At the beginning of July 2025, I was filling out the family calendar to go through the plans that my children and I had coming up. My son Tristan was 16 and he was often playing football or out with friends. It was my daughter Laniya’s seventh birthday on July 18, and I was heading to Cleveland for a comedy show.

As I filled out the calendar, I had no idea that one of those days would be my son’s last.

On Friday, July 18, it was my ex-husband Rico’s week with the kids, but we all met up to celebrate Laniya’s birthday. We went out for dinner, and she was being her sassy little self, but Tristan seemed quiet. I remember feeling this weight on my chest, but I couldn’t explain why.

Looking back, I wonder if deep down I knew that was one of the last times we’d all be together as a family of four.

After dinner, I kissed Tristan and Laniya goodnight, and they went home with their dad. I went back to my place to pack for my weekend in Cleveland, Ohio. We still had Laniya’s birthday party on the Saturday, but I was leaving for my trip immediately after that.

When the party was over, I was rushing around and I remember going back to my house because one of the kids had to grab something they left behind. I remember feeling frustrated because I had plans, I had somewhere I needed to be. Once everything was sorted, I kissed Laniya and told her I loved her. Then I went over to Tristan, told him I loved him and kissed his forehead. I didn’t know that would be the last time I would ever see him breathing.

‘All I Could Hear Was Sirens and Screaming’

I got to Cleveland on the evening of July 19 and went straight to bed. When I woke up the next morning, I got up early, showered, dressed and did my hair, even though I was in no rush. I was due to stay another night, but for some reason, I packed my bags and had everything ready to go.

I could not shake this anxious feeling. I felt so on edge, even when I lay down on the bed to calm myself.

I got a call from Tristan at 4:28 p.m. asking me to send him money because he wanted to get his hair cut. In that moment, I felt frustrated because all I wanted was to relax. But now I would give anything to hear his voice just one more time.

I told him I loved him, hung up the phone and transferred the money. I often find myself wondering if there was anything I could have done differently. If I kept him on the phone for longer, or if I never sent him the money, would things be different now?

After sending the money to Tristan, my heart was racing and I was on the verge of a panic attack. I had no clue why, after all, it was just a normal Sunday afternoon. I put my phone on do not disturb as I attempted to get some sleep before the comedy show that evening.

The next thing I remember, I woke up to see an unknown number calling me at around 5:30 p.m.

I did not answer.

They called again.

This time, I picked up. All I could hear in the background was sirens and screaming.

“Ms. Brown?” said the voice of an emergency service worker. “I’m just calling to let you know that your husband and kids were involved in a car crash.”

Words that no parent should ever be told.

The first words I could blurt out were to ask if they were OK. I was already grabbing my bags before she could even give me an answer. Rico was then put on the phone, so I knew he must be alright. I kept asking what happened and if the children were alright, but nobody knew.

I thought it was Laniya who was injured because she was being taken to a trauma center. I just assumed that Tristan must be fine because he was taken to a local hospital instead. What I did not know was that he was only being taken to the nearest hospital because he would not have made it to one further away.

They were trying to save his life before it was too late.

I had a five-hour drive back to Kentucky, all the while I was in panic mode. I had no details about the crash or the conditions of my children.

As I drove, I started calling friends, family and anyone that lived nearby. I told them to head to the hospital where Laniya was sent because I thought she was critically injured. My brother was only five minutes away from the hospital Tristan was sent to, so he headed there.

Meanwhile, I called Tristan’s hospital and asked for an update, but they could not tell me anything over the phone. Despite my urgency, they said that one of his parents had to physically be there.

I was still 90 minutes away, but I called Tristan’s hospital again and was put through to a nurse who told me to go to the hospital where Laniya was and be with her instead.

I knew in my heart that he was gone.

So, I called my mom and started screaming at her in frustration because nobody was telling me anything. “The reason you can’t find Tristan is because he’s in the morgue,” a family member called out.

My entire soul left my body and I blacked out. I honestly don't remember anything after that, it's all a blur.

It was only recently that I felt able to open Tristan’s phone for the first time. I looked through his photos, but then I noticed a text message from the guy who was supposed to be cutting Tristan’s hair that fateful day. The hairdresser explained that he could no longer make the appointment, but Tristan never got the message because it was sent 13 minutes after he died.

If that text message had been sent sooner, would I still be mourning my son in heaven?

‘Down to Me to Honor His Legacy’

July 20, 2025, will forever be the worst day of my life. Tristan made me a mother 16 years prior, and suddenly he was gone.

In the months before losing Tristan, two of his friends sadly passed away. I remember telling him that I did not know how their parents survived because if anything bad ever happened to my son, they would have to bury me with him.

“Mom, you would just have to continue living,” Tristan told me. He was wise beyond his years, and those words will always live on in my heart.

Tristan aspired to become an entrepreneur one day, he loved photography, and he always brought out the best in people. Now, it is down to me to honor his legacy. I started a nonprofit called The Tristan Project which provides support for children, teens and families by covering the cost of therapy, medication and inpatient treatment. We have a dedicated team and Rico also serves as Vice President.

Tristan exuded so much light and love, so now we hope to help as many people as possible in his honor.

The grief of losing a child is incomparable to anything. It has taken a lot of prayers and patience to get through the last year. But I show myself grace in those dark moments and remind myself that it is OK to not be OK—just don’t stay there.

Lindsey Brown, 34, of Berea, Kentucky, has turned her heartbreak into purpose after founding The Tristan Project in honor of her son. She has documented her grief journey on social media (@lindss3714 on TikTok) to ensure that Tristan’s light never stops shining.

Contact Newsweek editors on this story: Charlotte Nisbet and Emma Lee-Sang