been pleased with himself, but instead something was missing. "I didn't feel as satisfied as I would have thought," he said. "I had success in football, but I still was feeling an emptiness."

The pressure of his job weighed on him. He saw a sports psychologist through much of his career, who would tell him, "You just play. I'll listen to the boos."

Antidepressants were prescribed, and he said he took them until shortly after his playing career.

Kramer, as much as anybody, understands football can be an emotionally perilous game as well as a physically perilous one. When Griffen played quarterback in high school, he struggled with the expectations of being an NFL quarterback's son.

Just a few months ago, Dillon decided to take up his father's sport. At 6'1", 230 pounds, the 18-year-old senior is lining up at offensive tackle and defensive end for Agoura High School.

His father does not object.

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Do not worry, less wrinkles are more becoming. Forgive, it frees the soul. Take time for yourself. Plan for longevity. Recognize the special people you've been blessed to know. Live for today, enjoy the moment.

This lithograph hangs in Kramer's family room in Agoura Hills. In the thick wood frame is a drawing of a large tree, with the inspirational poem "Living Life" by Bonnie Mohr. Kramer purchased it shortly after Griffen died. There are passages in it that seem to speak directly to what he is going through now.

There is healing happening outside of Kramer's body. Dillon did not initially understand his father's decision to try to take his life, and the incident shook him.

"He thought, 'If I meant so much to him, why was I trying to leave?'" Kramer said. "It's a good question, and I don't have a good answer for it. But having that conversation has helped our relationship."

Dillon is a motivation for Erik to live. One day shortly after the incident, when Kramer's arms still were bound at his side in a hospital bed, Dillon went to see him and played some Rolling Stones. They freed Erik's hands, and he moved them to a Keith Richards groove.

Barriers also have come down between Erik and his ex-wife.

There are reasons he still is here, Kramer keeps telling himself. There are reasons Baird still is here too. It may not have been until recently that all the reasons became clear, though.

In 2007, she was the victim of a domestic assault. She said the father of her then-two-year-old daughter beat her until she was unconscious, then strangled her with a belt. The force severely damaged her trachea and broke a vertebra. She subsequently suffered a massive heart attack and internal injuries. She was on life support, in a coma. When she awoke, she was paralyzed from the waist up, could not speak and didn't even know who she was.

Courtesy of Cortney Baird

Her daughter had been kidnapped after the attack, but she was found unharmed. Eventually, the pull to be a mother helped Baird survive and recover.

"I have an experience in how to sort of come back from the dead and overcome the deficits and frustrations that we have after traumatic brain injury," she said. "I tried to share some of my early recovery experiences with him. I can empathize and I can relate."

"Is it fate? Is it destiny?" she wonders. "I don't know. I'm just so glad I have something that I think can help him."

In a story that must be filled with angels, Baird could be the perfect angel for Kramer. Except she no longer was a part of his life at his lowest moment.

Their parting had been acrimonious, and it seemed final. But on the night of August 18, Baird found herself driving down Kramer's block for the first time in five months to drop off a friend of her daughter's who lived three doors down. As she was pulling away, two police cars stopped in front of Kramer's house. And then Kramer's ex-wife pulled up. Baird had to find out what was happening.

That's when she learned what Kramer had been going through, and she soon realized what she needed to do.

"I don't think there are any coincidences in life," she said. "This was the most traumatic experience that had happened to me. When something like that happens, it clears away all the confusion and all of a sudden you realize what's true in your heart."

In the six months that followed, she was not permitted to see Kramer. She kept asking, though. She struggled with guilt. And she prayed. For a time, she even prayed that he would die if that was what was best for him.

"I didn't want him to survive and not have any quality of life," she said.

Finally, she was allowed to see him. She let him know how sorry she was for not being there when he needed her. She told him she would never be that far away again, regardless of the boundaries of their relationship. Trust was slowly rebuilt, and she offered to support him in any way she could.

Now, they are as together as flames from kissing candles.

"He's a walking miracle in my opinion," Baird said.

She should know what one looks like.

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Try to find meaning in whatever stressful or traumatic thing has happened

The special edition of Time magazine, with 15 smiling emojis on the cover, jumped out at Kramer in the airport newsstand. The Science of Happiness, the edition is titled. For $13.99, he had some reading for his plane ride last month—and a reference book for the nightstand.

One of the articles is titled "How To Bounce Back" and features tips from scientists for improving resilience. Kramer, subsequently, has been trying to find meaning in the traumatic incident in his life—which was tip No. 2.

For about 10 years after his playing career ended, Kramer coached quarterbacks. He worked with a wide range of students, from adolescents hoping to make their high school teams to Cardinals starter Carson Palmer. Then Griffen died and Kramer lost his drive.

Now, Kramer is feeling the need to be productive again. He's also feeling a powerful urge to be a positive force in the universe. He's recently shared parts of his story with Outside the Lines and Sports Illustrated, as well as Bleacher Report.

If his life can be about something more than Erik Kramer now, everything that happened can make sense to him.

He knows he can make quarterbacks better by sharing what he has learned. And he wants to save souls, to get involved with suicide prevention.

"Given the life I've had, I'm probably positioned fairly well to help out," he said. "I could see myself speaking to high schools and middle schools and trying to let people know what their options are. There is a proven way of getting your feelings talked out and getting the support you need."

He tells his story so that others may hope.

Kramer is off to the gym now, trying to be stronger and better tomorrow than he is today. He wants to be able to golf to a six handicap again.

Watching his son play high school football—that is something else he is looking forward to.

He visited Ireland last June, but he already was in decline then. He needs to get back there now that he can soak in more greens and fewer blues. Or maybe he'll go somewhere else. Baird loves Maui—that's a destination to dream about. The other day, he asked her, "Wouldn't it be nice to go to Scotland?"

Yes it would be.

Erik Kramer has some living to do.

Dan Pompei covers the NFL for Bleacher Report. Follow him on Twitter at @danpompei.