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.