# prayfortrey

It is weird to feel like you're right at home when you are literally on the opposite end of the planet from the house. 

Many mornings on my way to school this last semester I passed a house about halfway through my drive on Walnut Grove Road. It was just before the Yates stoplight, so I was often stopped, hanging out, rockin' out, and staring at a # prayfortrey sign with a jersey number on it. 

That's it?

It's crazy that we live in a world that went from "call us for info" to "visit our website" to "AOL Keyword: website" to "see us on our myspace" to "like our facebook page" to simply a hash tag. We took a symbol originally meant for the telephone and used it as a subject point. It's like the new AOL Keyword, really. 

Well, I never looked it up. I figured it something related to the high school football rung, probably an injured kid, and I would hear from one of my brothers eventually. 

Well, I never did. 

It was until I was sitting in my bed outside of Shanghai, China perusing through Facebook that I saw a post from a sales manager I used to work with. She's a mommy-poster, so to see her post something other than her kids was notable. Although, they are supa' adorable, I gotta give her that.

It was a link to a Caring Bridge. 

Damn you, Caring Bridge. 

The last time I went to a Caring Bridge site was November 2006 - January 2007 and then a year later in January of 2008 for Sheila Klimetz. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor after she fell out at her daughter's, one of my good friend's, volleyball games. 

In essence, Caring Bridge is an emotional breeding ground. You have to be wary and only venture in with tissues. I don't like having to use tissues, I'm not much of the crying-type. 

But I clicked anyway. And you can, too, right here. 

Damn it. 

And there it was, # prayfortrey. The little hash tag that had been sitting in the back of my head since February or March. That and a picture of a young kid standing by his mom. 

I forced back tears as I read through their journal. I couldn't believe she could write all these things. It amazed me when David (Sheila's husband) would post things. He used as much detail as he could remember and pushed positive emotion as much as possible so his friends and family could know what is going on, but I can't imagine what it is like to repeat these things to the general public, for the whole world to see, as you try and sift through the facts and present them and remind yourself what you and the love of your life are going through. 

When I reached the entry that confirmed it was Pancreatic cancer, my heart dropped. Pancreatic cancer is a bazooka or a semi-automatic weapon or a zombie invasion of a cancer, the chances of escaping alive are slim to none. 

I only know this because I finished Randy Pausch's book "The Last Lecture" not even 4 weeks ago. Here's the video of his last lecture if you have the time. 

 It is so strange to see people like Trey and Randy with a death sentence in hang be so strong and encouraging for their families. As the sick ones, we all know the burden rests on them. 

Families do all they can to bring everything they can to the table and do their best to be positive and hold back tears, but it is the sick one who has the toughest job of all to maintain outward strength, positivity, and even humor to keep everyone okay and moving through, willing to continue to do what they can to help. 

At least that's how I felt when my brother was in the hospital with Lemieres. 

I spent every night at the hospital and a full day of school and then work. I was working 40 hours a week and going to school for 20 credit hours. I spent what little energy I had left driving back and forth to Le Bonheur before finally leaving around 2 or 3 in the morning to go take a nap before school. 

You spend all the time you have, you pull out all the guns to entice them to keep pushing: good food, Disney music, jokes, ridiculous movies. Whatever. We didn't care. 

It didn't matter, though. We were all losing hope fast as the doctor's still didn't know what it was and he continued to turn yellow, cough up unimaginable things with a sound so horrific you were sure it was his last breath. 

It took everything in me to leave for work or school. 

What if he left while I was gone? What if that was going to be the last time I would see his face? God, what did he even look like healthy? 

I couldn't remember. 

All I could focus on was his sick body, now. 

When he came to after they realized what was wrong and started him on some serious meds, he realized what he was doing to everyone. Of course, it's not his fault, but it was as if he began to realize actually see the look on my mother's face as she held back the flood gates, letting only a few drops leak through, and began to, well, be a dick, again. 

Which, for the first time, probably, ever, we were all thrilled about. I must admit, I would occasionally tease him or egg him on when mom seemed down about some procedure. It always made everyone feel better to see Kreston be the asshole that he is again. 

So, I get it. 

But, I don't. 

I thank God every time I see my brother that we got to keep him. 

Well, most of the time. 

The Erwin Family, the Klimetz family, the Pausch family, their Caring Bridge journals don't end that way. 

They didn't get the joys of moving out of ICU and into a standard room and, finally, home with daily shots, and on the way to recovery. 

Instead of registering for home health, they were seeking hospice care. 

We were just as loved and prayed for, inching every ounce of hope out of our souls. 

And that is why I am grateful to come from a city like Memphis. One that rises up to the occasion when one of our pack is down. As I've watched Twitter and Facebook blow up the last 24 hours with #prayfortrey, I can't help but feel the love and unity myself from 6,000 miles away. 

Everyone in Memphis will thank God for their families and their kids today. 

Everyone will wonder what a great kid like Trey could have been, and what all those wonderful people could have been that were, as the quote on my volunteer t-shirt from St. Jude said, dying "in the dawn of life."

It makes you wonder. 

It also makes you angry. 

Who are we, not to be struck down by a stomach ache, turned pancreatic cancer?

I realize how lucky not only my brother is to be alive, but all of us are. As Mat Kearney said in "Closer to Love," "We're all just one phone call away from our knees."

One insect bite from malaria, one bad steak from mad cow, or even one jug of water short in the grand canyon from fatal dehydration. 

I know my family worries that something could happen to me here, but if you look around at the lives we lose, it happens every day, slowly from a life spent in the sun that turns to skin cancer, or quickly, with a wrong turn gone fatal car wreck. 

And they happen every day.

At home.

In China. 

No matter. 

When we made it down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, I remember reflecting with the boyfriend on probably one of the most profound moments I have ever reached in life. 

If I died today, it would be okay.

There's nothing like the contentment of seeing something as beautiful as the Grand Canyon at the start of your day and ending it laying in a river looking up at the wonderful life all around you. 

I've reached a point where I'm unbelievably happy and satisfied with my life. It took me longer than it did Trey, but I get the idea that I was a lot faster than most. 

For all the travel, the memories, and the abounding love I'm surrounded by, it would be okay if this was all I got.

The Erwin family, in their encouraging manner that is a shining reflection of Trey's, thanks to his upbringing by clearly amazing parents, ended his Caring Bridge journal in with just a short and fitting sentence: 

Trey is now healthy in heaven. 

For his story, click here.