My name is Travis Ashby,
from Salt Lake City, Utah. I had an idyllic childhood. My mom and dad were
both outgoing, happy, and healthy parents
who loved me and had fun with me and my two sisters. Our many relatives
and friends would gather at our house for dinner,
game nights, and holidays. They both had to
work full-time jobs to afford our modest home in a
safe middle class neighborhood that was full of kids our age. And we had way too
much freedom to do whatever it is we wanted to do. I have fond memories of
tipping over the couches to create forts for sock wars
and just generally running amok in the neighborhood. I enjoyed my time
alone in my room creating epic battles with
my full set of He-Man guys or swinging as high as I
could on the big backyard tree swing that we had. I remember just leaning way
back, and my eyes closed, and just feeling the
butterflies in my stomach and the wind on my face. I can't imagine a
happier childhood, and these memories
are sacred to me. Then the world
flipped upside down. My parents sat down in
the front room one day with a serious
look on their faces and shocked us with
the news that they were getting divorced. My sisters and I
never saw this coming. Devastated, we said
goodbye to an amazing home, the neighborhood,
friends, and life, and we moved into an
apartment in a different city with my mom. Up to that point, I had
been as close to my mother as any boy ever had. When she was home,
I was by her side. And my favorite memories
were taking naps with her while she watched old Westerns
and she tickled my arm. She was the most beautiful
person in the world, and she walked on water to me. When her boyfriend showed
up, our relationship changed. And I realized he was the
reason that my mom left my dad, and I was very upset. I felt betrayed,
abandoned, and angry. My natural happy
disposition was not only gone but replaced by
the most amazing display of constant vitriol that
any 11-year-old has ever had the capacity and
creativity to conjure up. When he was around, I'd
fling hateful words, toys, and clothes hangers,
anything else I could find to throw
at them, and my goal was just to get him to be
angry or get her to cry. And I was purposely
trying to hurt the woman I loved most in the world. Six months into
living with my mom, she informed me that she had a
singing competition in Denver and would need to fly out
on April 27, 1990, the day before my 12th
birthday, accompanied by her pilot boyfriend
and four other people. She asked me what I
wanted for my birthday, and I said for her and my
dad to go with me to buy my first church suit together. So for the first time since they
separated, just the three of us went and hung out
for a few hours. And the amazing thing was
they were smiling and happy the whole time, and I felt hope. And on April 28, I was
celebrating my birthday with my friends and family when
suddenly my dad got a call. He was visibly upset and
told me and my sisters that we needed to leave right
away and go to Grandma's house. She had been in bad
health, and I assumed that she had passed away. But when we asked our dad what
was wrong, he wouldn't answer. And I distinctly
remember praying, "Please let it be my
grandma and not my mom." And when I walked through
my grandmother's front door and saw her sitting
on the couch, I knew. And my dad turned on the
news, and the first story was about a plane
that had crashed in the mountains of
Colorado with all six passengers presumed dead. I can't describe the
feeling of despair. But I remember thinking,
like it was yesterday, "How am I going to
tell her I'm sorry?" The next day I remember vividly
seeing a table full of presents that were meaningless to me. I remember walking outside
of this apartment complex and finding myself sitting
on this green electrical box. And as I sat there trying to
wrap my head around the fact that she was gone,
I remember simply asking myself,
"How am I supposed to live the rest of my life
knowing how badly I treated her before she died?" It was a burden that was
too heavy for me to bear, and it was crushing my soul. And so I prayed
to Heavenly Father to forgive me for treating
her so badly before she died, and to please tell
her that I'm sorry. I remember the distinct
thought that came to my mind: "Take out your wallet." You know, I was startled,
confused, and I felt my pocket, and there was a
wallet inside that she had got me for my birthday. And I pulled it
out, and I remember looking at it--
holding in my hand and just waiting for
further instructions. And then the thought came
to my mind: "Open it up." So I did. And immediately I
noticed a picture of my mom inside of a
protective plastic casing, and then the thought
came: "Take it out." And I pulled the picture
out and was clearing my eyes and looking at this picture,
and as I looked at it, I then had the thought
to turn the picture over. And when I turned
the picture over, I recognized her
handwriting immediately and read the following words:
"Remember the good times," signed "Kathy" in her
beautiful cursive signature. The surge of power that
went through my body as I read those words were
indescribable and unmistakable. I felt like I was
being encompassed in love from my
Heavenly Father, and I felt my mother's presence. And I not only felt
this consuming love, but I also felt her forgiveness,
and the burden of guilt was miraculously lifted. And for the rest
of my life, I've never had to worry about how
I treated her before she died. I then took her advice to
heart and I kept a journal to lock in my mind every good
memory I'd ever had of her, and I thought so often
of those memories that even 30 years later,
they haven't faded with time. I learned that we
can find happiness, regardless of circumstance, when
we understand that number one-- Heavenly Father loves
and hears His children. And that day my faith
in Him was secured. I would never, could never
doubt that He's real, and that He loves me, and that
I can pray to Him in faith and be comforted. Two-- the power of
forgiveness is real, and seemingly
impossible burdens can be lifted through
prayers of faith because of Jesus Christ our Savior. And the third thing I
think that I learned is just that
happiness is a choice, and that my mom's note helped
me realize that there's a switch in our
brains, and we can focus on remembering
the good times and set ourselves on a path to
hope, healing, or happiness. Or we can choose to actively
focus and dwell on tragedy, and negativity, and regret,
the what ifs, allowing our spirits to slowly die. My hope is that prayers of
faith will increase in the world and that people will humbly
seek the Father of their spirits and feel His encompassing
love throughout their lives. That day He heard my prayer as
just a random 11-year-old kid who was praying in faith. And that I was able to learn
that He's not only real, but that He loved me. And I've always known that
I can pray to Him in faith and that He's going
to answer my prayers. And knowing that has made all
the difference in my life.
