We Were Going To Write A Book Together

McKayla and I were supposed to write a book together.

I never imagined I would have to write it without her.

This page began long before McKayla left this earth. It began in the conversations we had, the battles we fought, the lessons she taught me and the stories she believed the world needed to hear.

When I wrote something that touched McKayla, she shared it with her friends. Many of those friends were living lives most people looked away from. They were struggling with homelessness, addiction, poverty, trauma and the daily fight to survive.

McKayla did not look away from them. She saw them. She understood them. She wanted them to hear my words because she believed those words belonged to them too.

Somewhere along the way, we began talking about writing a book together. It would tell the truth from both sides. It would carry the voice of the grandmother who loved her, worried about her and desperately tried to save her, alongside the voice of the granddaughter who was living a battle her grandmother could never fully understand.

McKayla taught me that love does not always mean using softer words. I struggled with the word “junkie.” It felt cruel and ugly. I did not want that word attached to my beautiful granddaughter.

But McKayla made me look deeper.

If I could not bear to use that word because I believed my granddaughter was somehow above it, what was I saying about every other person struggling with addiction? Were they not also somebody’s granddaughter, daughter, son, mother, father, sister, brother or friend?

McKayla was not asking me to reduce her to a word. She was teaching me that no word should ever have the power to reduce the worth of a human being.

She did not believe she was better than anyone sleeping on the street or searching for one more way to survive. No one was beneath her. She welcomed people others might have turned away. She offered food, a place to sleep and whatever she had to give.

That was McKayla.

She also loved dumpster diving. At first, Grandma struggled with it. I worried about what people would think. After a great deal of hesitation, I began driving her and parking a little way down the street while she searched through what other people had thrown away.

But McKayla did not see garbage the way the rest of us did. She saw possibility. She found clothing, blankets, perfume, household items and forgotten treasures that still had life in them. Sometimes dumpster diving was something she enjoyed. At other times in her life, it was how she survived.

She rarely searched only for herself. McKayla was always thinking about who might need what she found. She loved giving things away and expected almost nothing in return.

Then, shortly before she left us, McKayla found something in a dumpster that was bright, shiny and brand new in its own case.

It was a pink microphone covered in bling.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am the most pink and bling person imaginable. When McKayla saw that microphone, she thought of Grandma.

Just before she left my house for the last time to go to rehab, she gave it to me. She was so proud to give me something she knew I would treasure as we had often talked about podcasts.

Some people may call that a coincidence.

I cannot.

I feel its meaning too deeply in my heart.

McKayla and I were supposed to tell this story together. She knew I had the words, but she carried the truth that could only come from someone who had lived it.

She placed a microphone in my hands.

To me, that microphone carried McKayla’s final message.

“Grandma, keep talking. Tell them. Make them see us. Use your voice when mine can no longer be heard.”

That is why this page exists.

McKayla will always be the heart of this page, but this page will not be only about McKayla.

It will be a place for stories, truth, inspiration and hope. It will hold the realities of addiction, the lessons we learned too late and the moments of light that helped us survive another day.

It will be for every family living the nightmare of addiction. For every parent, grandparent, partner, sibling or friend who lies awake wondering where their loved one is, whether they are safe and what they should or should not do next.

It will be for those carrying guilt over the money they gave, the money they refused, the call they answered, the call they missed, the boundaries they set and the words they wish they could take back.

It will also be for the people who are struggling themselves. The people who still need someone to see the human being beneath the addiction. The people who need to know that their lives still have value and that they are still worthy of dignity, compassion and love.

There will be stories that make us cry and stories that make us laugh. There will be difficult truths, gentle reminders, encouragement, understanding and reasons to keep holding on to hope.

I cannot promise to have all the answers. McKayla and I certainly did not have them.

But I can promise honesty.

I can promise that no one will be treated as invisible or disposable here.

I can promise to bring as much light and love as I can into a darkness too many families have been carrying alone.

This page cannot accept posts directly from visitors, but you are always welcome to join the conversation in the comments. You can share a memory of McKayla, tell us about someone you love or simply let others know that you understand.

Sometimes knowing we are not alone is where hope begins.

McKayla’s Message will tell the whole story, not only the way her life ended. It will tell the funny stories, the painful stories, the beautiful stories and the stories that are difficult to admit.

It will hold her laughter, her stubbornness, her treasures, her mistakes, her courage and the love she gave so freely.

It will speak honestly about addiction, homelessness, stigma and the families who live every day somewhere between fear and hope.

McKayla fought a battle most of us will never fully understand, but her battle was only one part of who she was.

She was a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister and a friend.

She was a survivor.

She was a beautiful, complicated, funny, stubborn and deeply sentimental young woman who found treasures where other people saw nothing and found human worth in people the world too often overlooked.

McKayla lost her battle with addiction, but her story will continue because she gave Grandma the microphone.

And as long as Grandma has a voice, McKayla will have one too.

Her voice will speak for those who feel forgotten, those who are judged by their struggles and those the world has stopped seeing.

McKayla’s battle may be over, but her message has only just begu