Ryan Kilburg doesn’t remember much from the morning he had a seizure.  

He doesn’t remember the faces around the breakfast table, the chatter of his teammates or even the taste of his food before the upcoming football game.  

Medics later told him that he was unconscious for nearly 15 minutes. The seizure itself only lasted two minutes.  

When Kilburg regained consciousness, the room felt unfamiliar. His body moved before his mind caught up, not realizing the severity of what had just happened.  

Unaware of what was going on, he laughed, pushed his chair in, picked up his plate and started walking out of 7th Street Underground like nothing happened. 

Coaches and teammates automatically stopped everything they were doing to tend to him, but they didn’t know what to think and do.  

“I turned around, and there were four paramedics behind me,” Kilburg said. “They were just watching me, making sure I was all right. I looked down and saw puke all over myself. I didn’t even realize what was going on.” 

He was confused, and looking around at faces he knew but couldn’t place.  

One paramedic told him to keep moving, and that everything is okay.  

But Kilburg didn’t feel okay.  

That morning, Oct. 5, 2024, was supposed to be one of the biggest days of the season: homecoming.  

Instead, it was the day he learned what epilepsy was. 

The Day Everything Changed

Now a student assistant coach, Kilburg remembers one thing clearly: he was game-day ready, locked in and prepared to perform well in front of his family.  

Those memories now feel like another life to him.  

“I kind of just sat there and just looked around. Just very observant, almost as numb, kind of like it’s over with,” Kilburg said. “I’ve been playing tackle football since I was 5, so it was definitely a sink in moment.” 

After his first and only seizure, doctors ran the standard tests to figure out the problem.  

According to the University of Chicago’s Epilepsy Center, neurologists say, “With non-invasive technology and contemporary diagnostic techniques, we can pinpoint the origin of most seizures with precision. Having this advantage can significantly increase diagnostic accuracy and improve patient outcomes.”  

This means that doctors can use machines such as the electroencephalogram (EEG), magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) and computed tomography scan (CT) scans to locate where the seizure began, help diagnose epilepsy and provide treatment.  

Still, not every case has an answer.  

For some, the cause is a head injury or a neurological condition. For others, it’s something genetic.  

And then, there are patients like Kilburg, where the doctors don’t have a clear answer. In the weeks after his seizure, Kilburg was searching for his own explanations, replaying possibilities in his mind and waiting for doctors to tell him what went wrong.  

“Obviously, they told me my brain waves were a little out of whack, but they didn’t know what caused it or what started it,” Kilburg said. “I asked if it was from playing football, I’ve had concussions before. I asked if that might play a part. And they said no, for the most part, it shouldn’t.”  

Kilburg was told it could be from head trauma, stress, dehydration or something else. 

But doctors were never able to pinpoint what exactly went wrong. 

After months of tests, scans and questions without clear answers, Kilburg said the hardest part wasn’t the diagnosis, but it was the silence that followed. 

“I was looking to the doctors for answers, and they didn’t really have them,” he said. “There’s not much else you can say.” 

That uncertainty sent him into what he now calls a fog.  

“I was angry, just kind of rolling through life like whatever,” Kilburg said. “For a while, I didn’t lean on God at all. But recently, I’ve reconnected just knowing he wouldn’t put me in a spot where I couldn’t handle it.” 

He paused, then smiled slightly. “Man makes plan, and God laughs,” he said. “You just have to trust his process.” 

Over time, faith became the foundation that helped Kilburg rebuild his life, he said. Not overnight, but through reflection and response.  

“When I first started praying, I thought strength or patience would just show up,” Kilburg said. “But praying for something brings adversity. You earn those things through how you respond.” 

He said his favorite Bible verse, Matthew 23:12, guides him daily: “Those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” 

“To me, that means it’s not you, it’s all God’s doing,” Kilburg said. “If you understand that, he’ll put you where you’re supposed to be.” 

Finding Hope in his Mentors

Faith wasn’t the only thing that kept Kilburg grounded — mentorship did, too. 

A few groups of people who helped him find direction again were the cornerbacks on the team and defensive pass game coordinator Maurice Fleming.  

Kilburg now calls Fleming both a mentor and a brother in faith. 

Fleming had been down a similar road—the sudden end of a playing career, the fog that followed and the slow process of rediscovering purpose.  

He said he recognized that same darkness in Kilburg after the seizure. 

“You go through this dark space,” Fleming said. “You start to question your ability. You doubt yourself over time. I knew what Kilburg was going through.” 

Fleming said he reminded him that the game wasn’t over but that it was just changing form. 

“You could do a really good job in this coaching business if you take it seriously and if you’re passionate about it as if you were a player,” he said. “The thing is, it’s all mental.” 

For Kilburg, that message hit home. It echoed the same faith he had been rebuilding: trusting God’s plan even when it didn’t look like his own. 

Fleming said he tries to live by that same belief. 

“I got closer to God,” Fleming said. “I asked him, if I’m going to live my life through you, let it be purposeful. Let me touch the youth, because they’re the future.” 

That shared faith became the foundation of their bond and the reason Kilburg said the transition from player to coach felt less like an ending and more like a calling. 

Following a Coach’s Legacy

But Kilburg’s greatest motivation comes from his father, who passed away on Kilburg’s 20th birthday.  

His dad had been a coach since Kilburg was 5, not just to him but to countless children in their community. 

“He had a great impact on the rest of the kids in our community by teaching them how to play basketball and football,” Kilburg said. “He was beloved by all. They even set up a scholarship fund in his honor at his local grade school and the high school we both attended.” 

Kilburg said his dad’s influence continues to guide him today, especially now that he’s the one coaching young players. 

“My motivation is to continue his legacy of having a positive impact on players’ lives inside and outside of football,” he said. 

That legacy, along with the trust he has rebuilt and the support of mentors such as Fleming, has transformed Kilburg’s perspective on the game. 

The Next Chapter 

After his medical retirement, Kilburg’s next chapter unfolded not far from the same field where his playing career ended.  

The same whistle that once signaled game days now marked the start of team meetings, practice drills and long nights breaking down film. This time, it was from the other side of the line. 

Head coach Chris Wilkerson said it didn’t take long for Kilburg to find his footing.  

Shortly after learning he could no longer play, Kilburg approached the coaching staff with one request: to stay close to the game that shaped him. 

“I knew he wanted to get into coaching,” Wilkerson said. “He was always one of the smarter players in the room, and as a safety, he already acted like a quarterback on defense, communicating, seeing the field and understanding coverages. So when he asked to stay on as a student assistant coach, it made sense. He’s been great for us.” 

That next step came with guidance from defensive coordinator Andrew Strobel, who started at Eastern Illinois around the same time Ryan transferred in.  

The two quickly found common ground. 

“I got hired in January of 2024, and he showed up about a week later,” Strobel said. “We were both new, trying to figure things out together. It’s crazy to see now how far he’s come.” 

That growth became most visible in the moments after Kilburg’s seizure, when uncertainty loomed and the future of his playing career hung in the balance.  

Strobel was one of the first to reach him, even riding in the ambulance and contacting his family. 

“It was a wild, scary day, something I’ll never forget,” Strobel said. “To see him come back from that and handle everything the way he did, never once with a ‘poor me’ attitude, says everything about who he is.” 

Nearly a year later, Strobel said those same qualities that defined Ryan as a player now shape him as a young coach—his patience, humility and quiet determination. 

“He shows up every day, runs scout cards, helps with signals, asks questions, takes notes,” Strobel said. “He’s figuring out what kind of coach he wants to be. And that’s not easy when you’re working with guys your same age.” 

For Kilburg, the transition from player to coach wasn’t just about trading his helmet for a headset, it was about finding purpose again.  

He still stands on the sideline in the same familiar blue gear, still watches film, still studies tendencies. But now, instead of waiting for his name to be called, he’s helping others prepare for theirs. 

That perspective, Wilkerson said, has made Kilburg invaluable. 

“When guys see someone like Kilburg still around, they realize how quickly this game can be taken from you,” Wilkerson said. “He’s close enough in age to connect with them, but now he also brings that coach’s mindset. Sometimes he gives us the players’ perspective in our meetings, and sometimes he brings our message back to the locker room. That balance helps our program.” 

The same lessons his father taught about resilience, faith and character, are the ones Kilburg passes down. Now, each practice, film session and quiet moment with a player carries a piece of that legacy.  

And though his playing days ended sooner than expected, Kilburg doesn’t see it as the end of his football story.  

Instead, it’s the beginning of something bigger. 

“I think God put me here for a reason,” he said. “It’s bigger than football. It’s about helping others find their purpose, just like I found mine.” 

Payton Liggins can be reached at 581-2812 or at [email protected].