Madi's Story
This story is about my baby girl, Madison Elizabeth Hartin, a 16-year-old athlete who had a bright future ahead of her playing college softball. She was passionate about the game, and as a freshman in high school, she beat out a sophomore for the starting catcher’s position. Her heart was set on playing for UCLA, and she was good enough that she could have, had things turned out differently.
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Madi was smart. She was beautiful, and funny, always making others smile and feel better about themselves. She loved her animals, too, and was a free-spirited, strong-willed, determined, loyal goofball. She was also dependable, brave, persistent, empathetic, and most of all, captivating.
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Madi was 3 years old when I married my husband, Ryan. Watching her grow up, we knew Madi was different – she exhibited signs of ADHD, but she was also incredibly strong-willed. She would, as we say, “squirrel” a lot: always moving, talking, getting easily distracted. In elementary school, she would get often get into trouble for it, talking and distracting other students. Ryan and I considered putting her on medication, but neither of us truly believed in medicating children.
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When she turned 11, she started showing goats. This helped some with her grades, and it taught her to be dependable and responsible. She fell in love with her goats; so much so, she would cry for days after she had to sell them. In the show ring, she had to learn to stay focused on the goat and on the judge. She learned to do that well and had the ribbons to prove it. But after three years of showing, she lost her enthusiasm for it, and began to not want to put in as much work as in previous years. She just wanted to walk in the show ring and win, but not put in the work. Ryan and I told her it doesn’t work that way – it doesn’t work that way in the ring and it doesn’t work that way in life. You have to put in the effort for what you want.
When she was 13, Madi went to a playoff volleyball game where a “friend” of hers showed her how to cut her arms, something she started doing on her own. The reasoning behind this, she said, was to see the blood run out, taking with it all the difficult emotions she felt inside. I took her to see a mental health counselor, who said she didn’t qualify for services, because they thought it was just Madi being a teenager, not mental illness. So, my husband and I found ourselves desperately trying to find her help. We took Madi to counselor after counselor until she finally said to me, “Mom, you are wasting your time. I only tell them what they want to hear.”
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When she was a freshman, we took Madi to a different mental health facility; this time they finally accepted her. The doctor treated her for Bi-polar Depression. At first we were hopeful after she was put on several medications; but it didn’t take long for her emotions to became flat and she would only laugh occasionally, and her bright personality seemed dimmed. Ryan and I felt like we had to walk on eggshells when she was around so we didn’t set her off.
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Growing up, Madi didn’t have a healthy relationship with her biological father. And even though my husband had been in her life since she was three and did everything he could to fill that role, she felt like she wasn’t worthy of Ryan’s love because she didn’t even feel loved by her father.
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Our relationship had its rocky moments as well. One minute, things would be great between us, then I would tell her “no” for something, and suddenly she hated me, then our relationship would feel strained for a time. Madi became more and more isolated, retreating into her room and social media. She would sleep all the time. Instead of talking to us, she talked to strangers online.
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In January 2021, that last semester of her freshman year, I noticed she had been wearing the same sweatshirt for several days. I had a gut feeling, so I asked to look at her arms. When she told me “no” I knew it had to have been bad. That day, I took her to her first in-patient psychiatric hospital, where she stayed for five days. I was hoping she would learn the coping skills needed to process her mental illness and the difficulties of life. She was good for several weeks, but then fell right back to where she was before she had gone to in-patient care. After losing her starting catcher’s position on high school team, she quit at the end of the season and just focused on select ball.
Madi became more and more isolated, retreating into her room and social media. She would sleep all the time.
Instead of talking to us, she talked to strangers online.
Over the summer, Madi had no contact with her biological father; no calls, no texts, not even a visit. She tried to pretend it was OK, but I knew it wasn’t. Madi would go stay at her paternal grandmother’s house, but not see her father. You could see in her eyes how she felt her life was in turmoil. Ryan and I kept trying to encourage Madi, but she was her own worst critic.
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The start of Madi’s sophomore year was just as bad as the end of her freshman year. Certain softball players and kids would give Madi dirty looks or talk about her, making snide comments. Madi would come home and tell me about it. I said to her, “Who cares? After high school, you won’t ever have to see them again.”
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“I do,” Madi replied, “I care.”
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It was a horrible feeling as her mom to know this was going on and I couldn’t do anything about it. The school principal was notified, but that was a dead end, due to who the certain kids were. Small town politics.
The week before Thanksgiving, Madi asked if she could go hang out with friends. She was, after all, sixteen, and I wanted her to do things any normal sixteen-year-old would do, so we had a long conversation about trust and her “friends.” Reluctantly, I said she go. She was going to hang with a group of friends, but a high school boy came to pick her up. Ryan and I met the boy, and off they went to hang out. The hangout in this small town is a public park with basketball courts, swimming pool, and walking trails. Lots of people of different ages were always at this park.
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The next day, and the weeks to follow, Madi’s mood was up and down. She went to her paternal grandmother’s for the week of Thanksgiving, then started back to school that Monday after. On Wednesday, after her mental health appointment, she asked to go back to the in-patient facility. Without question, Ryan and I took her. During her intake, she told the story of her “hanging out with friends” that week before Thanksgiving. Ryan and I were shocked to learn later that she had been raped by the boy who came to our house; the boy whom we had met.
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Madi was in in-patient for eight days, during which, her emotions were all over the place. She was so afraid; afraid no one would believe her, afraid to have to testify in front of the boy and all of his friends, afraid she would lose the friends she had, afraid to go back to school.
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Friday evening, she was discharged. When we finally got to see her, she was so quiet, but gave me the biggest, tightest hug she had ever given. I told Madi she wouldn’t have to worry about ever going back to that school, that we would do what it took to get her into a new one
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That Tuesday afternoon, Ryan took her to a forensic interview about the rape. Tuesday night, she was gone, taking her own life. The pressure and pain she had to have felt, especially after the way she perceived the interview to go, must have been so intense that she though suicide was her only option. She was focused only on that moment, of escape, not the moment of what happens next. That is something no parent should ever have to witness or deal with; watching your baby take her last breath, helpless to save her.
It is my new purpose to help others so that another parent doesn’t have to deal with the pain and suffering my husband and I have had endure since Madi chose to leave this earth. Through this tragedy, Madi’s Way was born. Madi's Way exists to educate and train students, faculty, and others about mental health, and raise suicide awareness. Donations will go to fund speaking engagements in schools as we get Madi’s story out, followed up by critical awareness and resource training by mental health professionals.
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My hope is that one day, every school in the State of Texas and beyond will make suicide awareness training and education for staff and students a priority, and that the number of teen suicides decreases. I hope for a day when caring for one’s mental health will be destigmatized and accepted as the norm. Madi’s Way is here to help anyone in need.
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God Bless,
Kaci Sartor
