Let me start by saying this post is going to be different from those I’ve done before.  This post will be a pouring out of memory, and it is long.    I will not write this blog post with any focus on Search Engine Optimization or other elements Google search looks for to “grade” blog posts.   These writings were meant to be not only an outlet for me to write and share my thoughts or serve as an answer to the requests that I write more than just lengthy Facebook posts, but a learning opportunity for me to delve deeper into how optimized writing for the internet works in today’s digital world.   It’s not for learning this time.   This post is one I’ve started writing many times in journals, but never finished.   This post is a look through my eyes on this day when I face the five year anniversary of the night my daughter Makenzie passed away at the young age of 22 years old leaving behind a family that loved her dearly and a daughter she would never know.

In my mind’s eye, I know exactly how I wanted this sharing to come to life.   I wanted it to be accompanied by pictures of the things being described so anyone reading it could see what I was seeing as it all unfolded; a means of seeing deeper into what I was sharing.   I wanted to completely recreate all that was in hopes it provided some understanding of all that is now.   This is NOT meant to be a sympathy post nor a post to invoke sadness.    This is meant to share for the greater good.   Though it pains me to say it, at some point each of us will face loss, and though each loss is personal to the person experiencing it, there are some underlying truths that all have in common.   It’s the norm, in my circle anyway, that those who learn about the loss of my daughter or have walked this path with me are moved to show both sympathies, and to the degree possible, empathy.   That’s not what this is about though.    This is just about sharing a part of me that has remained hidden from most at this level of detail.

Who Was Makenzie?

I’ll begin with a summary of who Makenzie was from the moment she entered this world.   Makenzie was an independent, intelligent, humorous, obstinate, beautiful, caring girl.   From day one, she challenged every “norm”.   While most newborns sleep 18 to 20 hours a day, Makenzie stayed awake 18 to 20 hours a day.   Many small children are fearful of being alone or the dark or being in strange places.  Makenzie did not fear those things at all.   Most children fall into bed at toddler age exhausted and go to sleep within some short amount of time.   Makenzie was still going at bedtime and had a thousand excuses to stay awake or come out of her room or talk and sing to herself.   Many children look to their parents for guidance at young ages, out of fear I assume, when faced with a new situation.   Makenzie forged headlong into anything.   In school, Makenzie was smart, talked a lot, loved to be the center of attention and made friends everywhere.   She was full of personality and fearlessness and stubbornness.  

Makenzie tested every limit and worked around them.   As an example, one of the rules for her surrounding her daycare attendance was that if she got in trouble at daycare, she lost a toy at night.   As parents, you know which toys had become favorites and took those away first.   Makenzie, by the age of four, had figured out that with our system, she could develop fake interest in the least of her favorite toys such that they were taken away leaving her with the toys she really wanted.   When Makenzie felt like she had lost all the toys she was willing to give up, she would have a streak of great days at daycare and earn back the toys she had lost.    It took us longer to catch on to her game than it did her to figure out a way around the system.    That’s just one example, and there are countless others.  

Ironically, I remember when Makenzie was 12.   Instant messaging, MySpace, internet chat rooms were growing in popularity.   While we felt she was too young for those things, she figured out a way to access them which came to a head when she realized one of the “friends” was a grown up.   She did, at least, approach us when that happened.    I distinctly remember standing in our living room that day and saying to her that if she didn’t start listening and stop trying to get around every rule, I would bury her before I died.   Again, I’ve given few examples of the things that lead me to that statement, but that instance gave me a dreaded feeling.  

As many teens do, Makenzie tested me at every turn during her teenage years.   There were fights, arguments, disagreements, challenges and harsh learnings for both of us.   Each of us equally stubborn, you can imagine the horn-locking that took place.   We survived the teenage years and unwelcome boyfriends and unwanted parental guidance and interference.   She was on the academic team in elementary school and into middle school.   She did well in school, and it came easy to her.   However, as was normal with Makenzie, she would do things just to prove that she could.  

When she was a senior in high school, she turned 18 in November.   On that night, she stood in our kitchen and told me that she was an adult and would no longer be letting anyone tell her what to do.   I explained to her that it didn’t work that way as she lived in my house under my rules.   This would become a five-month long fight.    From that moment on, Makenzie did nothing (literally nothing) in school.   No homework, turned in blank tests, didn’t complete class assignments, etc.    She lived grounded.    In March the principal called me to inform me that Makenzie’s highest grade was a 27%, and she needed five of the six credits to graduate in May.    We met the following day with Makenzie where it was explained to her in no uncertain terms that she would get those credits and graduate no matter what.   I would not have her fail at the last turn of her school career.   She sat there as calmly as anyone I’d ever seen and stated simply that she would graduate.   Her school performance continued the same path, and again in April I was contacted by the principal.   We met again and the discussion was much the same.   Makenzie once again stated that she would graduate.   With three weeks remaining in school at the beginning of May, Makenzie was told she would not be graduating.   She asked the principal if she would graduate if she completed all the work and earned the five credits.   He told her she could, but it was impossible.    Makenzie, true to her form, one week later began to work harder than she ever had in school.  She worked day and night with her teachers, counselors and the principal.   She worked all day long on missed assignments, tests, quizzes.  She came straight home from school and went to her room where she did the same all night long.   Over the course of the next two weeks, Makenzie completed all the work she was permitted to make up for five classes, and on the last day of school, she succeeded.   At 1:05 pm, Makenzie and the principal called me, and in utter disbelief he shared that Makenzie had done it.   She had earned five credits in make-up work and finals.    Two weeks, five classes, one graduation.   I couldn’t believe it.   While she was unable to walk in the ceremony as she had lost that right, she did graduate.    It was just one more “watch me” moment in a long line of instances like these where she was bound to prove that she could when everything pointed to the fact that she couldn’t.  

I have shared all of this to give you a small glimpse into who Makenzie was.   Again, she was just who she was, and independence was the most important thing for her.    We had more good times than we did hard times, and she always came through in the end.   She just had to do it her way.  

With high school behind her, Makenzie took a full-time job, made new friends and started her “adult” life.   More trial and error and lectures and opinions and arguments, but man I loved her.   She had the most unique personality and could make you laugh in an instant regardless of how angry you may have been. 

How Did We Get Here?

In a fast-forward, long story short, Makenzie met a guy.   I did not approve of him in any way.   However, she was legally an adult and made the decision to move out and get an apartment with him at 19-ish.   While that relationship was doomed to fail, she did try.   She worked and paid bills and tried to forge her way in the real world.   Ultimately, Makenzie ended up pregnant.   She finally realized that relationship was not going to work and moved home on Mother’s Day after being gone just over a year.   During her pregnancy and following the birth of Kinley, Makenzie lived with me under my roof, following my rules with no issue.   She had learned a lot in that time away.    Kinley joined us in December 2013.   Things were great with us and having her and Kinley home.   The “father” played no role and only saw Kinley a couple of times to my knowledge.    In May, Makenzie met someone through her job, and again, I didn’t approve.   She pursued the relationship anyway, and it ended up being her downfall.  

I don’t blame him necessarily for what was to come as Makenzie made her own choices, I do, however, blame him still to this day for introducing her to the lifestyle that ultimately led to her death.   By August he was in jail (after robbing our home, stealing Makenzie’s car, using it in a crime, getting it impounded, stealing her paycheck and running).   Good riddance.   Sadly, rather than return to a life of normalcy, Makenzie continued with that group and started dating someone else from that circle toward the end of September-ish timing.   The madness was not to end.  

In short order following this new dating cycle, Makenzie was home telling me she had tried heroin and didn’t know what to do.   We pursued help, and she tried.   For the first time in her life, she was scared.   In the end, that single choice led to a short life for her and a much altered life for those of us she left behind.  

The Phone Call That Stopped My World

Five years ago today at 10:50 p.m. on a Friday night, my world changed in an instant.  I was home with Kinley.   My son, Brennan, was at his father’s house for the weekend.    Kinley was in bed, and I was just sitting on the couch watching television.   My cell phone rang, and an instant moment of dread overcame me.   The phone number was a 572 extension, which at that time in our area was a hospital phone number.   Everyone knew that.   I muted the television and answered the phone.   A gentle woman’s voice said, “Hello.  I am trying to reach a parent or relative of Makenzie Hornsby.”   I responded that I was her mother.    She, again in a kind and soft voice, said, “Ma’am, there has been an accident.  Makenzie is at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Covington, and you need to come.”  I remember repeating “an accident” then waiting a second and asking what kind of accident.   I think she replied that I just needed to get to the hospital.   In that moment, somewhere inside me, I knew, and I knew with everything I had in me, that Makenzie was gone.    I also knew the nurse was not going to tell me over the phone that Makenzie had passed away.   However, I had a baby in the other room that had just turned one year old three weeks ago, so I needed to make some arrangements and understand my timeline to get there.    To get as much information for planning as I could, I said, “Ma’am.   I am home with Makenzie’s one-year old daughter, and there is no one else here.  I know you cannot tell me whether or not my daughter has passed away, but I need you to tell me if I need to grab the baby and head to the hospital immediately or if I can make arrangements for someone to come to my home so I don’t have to drag her out.   Having someone come to my home will add about 15 minutes to my arrival, and I just need to know if that will make a difference in this situation.”   The kind nurse in an almost whisper told me to go ahead and make arrangements for the baby then get there as soon as I could for my arrival would not make a difference, but I needed to come as soon as possible after care for the baby was arranged.   In that moment, all I could say was, “I understand.   Thank you.  I’ll be there in 20 – 30 minutes.”    She instructed me to come to the Emergency Room entrance, and I hung up.  

In that moment, I stood up off the couch, took a couple steps, and stopped.   I needed to figure out what I was supposed to do.   I tried to sort through my thoughts and come up with the things I needed to do so I could get to the hospital.    I walked back to the couch and picked up my phone then sat down and called my parents.    I don’t remember what I said, but I must have managed to communicate that there had been an accident, and I needed them to come care for Kinley so I could go to the hospital.   I remember my dad asking me questions that would give him more definition around what I really needed (someone to go with me, someone to get Kinley, someone to stay at my house, where Brennan was, etc.).    I guess I answered and hung up because the next thing I knew I was standing in the hallway just outside my bedroom door.   I reached in my room and turned on the light then took one step into the room and stopped.   I stood in the doorway and remember thinking to myself “what do you wear to find out your daughter is dead?” as I stood there willing myself to do whatever it was I was supposed to be doing.  I probably took out two or three outfits when I made my way forward and started doing “things”.    I do remember going from closet to drawer debating over good clothes or comfy clothes or something in between.   I think I decided on comfy clothes but not sloppy, comfy.   The truth is, it didn’t matter because looking back now, I can’t definitively tell you what I wore.  

After I changed out of my pajamas and back into clothes, I went to Kinley’s room and checked on her.   As I stood there, I patted her and cried.   In short time (maybe ten minutes), my parents were at the door.   It was maybe 11:15 at this time, and I opened the door and just stood there.   My parents walked in, and my mom asked me what happened then told me dad was staying with Kinley and she was taking me.   I remember worrying about this because it was late, and I didn’t want her to drive to the hospital.   As we walked to the door, my mom stepped out, and I remember my dad was standing just inside the door wearing a black leather coat.   As I stepped past him, I grabbed the front of his coat and said, “Dad, she’s dead.”   He tried to console me, but I already knew.  

Facing Reality

Mom and I arrived at the hospital at the same time my sister did.   I have no idea how she knew or got there at the same time or anything like that.   I barely knew how I got there.   A protective numbness had settled in.    We walked into the hospital through the emergency room doors and went to the counter.   I don’t remember who said what, but somehow it was communicated that I had been called because my daughter was in an accident.   Mom gave her my name, and she called someone.   Nice though she was, she wasn’t the nurse I talked to.   I knew that wasn’t her voice.    In a minute, literally, a nurse came out a side door to the left of where we stood at the counter and called us into a room.   I remember thinking this isn’t good.   She should have just taken us to the room where they are treating Makenzie.   She introduced herself, and try though I have, I cannot remember her name, though I wish desperately that I could.  She settled us in the room and told us the doctor would be in to talk with us.    As she walked out, I had a moment of hope that the doctor would come in, tell us how bad it was, and ensure we knew they were making progress with her.    One moment of hope, which I guess was for my own sanity, because I already knew.   Self-preservation, I guess.

When the doctor entered the room, I was sitting in a chair, Mom was to the right of me (sitting I think), and my sister was standing to her right.  The doctor placed himself directly in front of me and introduced himself.   Again, I really wish I could remember his name.   He looked at me and rambled off something about Makenzie being brought in by a life squad for an overdose or something like that.    That’s not the part I remember.   What I remember is he looked at me and said, “We did everything we could to save her, but we were unable to revive her.”   Bam.   Just like that.   I remember just looking at him.  I remember hearing some noise coming from my sister and looking at her.   Her face twisted in pain sobbing loudly and yelling no.    I remember feeling my mom hold me, pull me to her, squeeze me.   In that moment, I looked at my sister, then my mom and said, “you have to stop.  I need a minute.”   It just wasn’t going together for me.   My sister covered her mouth and tried her hardest to quiet her worst pain.   I looked back at the doctor, and I asked him one very simple question.   “Are you sure?   Can you check again?”    Surely, he had made some mistake.   Surely something was not right.  He just needed to check again.  He did his best to break it down for me, to give me time to take it in, to gently tell me he was sure.    Once I “believed” him, I had one other question.    “Did my daughter suffer?”    He replied that she suffered in no way and just went to sleep.   He reassured me there was no pain associated with her passing.   He shared with us what had happened as best he could understand it from the others who were present, the paramedics, etc.  

What he shared with me made me angry, but in the moment, I couldn’t get past the sadness.    But listen to this.   Let this sink in.   Makenzie was with other people.  She was in a house with this wonderful group of “friends”.    When they realized Makenzie had stopped breathing, they panicked.   They did NOT call 911.  They did NOT do anything!  THEY DID NOTHING.   In fact, the genius idea at that time by one was to try to OD himself.   Wait.   What?   In that moment you decided to do more drugs?  I guess when that happened someone decided two deceased people in the house would not be good and called 911.   As best the paramedics could tell, Makenzie had been deceased for at least 45 minutes prior to their arrival.   You want to know the kicker here?  The guy who decided to take the drugs was revived.   He lived after taking away any chance that my daughter could by making a phone call.   I am angry about that.   I’m angry she wasn’t given the chance to survive.   I’m angry her life was so meaningless to these people.   And of course, she became a casualty in their life from whom they stole anything of value before “her stuff” was returned to us.   That’s where I’ll stop with this paragraph because I obviously have not dealt with this piece yet.

Total Confusion

I remember the doctor finished talking and then somehow communicated we would be moved to another room that was private and then eventually taken back into the most horrible bowels of the hospital to see her.   We moved rooms, and I guess it was because the new room was more living room like than clinical and was private.   I don’t know.   I just don’t know.   But in my head, “see her” echoed.   See her?   See her?   I didn’t understand.  

My mom, I think, called Makenzie’s dad, George.   I don’t know what she told him.  I think I talked to him, but I don’t know.   I know he needed to come, and he had Brennan and somehow Brennan needed to get to my house with my dad.   My mom, I know, called our pastor.   I don’t know who else.  I know she called my dad, and probably some other people in my family.   I have no idea.  I sat there and cried and tried to understand what was happening.  My sister cried.  My mom cried but remained strong.  Her maternal instinct was to take care of us, and she held herself together with an undefined strength and took care of details I couldn’t wrap my mind around.   I don’t even know what those details were, but somehow, things happened, and people got to where they needed to be and after an eternity of crying, someone came to the room to escort us back.  

I remember not taking that first step.  I couldn’t walk down that hallway first.   The gentleman escorting us with patience and calmness and pure understanding of why every step was taking me so long put his arm on mine to steady me.   I told him I couldn’t see her.   I didn’t want that image in my head.  I wanted to remember her the way she was supposed to be.    He said he had a chair for me outside her room and would stay with me the whole time.    As we neared the room, I felt my knees giving way and him holding me up.   No.  No, I was not doing this.  No.   He gave me hints about proximity to the room, and I remember looking at him and trying to walk forward.   Finally, he said, “This next room on your right is hers.”    George and his wife, my mom, my sister (I think) went in, and I walked past the room to the chair that was to be my salvation in that moment.   Sadly, I did glance to the right where they turned and caught a glimpse of someone who was not my Makenzie.    I hate that image.   I despise that I caught even a glimpse.  The man stood with me.   He talked to me softly and told me to breath.  He reminded me I didn’t have to go in and that he was right there with me.  

I remember walking out after some time as we were escorted back to the emergency room to exit.   That was it.   We were just supposed to walk out.   Now we leave and that’s it?   We just go home?   How did all this work?   What in the hell was happening?    My mom got me to the van.   My sister by my side to get in her car.    George going somewhere to get some of Makenzie’s stuff.    Ok.   I was just following directions.  My mom put me in the car, and we left.   Just like that.   We left.   I cried thinking about how horrible it was to leave my baby behind in that moment.  

(Side note, this is really hard, which I suspected, and it’s getting long so I apologize it’s not in sections, but as hard as it is, I am going to keep going at this point since it’s the farthest I’ve ever gotten in it)

We Got Home

When we pulled back in at my house, I noticed there were cars, and lights, and I thought maybe Kinley had woken up.   Rather, when I walked in, my niece was there completely distraught.  My son was there.   My nephew.   My dad.   My phone was ringing and buzzing, and messages were coming that said tell me it’s not true.    How did all these people know already?   I wasn’t even in the door yet.   I got in the door and to the kitchen and felt the weight of the world and all the sorrow in the room as there was a knock at the door.   It was 1:30 in the morning.    People were coming.   People knew.   Word had spread.   My cousins showed up to comfort my family and share in the pain.   My niece and nephew.  My poor, distraught, sad, angry, scared niece and nephew.   My son.   My son who just knew Makenzie had an accident and wanted to know where she was.    George came in.   We had to tell Brennan his sister wasn’t coming home.    Where was Kinley?   How was this going to work?  We all sat in my tiny living room filled with fear and grief, and George and I, as best we could, shared the news with Brennan.    I remember him staring at us and asking, “do you mean she’s never coming back?”.   Oh my God.    How am I going to get through this?  

There was conversation.   I asked my cousins (well, George’s cousins by blood, but mine as well by love) if they would be there?   Would he perform the service?   Could he tell me she went to Heaven?   She had been baptized early and believed in God but made some stupid choices.  I needed something, and I didn’t know what, but I needed him to have the answer.

At some point, people left.   My mom went home, my son went upstairs, everyone was gone but my dad.   He was not leaving our home that night.  I don’t know how that all got worked out, but it did, and I was just told the plan.   Thankfully, someone told me what to do.  My dad told me to go to bed.   He laid down on the couch.    I went to my room and laid in bed and cried.   I cried until I passed out.    The next thing I know, it was morning.   I remember opening my eyes and the first thing I saw was a photo my niece had made for me.  It was a black and white collage of pictures of Makenzie and Brennan that I hadn’t hung up yet.   It was propped against the wall across from my bed and as soon as my eyes opened, I was staring directly at a photo of Makenzie.   The pain was indescribable.   The sense of “not real” overwhelming.   Was this a dream?  Was I awake?   Had all of this happened?   I can’t tell you the sense of confusion trying to separate reality from hope, real from not real, longing for understanding, anger, fear, sadness, confusion.  It went on and on.    

The Next Days

I heard my dad in the other room and tried to get up.   Everything was in slow motion.   It was like I was walking through a dream.   I made my way to the living room and figured out who I needed to call.   I started making calls (three I think) that were absolutely necessary, and around 9 a.m. heard a loud knock on my front door.   I looked at my dad because for a moment I needed to know what I was supposed to do.   We answered the door and there stood a uniformed police officer.   My dad asked if he could help him with something, and the officer said he had a gentleman with him who wanted his daughter and had come to the station to file a report that I was withholding her from him and wouldn’t allow him to have her.   Wait.   What?   What in the actual hell was happening here?   Who was the “gentleman”?   I needed someone to tell me something.   As it turns out, it was the “father” that had been missing in action.   I don’t even know how he knew Makenzie had passed away, but my dad looked at me and said get your guardianship papers (we had done that when she was six months old) and explained to the officer what had transpired in the last 24 hours.  He then went on to explain that the “gentleman” had never played a role in Kinley’s life, had never been in her life, and had never even tried to visit, let alone come take her for a visit.   In instant anger, the officer apologized and told the “gentleman” to get the hell out of our county and not come back and that if he did anything to cause any problems for us, he would be the one arrested.   Dad shut the door.   I shut down.  

I guess I got a shower and got dressed because then I was at my mom’s and a lot of my friends were there doing things like vacuuming, dusting, cooking.   It was early.   Like 10:30 a.m. early.   Where had they come from?  How did they get there?  What were they doing?   I was surrounded in hugs and tears and “how can I helps”.   I didn’t know the answers or what to do.  I just sat down.   I don’t remember getting Kinley ready.  I don’t remember putting her in the car; I don’t remember having her.   I don’t remember breathing to be honest.  I made it through the day, and at some point, collapsed in bed at my parent’s house.  I ended up staying there until the following Sunday (not in bed, but at my parent’s).   They guided me through every minute of the day along with the friends and family that just kept coming every hour to make sure we were ok.   We were fed and soothed and cleaned around.   We were loved and cared for and supported beyond imagination.  

Through all the funeral arrangements and phone calls and explaining and details that had to be handled, my parents guided me step by step to make sure I was ok.   Through trips to the funeral home, graveyard, talking to florists and shopping for clothes to bury her in, to wear, for Brennan to wear …. Through all of it, my family and friends were there.   I was not alone, nor have I been since then.  

The next days were a blur of phone calls, appointments, an autopsy, funeral arrangements, and trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing.   On January 28^th, I looked at my daughter for the last time as we laid her to rest.   Since then, I have tried my best to accept our new lives without Makenzie here, raise Kinley, allow Brennan to be a teenager, and love my parents and friends for the selfless sacrifices they made when I couldn’t remember to get up or eat or breathe.   People asked me all the time how I do it.   I don’t know.   I just do.  I lean on family and friends, focus on the positives, appreciate the little things, let go of anger, and try to learn something every day.    That first year was horrible.  It was hard and uncomfortable and scary.    I lived one minute at a time, and sometimes I felt like I had the strength of a 1,000 horses behind me while at other times I felt like I was just pulling a pony along.    I took each of those days and tried to find one positive thing for each day even if it was as simple as that my coffee was hot.  

Learning to Step Forward

I’m not sure how I thought this post would end, but I think that’s it.   I feel like Forest Gump when he finally just decided to stop running.   I think I’ve exhausted my memory for now, and I have nothing left in my mind.   My hope is you get a glimpse into all that was, and it somehow helps you understand who I am today.   While I am only one of seven billion stories in the world, speaking for myself, my request is that you ask me about my experience.  Mention Makenzie’s name.   Don’t be afraid to talk about my story or my girl.  When you ask me how many children I have, I’ll say three.   When you ask me their ages, I’ll respond with “Makenzie would have been XX, Brennan is XX and Kinley is XX”.   When you talk about her, it’s ok.   It’s great, in fact.   She was real.  She existed and still does in our hearts.    When you want to know about it, let’s talk about it.    The worst part for me immediately following the loss was the awkward conversations because no one knew what to say to me, and thus, I didn’t know what to say to them.   I’ve learned there is no right thing to say.  There is no defined help to be asked for.  There is no right or wrong way to get through it.  I’ve learned Faith, Family and Friends carried me at my weakest moments.   I learned that when I entered the darkest room of my life, I had to choose between sitting in the dark and looking for the light.   I tried, with time, to look for the light, and I hope that in some way, those who served as the lights know how very much I appreciate all the effort that has been put into loving us through it all.    Thank God for my parents is all I think of these days.   Thank God for my mom and dad.  

If you want to read more or see what each moment of that first year brought, you can view an album called The Journey here.   It’s how I made it through the first year.   It’s where I captured my thoughts and feelings and shared all that was going on inside me to help me navigate the journey of 1,000 miles step by step.  You can look through the album to see how that first year went.   It’s one of the few things on my personal Facebook profile that is public because if my journey can help even one other person, I hope it does.  Just like all those who have helped me get up, I hope I can help someone else.  If you are new to this blog and want to know more about who I am, you can read my About Me page here. 

Raising Kinley is my Last Second Chance at having Makenzie.