Doyel: Tyler Trent made a difference

INDIANAPOLIS – Tyler Trent liked Mahi Mahi: grilled, not blackened. And he liked Starbucks coffee: something with peppermint, preferably. He liked pizza – thin, not thick – and popsicles. And Pepsi Max.

Toward the end, with the cancerous tumor eating into his lower back and then spreading all over his body, Tyler didn’t have control over much. A bag hung next to his bed, connected by a tube to kidneys that weren’t functioning on their own. His legs weren’t working. Or his left arm. But with his right hand he could type on his phone.

And he could eat. Lord, could he eat. Doughnuts with sprinkles. Waffle fries from Bub’s Burgers, extra marshmallow sauce. Pancakes. Sweet tea, no ice. Those are just some of the items I brought Tyler over the past few months. It was our ritual: “Tyler,” I’d text. “I’m coming to see you.”

Two McDonald’s breakfast burritos for $2, he’d text back, with a smiling emoji.

“Tyler,” I’d text another time. “See you in an hour.”

Black cherry malt.

You don’t have cancer, I told Tyler one time. You have a tapeworm.

You’re not dying, I told him another time. You’re pregnant.

He smiled. Always, he smiled. Want to feel like a hero? Make Tyler Trent smile.

We’ll see his smile only in pictures, now. He’s forever 20, now that his battle with cancer ended Tuesday evening, surrounded by family at his home in Carmel. The former Purdue student’s fight and resolve and optimism were intoxicating, uplifting, remarkable.

 I’d say he was a one-man cancer fighting machine, but that wouldn’t be true. More like, he was the general of an army. Lots of us, lots of you, were his recruits. Friends and family, students and strangers, we came together over this sweet young man and we fought cancer with him.

So here’s what you need to do right now. Right here, if you were one of the hundreds in his army – no, thousands ... maybe hundreds of thousands – take a moment. Feel like a hero.

Because you made Tyler Trent smile.

Needed permission to go

This won’t surprise you, any: Even when he was dying, Tyler Trent refused to die. Even at the end, he wouldn’t give into the cancer that had been coming for him since he was 15, coming back again and again, chipping away at his body but not his spirit, not his faith.

Late Tuesday afternoon, the end was near. His family knew. They gathered around his bed and prayed for him. They loved on him. Tyler stopped breathing, and that was that. Everyone looked around.

And Tyler started to breathe again.

Then it happened a second time. And a third. Three times, Tyler stopped breathing. Three times, he started back up again. One by one, his family approached Tyler – his mom and dad, his brothers, his grandma – and told him it was OK. They would see him again in heaven. He could go. They were ready.

Tyler stopped breathing a fourth time.

Tyler receives a WojBomb

Last time I saw Tyler Trent, he couldn’t see me. But he could squeeze my hand.

This was Monday afternoon, New Year’s Eve, maybe 30 hours before he died. No food this time. No coffee or malts. He wasn’t eating, wasn’t drinking, could barely open his mouth even to speak and when he did, only a low hum would come out. There were syllables in that hum, and sometimes you could make out what he was saying – My phone, he’d hum; popsicle, he’d hum – but most of the time, well, it was hard to say. He could squeeze your hand, though. That was his communication, and so I came Monday to squeeze his hand and to tell him something I always told him, something I had to say one more time, something he’d never say back:

I love you, Tyler.

“I’m not sentimental,” he'd always say in return, which was fine. But he did let me rub my forehead against his, my way of saying goodbye these past few months.  

Also on New Year’s Eve, I had news to give him, a #WojBomb to deliver. As you may know, Tyler befriended lots of people in the media. Rather, lots of people in the media befriended Tyler. They’d hear about his story, and they’d follow him on Twitter. They’d start direct messaging with him, because Tyler was the electrical outlet all of us wanted to plug into. His fight was energizing, and he made friends all over the country. One of them, one of the closest friends he had in his final months, was his journalism idol: ESPN basketball columnist Adrian Wojnarowski, whose penchant for breaking news on Twitter, for dropping little bombs of NBA information, led to the hashtag #WojBomb.

Adrian knew I was going to see Tyler on Monday, and he sent me this text:

Tell him I love him.

So I did. I walked into Tyler’s room, up to his hospital bed. Grabbed his hand. First, I told him I loved him. He squeezed my hand tight, and then he started humming. Three words. Three syllables. Is that …?

I … lu … yu.

Tyler, I teased, you’re not sentimental! Another squeeze of the hand.

Then I told him I had a WojBomb for him. Tyler, I said. Adrian told me to tell you: He loves you. Tyler squeezed my hand again, and hummed some more.

I … lu … yu.

That one was for you, Adrian.

Colts, Pacers supported Tyler behind the scenes

So much you know about Tyler’s last few months: The trip to Atlanta last month for the College Football Awards Show, where he received a standing ovation from the finest college football players and coaches in America, and then received the Disney Spirit Award. The trip to Nashville last week to serve as honorary captain for Purdue at the Music City Bowl. The radio spots, the ESPN appearance on the Scott Van Pelt Show, the visits by famous athletes and coaches to his house, with photos usually showing up on social media …

So much you know.

And so much, you don’t. And my dilemma, here and now, is what to tell you. The decision I’ve made is to tell you a few things I learned from Tyler or his family, or things I saw with my own eyes. See, so many people cared about Tyler, and they did wonderful things for Tyler. You don’t know a lot of this stuff – I’m sure I know only a portion of it – because these people helping Tyler didn’t do it for attention. No photos on Instagram, no posts on Twitter. But so much happened, and it’s time you knew some of it.

Here’s one example:

About two months ago, Tyler had completely lost the use of his left arm. He had so much left to do – he wanted to write a book, he wanted to write stories for the IndyStar, and he wanted to do freelance analytics work for the Colts – but he couldn’t do it with one hand. He heard about technology that would allow him to use a stylus to write words on a computer screen, and the computer would turn it into typed words. An iPad Pro, it’s called, but it cost almost $2,000. Tyler was telling me about that one day, lamenting that he didn’t have the money to buy one and wasn’t going to ask his parents.

Well, here’s how it was with Tyler: People in the community wanted to help him. At the Maryland-Purdue basketball game last month at Mackey Arena, a Boilermakers fan named Debbie Frantz approached me with a handmade Purdue ornament. She’d read a few stories I’d written about Tyler this past year, figured I knew him, and was hoping I could give him the ornament. Of course I could. Another Purdue fan mailed me a box of Legos that formed a mini Ross-Ade Stadium. He was hoping I could give it to Tyler. Of course.

So anyway, Kevin Pritchard is the president of the Indiana Pacers. Like so many of us, he’d been captivated by Tyler’s story of strength. As it happens, he’d sent me a text message on that day two months ago, just wondering how Tyler was doing. Me being me, I told him too much: Not well. He’s down. Can’t use his left arm, can’t write, wants an iPad Pro but knows he can’t afford it.

The next day, a Pacers employee showed up at the Trent house with an iPad Pro. Pritchard doesn’t know I know that.

Another example:

Tyler had an internship with the Colts this past summer, something in analytics on the business side, and he worked there for a day or two before the cancer made it impossible. He had to resign his internship. Broke his heart. Colts general manager Chris Ballard was devastated for Tyler, so he stopped by his house, hoping to cheer him up.

And then Ballard kept coming back. He visited every week until Tyler died. Ballard doesn’t know I know that.

This kid changed the world

When the cancer first came calling on Tyler, his father summoned the family to an upstairs room in their home in Carmel and read aloud a chapter of the Bible: Psalms 103. Tony Trent wanted to remind Tyler and the rest of the family – his wife, Kelly, and Tyler’s younger brothers, Blake and Ethan – to be thankful to God in all things, and to hear the message of hope.

“Praise the Lord, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

“Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—

“Who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases.”

And heals all your diseases …

Indeed, Tyler was healed that time. But the cancer came back three years later, and when it did, Tyler prayed to God. He prayed for healing, yes, but he prayed for something bigger, even, than that:

“I wanted to make a difference,” Tyler told me a few weeks ago. “I didn’t think I’d made a difference the first time. That’s what I prayed for: If I’m going to have cancer, use me to make an impact.”

What is it they say? That the Lord works in mysterious ways? Tyler Trent made an impact.

Tyler’s story rippled through the Purdue campus and across the state and soon was picked up by ESPN and went national, even international. In his honor, fans at football games around the Big Ten chanted “Cancer sucks!” In Tyler’s name, Riley Hospital for Children and the V Foundation have raised tens of thousands of dollars. Tyler partnered with an author on a biography that will be released posthumously, and Tyler did it with the goal of raising $1 million for pediatric cancer. At Purdue, there are several scholarships in his name. At Riley, there is the T2 line of cancer cells, donated by Tyler through a process he knew would be horribly painful, to give researchers the chance to study his particularly ruthless strain of cancer.

“I don’t want this to happen to anyone else,” Tyler told me, over and over.

And here's what I told him, over and over: I love you.

I … lu … yu.

Find IndyStar columnist Gregg Doyel on Twitter: @GreggDoyelStar or at facebook.com/gregg.doyel.

Inspired to help? Here's how

The Tyler Trent Cancer Research Endowment

What: The endowment will fund cancer research at the Purdue University Center for Cancer Research. The Walther Cancer Foundation will match every gift donated to the endowment, dollar for dollar.

Focus: The research will investigate cancers where they begin – at the cellular level – to examine the cause of, and cure for, cancer.

Goal: Doctors and scientists throughout the world will use the center's discoveries to develop methods, medicines, and medical devices to save and enhance patient lives.

Info: https://bit.ly/2Gas7ec