How is Trey?

Many of you have asked, “How is Trey?” I will give you the recap of what we have done to help Trey cope with the loss of his sister.

My philosophy on parenting is that my responsibility is not to shelter my kids from the world, but to assist them in coping with it. Madi passed away around 3:00 AM. Before the ambulance came we woke Trey up and told him that Madi had died. We asked him if he would like to say goodbye. He asked, “How can I say goodbye if she is dead?” I explained that her spirit has left her body and lives on, so she can hear us. We took him in to see her body. We explained that her body would no longer be with us on Earth and that her spirit has gone to heaven. We all stood by the bed and told her we loved her and goodbye. Trey asked to go back to bed.

The next morning Trey got up and got ready for school. School seemed like the best place for him. He needed to have closure with Madi, but did not need to be consumed with the details all day long. He needed the normalcy of a day at school. Before he left for school and before the ambulance took Madi’s body away, we all went in to say one last I love you and goodbye to Madi. I walked Trey in to his class to notify his teacher of what had happened and asked her to watch him and let me know if he needed anything. He had a great day at school.

A few days later we had the viewing. I had gone earlier and Trey came with someone else. Without my knowledge someone sent Trey over to see his sister in the casket. Someone let me know that Trey was standing at the casket alone, almost frozen. I bee-lined it over to him to help him through a difficult experience. I asked him if he thought Madi would approve of the job I did getting her body ready. “I curled her hair and put on a tiara. I painted her fingernails purple. Can you see the bling I added to her thumb nails? You know she would love that. I made sure that she had a ring, and a bracelet, and a necklace, and earrings, and she is wearing her favorite dress.” He nodded that Madi would’ve approved. “I think she’s beautiful,” I said. Trey responded, “So do I.” I asked if he was done. He said yes, and we walked away.

At the end of the night I explained to Trey, who had seen Madi three times since her death, that we would no longer see her after tonight. As a family we said a prayer around her casket and said our last goodbyes. Trey asked if he could be the one to close the casket. I agreed. As we left the room, Trey broke down in tears. I sat down to comfort him. I said things like, Madi is much happier now that she isn’t so sick anymore, and her spirit lives on in heaven even though we can’t see her. But the thing that finally brought him peace was when I said, “Even though we can’t see her body anymore, we can go home and look at lots of pictures and videos to remember Madi.” He dried his eyes and said let’s go.

I think remembering Madi is the thing that has helped him cope the most. We do lots of things to help Madi live on in our memories. We keep a running list of things that remind us of Madi. Whenever anyone thinks of something we add it to the list. Trey will come up with things we don’t even know about. “Oh Mom, add ‘Capture’ to the list.” “What’s that?” I ask. “It’s a game Madi and I used to play.”

We did a good job of staying very busy through the holidays, but January seemed to be hard for everyone. One night Jay and Trey were playing xbox. Jay was headed out for a guys’ night out, so as he left, he told Trey to play for five more minutes and then go to bed. Please tell me I’m not the only one who sees the ridiculousness of the situation. Five-year-olds have no concept of time. He could have at least said two more guys or levels or whatever. On top of it, Jay doesn’t bother to tell me. I thought Jay put Trey to bed and then left. Imagine my surprise when a fully-clothed Trey comes into my room at 10:30 to tell me something. My eyes got huge. “What are you doing?” Trey explained to me what had transpired and then asked, “Am I in trouble?” I responded,“No, but your dad is big time.” I assured him he was not in trouble but that he needed to go straight to bed. He left and a few minutes later I hear wailing upstairs. The kind of crying where your sure someone lost a finger. I jump out of bed and ask what’s wrong. Through tears, a very loud, “I miss Madi.”

Part of me knows that he is just exhausted, but part of me knows we need to deal with the emotions however they get expressed. So I let him crawl into bed with me and asked what happened to make him think of her. He said that whenever he or Madi couldn’t sleep, they would sneak into each others bed. I said, “Oh I remember that! Do you remember how mad I used to get? I used to yell and say everyone get back in your own beds. Remember how she used to come in your room when you were trying to sleep and turn on your light and start playing with your toys? You used to say, ‘Moooom, Madi’s in my room again.’ You guys were such stinkers.” Then I gave him tickle torture, which resolves most issues in our house. I let him fall asleep with me that night.

The next morning he was exhausted. He cried for Madi right into his cereal. Jay and I discussed letting him stay home from school. I felt like letting him stay home from school might teach him that saying you miss Madi would get you special privileges. Then it would be hard to tell which future emotions were genuine. I told Trey he needed to go to school even though he was tired and sad. “We all miss Madi but we still have to go to work and school. But when you get home we can look at pictures of Madi and take a nap.”

We haven’t had any breakdowns since this one. Trey and I work on Madi related issues about once a week. We have some workbooks and literature that we use as our guide. We write in a journal, answer questions about cancer, draw pictures about different emotions we are having, and talk about Madi. When Trey can’t sleep at night, we invite him to go into Madi’s room and pick one of her favorite stuffed animals off her bed to sleep with. A few small gifts from friends have gone a long way to comfort both Madi and Trey.

As February approached so did Madi’s birthday. We anticipated it being a hard day so we did what we could to make it a special, happy day of celebrating Madi. Trey had begged to go back to Universal’s Islands of Adventure ever since we went with the Make-a-Wish foundation. We decided to go for her birthday. We had so much fun. We decided that we should all get henna tattoos in honor of her birthday. Trey got a chain around his arm, I got a tiara, and Jay got a purple cancer ribbon. When we got back to our resort, there were flowers waiting in our room from our friends in Atlanta. We got a few other birthday presents from friends as well. It amazes me that every time I come upon something that I think is going to be too much to bear, there are wonderful people there to carry me through. I love you all so much.

Another comfort to our family was a camp we attended in March. Camp Stars is an organization that provides a weekend family camp for those who have lost loved ones. On the first night we had to introduce ourselves and tell about the loved one we had lost. Trey begged to be the one to talk for our family. He got the mic, introduced himself and said, “My sister, Madi, died of a brain tumor. She was beautiful and we love her.” It was very sweet. There were tons of activities like, fishing, paddle boats, rock climbing, archery, arts and crafts, etc. We split up into age groups and were able to talk with others about our loss. We brought tons of pictures of Trey and Madi together and for one of the crafts we made a scrapbook of the two of them. We had a candle lighting ceremony at the end with a slide show and we got to say a few words about Madi. It was a very special weekend for our family. We are thankful for the donations from the family (we were able to meet them at the end during the ceremony) that made it all possible.

In April, Trey got spoiled by his grandparents in New York. Ever since we got back, he constantly says, “I heart NY.” At the end of that wonderful spring break came Easter which we spent at my brother’s house. Easter was hard for me but I don’t think Trey noticed. It should be an easy time because remembering the resurrection is what gives us hope and brings the peace of knowing we will see Madi again. I think it was just very emotional because never in my life has Easter meant so much to me.

It is amazing how much having kids teaches you. You think that you are going to teach them how to get through this life and end up learning so much from them. Madi has already taught me more in the last year than I could have taught her in a lifetime. By helping Trey through this process, I am learning even more. Trey has been on a kick of asking crazy “would you rather A or B”-type questions. He turned to me and asked, “Would you rather see Jesus or Madi?” I responded, “Trey, I would rather see Jesus, because then I would know that I would see Madi.”

Everybody deals with trials. They are all different, but we all have them. Life is not about avoiding trials; it’s about what you do after they happen to you. When you think about past events, you make a choice. What will your events motivate you to do? I hope to teach Trey to choose to be motivated to do good. That is how we allow Madi to continually bless our lives. I’m optimistic after the ride to school this morning. Trey said, “I want to write a book, so that after I die people will remember me, just like Dr. Seuss.” That’s my boy!

Painful Blessings

I’ve wanted to write, but life has been quite painful. At first the tears would not come, now I can’t keep them away. It feels like a sports injury (sorry for this analogy, but I’m an athlete at heart). I’m reminded of a time I was shooting a three in a basketball game (too many years ago), and the defender boxed me out by undercutting me. I came down and turned my ankle. In the adrenaline of a close game, I played on. After the game my foot swelled up and by the next morning I couldn’t even walk. It wasn’t broken and later on in the day I started walking on it. By that night’s game, with enough tape, I was able to play through the pain. When the game was close I felt nothing, but when I was resting on the bench, it was pretty painful. My life feels like I’m playing through an injury.

The pain of Madi’s death first set in when the whirlwind of the funeral, the cruise, and the holidays all came to an end. It was New Year’s Eve and I was taking down Christmas decorations (someone once told me that it is bad luck to have your tree up after the New Year). It all seemed over. Really over. Taking down those Christmas decorations felt like an ending I was desperate to avoid. The thought of a New Year was worse. The problem is I love New Year’s Eve/Day. It is my favorite holiday. I love making goals, starting fresh, new motivation, fancy dresses, parties, staying up late, late night breakfast, and college football all day. Some how, this year, starting fresh seemed like the worse thing in the world. Moving into a New Year where Madi didn’t exist is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I managed to take down most of the decorations. There were two things I couldn’t bear to take down. One was the nativity set in the living room. It would stay up three more weeks. Thinking of the Savior had given me so much strength that I did not want to lose such a beautiful reminder of His love and sacrifice that makes seeing Madi again possible. The other decoration was Madi’s Angel Tree. It is still up.

For those who don’t know, Madi’s Angel Tree was given to me at the funeral by her preschool, Wynnton Methodist. Many families from the school and from all over have sent me angels to put on the tree to remind me of the love and support they have for our family during this time. The angels are as priceless as the friendships that they symbolize. Some are homemade angels by Madi’s friends, some are things that remind us of Madi (Belle, a girl in a purple dress, a bottle of nail polish, and Cindy Lou Who), Some are so exquisite that Derek (my 18 month old) is bound to lose a hand if he gets any closer, some are filled with so much meaning they bring me to tears, and all are filled with the love and support that sustained me through last year and continues to sustain me now.

There is one particular angel story that I must share. I received a box in the mail from the mother of one of my best friends growing up. In the box were five antique-looking angels. I thought how interesting they were. Then I read the note and realized that interesting will never be used to describe them. They are the five angels that have hung on her tree for some 30 years to represent each of her five children. I am honored that she would entrust them to me.

As you can see, the idea of taking down this tree seemed an impossible task. I still need that tree. In fact, I think I need it now more than ever. I had planned on putting the tree up every year on November 8^th, to honor Madi, and leaving it up through Christmas, but I couldn’t take it down. In desperation I called my super OCD friend. We all have one of these friends. Her house is amazing, beautifully decorated and always immaculate. The Christmas decorations are up a few days before Thanksgiving and come down the day after Christmas without fail. Her shocking advice was to leave the tree up. I said, “You would never do that.” And she responded that she would if she had something that beautiful.

Needless to say, the tree is still up and the lights come on every night at 6:30. I often wonder what the neighbors think, the ones that don’t know the meaning of the tree. Why did they take down their house lights and reindeer but leave their tree up? They should at least turn off the timer so no one knows they still have their tree up. There is one thing that gives me comfort when I think of these people. There is a little boy, William, who lives down the street. He was in Madi’s preschool class for two years. His mom told me that every time they pass my house at night William says, “There’s Madi’s Christmas Tree!”



William giving Madi purple flowers when he found out she was sick.



While the tree helps, the pain is still there, and we are learning to live with it. Since I live with it daily, I have thought a lot about my pain, mostly about the purpose of my pain. Why is this so painful? Feeling pain is a very important part of our physical survival. There is actually a serious medical condition called congenital analgesia (after countless episodes of ER, Grey’s Anatomy, and House, I’m practically a doctor), where the patient cannot feel pain. They often suffer from eye infections, because they can’t tell when something is hurting their eye, or damage to their mouth from unknowingly biting their tongue or lip. They often have bone fractures but aren’t aware, and if they have any internal problems they seek no medical attention because they are not alerted by the pain.

My pain has followed a similar path as physical pain does. Often in serious injuries, the body goes into shock and no pain is felt until later. My friend was on a first date with a guy when they were involved in an attempted car jacking. He was driving away when he was shot in the side. He calmly told her he was shot, asked her to call his brother, and drove himself to the hospital, where the pain set in with a vengeance. When Madi first passed away I was very much at peace. I felt very calm and peaceful when I thought of her. I could not cry. I worried that I was not being honest with myself and that I would crash soon, but that did not happen. I truly felt at peace. A friend, who recently lost her mother, warned me that a difficult time lay ahead. She said that two months after her mother passed, the people went away, the tasks were all done, and the pain set in. I’m thankful for her wisdom that helped me prepare myself for this time.

The pain has definitely set in, but my pain does not feel physical but rather seems spiritual in nature.  There is nothing wrong with my body, but Madi’s separation from me hurts me to my soul. So is there a purpose to spiritual pain that is as important as our physical pain is to our survival? I have a friend who lost her two year old boy suddenly in an accident. She recalls feeling the same peace at first. She reasoned that the Holy Ghost must step in and help you cope with such unbearable pain. She described it as being enveloped with bubble wrap. She said that eventually the feeling went away and her pain set in similar to mine. She felt that such a strong presence from the Holy Ghost all the time was not sustainable. I wondered why? I am continually drawn to the thought that there must be something to learn from this pain; it must have a purpose.

So I start with trying to find answers to what causes my pain and what would fix it. It seems that my separation from Madi is causing it and being with her again would fix it. So maybe the pain is turning our focus to an afterlife, filling us with hope of an afterlife with our loved ones. Living with this pain all the time is a constant reminder of something more to live for. Having someone we have loved on the other side pulls us like a magnet toward that life that extends beyond this one. It moves us to seek answers to questions. Is there life after death? Does everyone go to the same place? Does what I’m doing now determine the place I will go? When we have a loved one there, we are motivated to learn more giving this life new meaning and purpose.

I am grateful for the answers I have learned through religion. In fact, about 60% of the world, billions of people, have answers to these questions. Christianity and Islam, the top world religions, believe in a resurrection and a heaven where we are reunited with our loved ones. They each detail a process to get there. If so many of us believe in these things, why is there so much pain and grief associated with death and loss? I know that my own beliefs have brought much needed peace; and yet, the pain, while mitigated, is still palpable.

So I have been wondering if there is more to be learned from the pain, more growth to be had. Recently, a new idea has offered a possible answer that also coincides with a previous religious question of mine. My personal understanding is that we lived with our Heavenly Father before we came to earth, and we can return to Him through Christ our Savior. If we cannot return to Him then we will experience a separation from Him which we will consider “hell.” We will be in a Heaven, far better than this Earth, but the hell we will experience will be that we can no longer be in the presence of our Heavenly Father.

I have been trying to understand the concept of being separated from our Heavenly Father. Because we don’t remember Him, we have to rely on our spiritual senses to relearn the nature of our relationship with Him. I have struggled with the fact that I have felt more distraught over being separated from a boyfriend than from my Father in Heaven. I have tried to nurture and strengthen the relationship with my Father in Heaven so that I have a desire and a motivation to return to Him.

I believe that dealing with Madi’s death has helped teach me more about what that separation could feel like. Maybe that is why we feel such bonds between family members and such pain at their passing. The pain we feel might be teaching us what Heaven might be like without being reunited with our Father in Heaven. I am happy here on Earth, and I have so many blessings to be thankful for, including two other beautiful children. But I am always saddened when I think of Madi (which is several times a day) and the void left by her death. Being without her really is hell; even with all the good in my life, this is not how I would like life to remain for eternity.

We all must deal with death, either of a loved one or our own death. Our Heavenly Father loves each of us very much and desires for each of us to return to Him. It would be very painful for Him to lose just one of us. He wants us to learn how to return to Him and all our loved ones. It should be our most important endeavor. It will bring us the most happiness. Isn't that really what we all want? Happiness?!