The Night That Changed Everything: How One Father’s Grief Led to a Lifesaving Mission
Doug and Trevor on their first outdoor adventure together - section hiking the Appalachian Trail in the Smokey Mountain National Park.
The evening was Jan. 28, 2021. I remember it quite vividly, remembering the details as clear as if they had happened just last night. It had been ten months since Trevor’s accident and the grief I was still experiencing daily was almost unbearable. I cried every day, and when I say I cried every day, I wasn’t just sheading a few tears, they were full on “ball your eyes out” crying sessions. I didn’t know the human body could generate that many tears, only to replenish them for the next wave of grief that would inevitably come.
In those moments, I questioned my spirituality. I would ask God, “What did I do to deserve this?” I kept telling myself that a loving God would never take away a parent’s child and leave in its wake an emotional pain so severe that the thought of death would be welcomed because if nothing else, it would make the pain go away.
On this evening, I was home all by myself. Karen, a night shift nurse for her entire career was at the hospital working in the Emergency Department. Olivia was enjoying a rare night out with friends. A rarity for her as she was hurting just as badly as Karen and me.
Olivia was much more private in her moments of grief, refraining until she was by herself before she allowed her tears to flow. She wasn’t terribly effective at staying quiet though. I could hear her from the living room, would walk up the steps, quietly knock on her door, poke my head in and ask, “Is everything OK?”
“You know…” is all she would have to say. In those all-too-frequent moments, I would ask her if she wanted to talk, to which she usually replied “no”. When that happened, I would lean over, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead and quietly retreat from her bedroom feeling guilty about interrupting her private moment of grief.
Being home alone was always the most difficult. Having someone to talk to could temporarily free my mind from the emotional pain I was feeling. Occasionally, the television or my cell phone would satisfy that need for companionship, but on this night, it was just me and my thoughts, sitting alone quietly in the living room, dimly lit by a small lamp in the corner.
Doug and Trevor hiking Eagle Rock Loop in the Ouachita National Forest in Arkansas.
Hiker Outreach
The week prior, I had submitted an article about hiker safety to the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) to which they had planned to post on their website, newsletter, and social media channels. I was told they were going to pass along my musings to their copy-editing team for an editorial review. Once those finishing touches were finalized, I was told they would publish the article on all their platforms.
Since Trevor’s accident in March, I had been a guest on 3-4 hiking podcasts, proudly sharing Trevor’s story, discuss his love for hiking and perhaps most importantly, discussing safety considerations in which hikers should employ when planning and executing their thru-hike.
Most people would rarely bring up Trevor’s name in our conversations, fearing the awkwardness that would come if it stimulated an emotional response from me. But I loved talking about Trevor. It helped numb my pain. But feeling like I was helping other hikers, and their families did more than that. It wasn’t just numbing my pain but made me feel like I had purpose. And that made me feel...not good, but better than just feeling numb. My article for the PCTA was another extension of these outreach efforts.
“There is no great adventure if you can’t tell your friends about it afterwards. Thank you for your efforts to keep hikers safe.”
Using Grief as a Catalyst for Action
Unbeknownst to me, that evening, sitting alone in my living room would become the proverbial “first day of the rest of my life”.
I had picked up my phone and started scrolling through Facebook and came across the PCTA page. They had published my article earlier in the day.
I reread the article with a mixture of emotion and pride, hoping that the content I had curated would help at least one hiker. I ended the article with a call to action, asking for readers to join me on my journey to save lives, instructing them that they could contact me at my personal email address, on Facebook or on Instagram.
There were 45 comments in total that were left in response to the article. Most all were supportive, but there were a handful that questioned Trevor’s decision-making, claiming he should have never been out on the trail during the onset of COVID-19 while the rest of the country was abiding by shelter in place orders.
Those comments stung a bit, but it’s the nature of Facebook. I knew putting myself “out there” like that would invite both positive and negative comments, and the PCTA was only going to censor the most egregious comments. I was ready and had prepared myself for these comments. The critics likely knew nothing of who Trevor was or what it was like to lose a child. Posting negative, hateful comments on a social media post that they would never dare say to someone’s face likely filled an emotional void or was in response to something they too were dealing with. “We’ve all got our problems”, I said to myself.
After reading the article, I navigated to the “Mail” app on my iPhone; a white envelope with a blue frame that had a small red notification circle in the upper right-hand corner with the number 134 in it. This notification represented unopened emails I had in my Inbox.
As a busy professional, it was not uncommon for me to receive 100 or more emails in a day while at work, but I had just finished my day a couple of hours prior and I always made a habit to read all emails to me before I left work.
I opened the app on my phone, and to my surprise, every one of those 134 unopened emails were in response to my PCTA article.
“Keep up your great work and mission, and I guarantee your efforts will spare someone's beloved kid a serious injury or save their life. I am certain of that.” wrote Thomas Syzek.
“There is no great adventure if you can’t tell your friends about it afterwards. Thank you for your efforts to keep hikers safe." said Julie “Chickapoo” Fast.
Denise Rogers when on to say “Your recommendations are eye opening. We will never go short on gear to lessen the load. You have no idea how many people you have already saved or will save.”
These were just a few of the more than 100 emails I received that day…and I’ve received hundreds more since then.
Trevor “Microsoft” Laher taking a brief respite from the PCT and posing for a photo with the iconic Eagle Rock.
Turning the Page
I read and re-read every single one of those emails. And I made a point to respond to each person directly. Some emails received a two or three sentence response, and others a two or three paragraph response. It took me more than three hours before I went to bed, but I was so inspired by their words of encouragement, that I knew I wasn’t going to retire for the night until every email had been responded to.
It was well after midnight by the time I shut down my laptop. I ended my day and prepped for bed, but I was wound too tight to fall asleep. Soon, I found myself pacing back and forth in my bedroom. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I believe I was riding an adrenaline rush that hadn’t yet subsided.
Soon, I succumbed to my nocturnal calling and crawled into bed. I still couldn’t sleep though. My mind was racing. While I laid there in the darkness, I held a conversation with Trevor as if he was sitting on the other side of the room. I told him about all the emails and that hikers were responding positively to my call for safety.
I told him about one email from a woman who said she had previously listened to one of my podcasts. In her email, she described in detail about a wintry day that she and a friend were hiking along a ridge line when they came upon a sketchy section of trail, covered with snow and ice. “I felt Trevor’s spirit on my shoulder telling me to turn around” she went on to say. “I turned around and hiked six miles back to the trailhead. Trevor saved my life that day.”
For the first time since Trevor’s accident, I didn’t cry myself to sleep. As I looked up into the darkness towards the ceiling, I felt something celestial happen. It was as if the ceiling in my room opened to the heavens…or at least what I believed to be a representation of heaven. It was beautiful, with the most vibrant colors I had ever seen. I didn’t see Trevor per se, but for the first time since his accident I felt his presence. I knew that night that there was more to accomplish. Trevor had already saved at least one life, and it became my purpose to ensure it wasn’t the last. Hence, the start of Trek for Trevor.
“What if I failed and let down the hiking community, or worse yet, Trevor?”
Trek for Trevor: The Mission
Those emails showed me that there was an unmet need in the hiking community, and I knew from that day forward that our family was going to create a foundation in honor of Trevor. A foundation built around hiker safety, and if we were lucky, a foundation which could save a few lives along the way.
For almost two years, I dreamt about the foundation. I wrestled with several questions, almost daily about whether our family could pull it off.
“What would the name of the foundation be?”
“What would be the mission?”
“Is there a big enough need?”
“Where would we get funding?”
“Did I have the skillset and expertise to pull this off?”
” What if I failed and let down the hiking community, or worse yet, Trevor?” That was a real fear that kept me up at night.
I convinced myself that more planning and preparation was necessary…that if I was going to do this, I needed to do it right. I didn’t feel we were ready…at least not yet.
Soon, 2021 turned into 2022, and 2022 turned into 2023. I wasn’t happy with these delays and blamed myself. During a day of self-reflection and brutal honesty with myself, I came to the realization that the delays I imposed on myself to ensure we “got this right”, was nothing more than fear.
I often remember criticizing Trevor for his lack of planning and preparation in life. Academically, he studied and prepared hard for his accomplishments. But in other aspects of his life, I felt as though he flew “by the seat of his pants”, to which he would always respond, “I’ll figure it out.”
So, it was in that moment of the summer of 2023 that I took Trevor’s advice. If I waited until the stars aligned and finally had the confidence to get this foundation off the ground, it may never happen. I knew I was going to have just make the leap and “figure it out” as I go.
Hence, in Nov. of 2023, two months after I initiated the paperwork for Trek for Trevor, I received notification from the Internal Revenue Service that we were approved for tax exempt, non-profit status.
Trevor hiking the Outer Mountain Loop in Big Bend National Park (Dec. 2019)
Join Us in Our Mission to Promote Safe Hiking & Exploration
Since November, we’ve held two Board meetings, and by the time this article is published, we will have held ourthird. We have a functional website, and a logo in which we’re proud of.
Soon, we’ll start curating original content intended to promote safe hiking, preparation, awareness, and education. We won’t simply share this type of content that is published by other sources as some foundations do. Instead, we recognize that if we want to be the trusted brand in hiker safety, then simply promoting and sharing information won’t be good enough - we need to be the source for this information.
If you have expertise in decision-making, wilderness first aid, search and rescue, outdoor survival, or are a hiker with enough years of experience and a handful of bad decisions from which you’ve learned from, we want to hear from you. We’d love to have you serve as a subject matter expert, contributing author, or social media content creator.
If you don’t possess those skills, but simply want to volunteer your time or services to the foundation, we’ll take that to.
Please reach out to our foundation team on the “Contact Us” page of our website. There, you can provide us with your contact information, and a message about how you’d like to support Trek for Trevor.
And if you’re none of those, but simply want to share an encouraging word or story, we’d welcome that as well.
If you’re a hiker and want to be a recipient of our hiker safety content or simply would like to keep abreast of what we’re up to, please sign up to our monthly newsletter.
But the best way you can support Trek for Trevor is through a donation. Starting a foundation is no different than running any other business. None of our volunteers or Board members draw a salary, but there are administrative expenses, hosting fees for the website, software expenses to automate our newsletter etc. And of course, we’re committed to our Trevor Spikes Program, our premier safety campaign.
There is much more work to do, more campaigns to run and more hikers to help. But to do so requires funding. If you’ve read this far, it’s likely you have a passion for hiking, safety (or both), knew Trevor or are a friend of our family. Perhaps his story resonates with you. Regardless of why you are here, we invite you to donate. No donation is too small (or too large!). Every dollar puts us one step closer to fulfilling our mission of promoting safe hiking and exploration. If you feel compelled to donate, we would be so grateful. If not, that’s OK too. Believe it or not, simply visiting our website and following along on our journey helps. Google and other search engines view this traffic favorably, and as a result, will direct more organic traffic to the website. More “eyeballs” = more funding.
In the months and years since Trevor’s accident, many people have thanked me for what I do…suggesting that I’m saving lives, to which I respond, “It’s Trevor’s story, I’m just the storyteller.”
Let’s make sure Trevor’s story and his legacy of hiker safety never ends!
