Nick Eubanks felt chills when 
he heard the play-call. He 
knew it was one designed to 
free him over the middle, a 
play Michigan had practiced 
repeatedly in the lead-up to 
its Nov. 17, 2018 bout with 
Indiana. He lined up on the 
right side of the line, put his 
hand on the ground, heard the 
cadence and started flying as 
if carried by the wings of an 
angel.
He released up the field, 
darting up the seam through 
the Hoosiers’ defense. As 
Zach Gentry broke to the 
corner and the safety chased, 
Eubanks knew the rest was 
inevitable. It was a moment 
born of unspeakable tragedy 
and unthinkable resilience, 
and finally it was all his. His, 
and nobody else’s. Gone, if 
only for an instant, was the 
burdensome past. The end 
zone beckoned.
Eubanks caught a dart from 
Shea Patterson at the oppos-
ing 20. There was nothing but 
green grass in front, but his 
head jolted right, left and right 
again to be sure. It was the 
first touchdown of his career. 
Then he crossed the goal line, 

as the band played “The Vic-
tors” and the roar of 110,000-
plus washed over. 
He didn’t hear much, but he 
felt plenty.
He felt his head drop, the 
wave of emotion crashing 
down. He felt those chills 
crawl back up his spine. He 
felt his nine siblings, sprawled 
out across the country, with 
him. At his brother in-law’s 
house over 1,000 miles away, 
Nick’s father, Clayton, leapt 
from the couch and screamed. 
Nick felt that, too.
Mostly, though, he felt his 
mom.
“I just had my head down,” 
Eubanks recalled last Tues-
day afternoon, “and was just 
thinking, like, ‘After all I went 
through, especially battling 
injuries, battling doubts, 
battling myself.’ I had rough 
days in practice, messing up in 
practice, not being counted on. 
I just thought about all them 
times. It just hit me.” 
Then he looked up, pointed 
two fingers at the sky and 
addressed his mom with two 
words.
“Thank you.”
***
Cassandra Eubanks’ dream car 
was a Chevy Suburban. Nick 
hoped from a young age that 
she’d live to see him buy it for 

her.
As she was losing strength in 
the late 2000s, Nick slowly 
entering adolescence, he be-
gan to understand that dream 
wouldn’t come to fruition. 
Cassandra had been battling 
cervical cancer for nearly a 
decade, though Nick and his 
nine siblings didn’t know the 

extent until the bitter end. She 
fought it hard and meticulous-
ly, doing chemotherapy and 
radiation unbeknownst to her 
children. At first, the effort 
was to great effect. The can-
cer regressed; the Eubanks’ 
thought she was in the clear.
“And then it came back,” Clay-
ton said over the phone last 

week. “And, what? They say it 
comes back with a vengeance? 
It did.”
With the cancer spreading and 
Cassandra’s health declining, 
the doctors recommended am-
putating her leg. The doctors 
felt it was the most effective 
way to rid her of the tumor. 
Amid tribulations and con-
sternation, the family agreed it 
was the best course of action.
Clayton was headed to work 
when a doctor called to ex-
plain the recommendation. 
Harried by the news, he got a 
ticket for speeding through a 
school district on his way to 
the hospital.
“I always kept faith knowing 
that she would pull through, 
because she fought it all her 
life and ‘I’ll beat it,’ ” Nick re-
called. “It got to a point where 
she was losing her strength 
and stuff like that, and basical-
ly that was it for her.”
Cassandra, 51, died of 
post-surgical complications 
on Sept. 11, 2011. To this day, 
Clayton regrets the decision to 
attempt the surgery.
“I wish I’d never have did that, 
but she left it on me,” Clayton 
said. “... Because it was all for 
nothing, and I was kind of just 
mad, really. Like I said, it was 
all for nothing.”
Nick, 14 at the time, internal-

ized the emotions from that 
trauma. He was a reticent kid 
already, and the tragedy stayed 
clouded in an adolescent haze 
of confusion.
“He’s a shy person, man. He’s 
not talkative,” Clayton said. 
“He was sorta like me with 
that; he kept a lot of that 
inside. I know (my kids) cried 
and stuff, but he didn’t express 
a lot. And I tried to do my best 
talking with him and stuff, 
make him understand what 
their mother would want from 
them.”
Cassandra left her sec-
ond-youngest son with a part-
ing message, one Nick holds 
dear to his heart. 
“Before she passed away, I 
think two days before, I was 
in the room with her, and 
she was just like, ‘It’s going 
to be alright.’ ” Eubanks said. 
“That’s the only thing she 
kept telling me. ‘It’s going to 
be alright.’ And then, from 
that point on, through every 
adversity I’ve faced — being 
here, being hurt freshman and 
sophomore year — I just had 
that message in the back of my 
head. 
“It’s going to be alright. It’s 
going to be alright.”

Max Marcovitch
Managing Sports Editor

Eubanks strives to live by his mother’s parting message

Alec Cohen / Daily 
Design by Jack Silberman 
September 16, 2019 | michigandaily.com

That’s the
only thing
she kept
telling me.
‘It’s going to
be alright.’

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