Recently, I sat down with Kelly Chandler on the Survival in the Trenches Life Beyond Loss podcast. I did not expect to become emotional during that conversation. It has been many years since the events that shaped my life so profoundly. But grief does not operate on a timeline. It lives quietly inside us, surfacing when it needs to, reminding us why we do this work and why we keep showing up.
If you are new here, welcome! I am Melissa Wandall, Founder and President of The Mark Wandall Foundation, Advocate, Motivational Speaker, and President of the National Coalition for Safer Roads, but also a Mother, daughter, and sister. For more than 20 years, my life’s work has centered on two deeply connected missions: advocating for safer roads and walking alongside children, teens, and young adults after a parent, guardian, or sibling has died. What began as a way to honor my husband, Mark, and protect my daughter’s future has grown into a foundation rooted in connection, compassion, and community for Florida’s youth.
In this podcast episode, we talk about where my resilience began, the promises I made along the way, and how those promises continue to shape my faith, my advocacy, and this foundation. You can view the full episode below, but read on to dive deeper with me!
Growing Up In New York
I grew up in upstate New York in a farming community on more than 25 acres. We had gardens, fruit trees, and vegetables, and we co-operated with farmers in our area. That was simply how we lived.
I had a sister exactly two years older than me and a brother five years younger than me. My sister and I played softball constantly, and my parents coached our teams. We spent most of our time outside, and life felt innocent and free.
That innocence changed when my sister was 10 years old.
One day, my sister slid into home plate during a softball game and hurt what we thought was her knee. My parents took her in for an MRI, and instead of a knee injury, they discovered bone cancer.
At the time, children getting cancer was not something people talked about. Our family’s world shifted quickly. Treatments were hours away. School became inconsistent. My grandmother, who was already a big part of our lives, became even more involved as my parents worked to hold everything together.
What I remember most is who my sister was during those years. She was a jokester. She loved life. Even as cancer spread through her body and she endured years of treatments, she rarely complained. Her concern was often about the rest of us. She carried a joy and strength that shaped who I would become.
The Promise I Made and How It Changed My Life
On March 29, 1980, my sister died from cancer.
When she died, I promised her and God that I would never let anything in my life take me down. I promised I would move through life with grace when I could, with faith and hope, and that I would do the best I could every day. I did not know what my life would look like, but I knew I was not going to let life defeat me.
After my sister died, my brother and I returned to school in a time when there were no grief programs and no counseling.
My parents did something I will never forget. They moved all of our mattresses into the living room and told us we would sleep together until we felt comfortable returning to our bedrooms. Even in their own grief, they created safety for us.
Going back to school was hard. I had missed a lot of class. On my first day back, a teacher called me to the front of the room and asked me to point out Idaho on a map. I did not know where it was. He shamed me in front of my classmates and told me my sister’s death did not give me permission not to know the states.
I went back to my seat and cried. A classmate next to me told me he was sorry I was crying because my sister had taken pills and ended her life, which was not true. No one stepped in. I never told my parents because I did not want to add to their pain.
That moment taught me how alone grief can feel when it is not understood.
Becoming the One Who Took Care of Others
From that point on, I became the person who watched out for everyone else. I wanted people to feel heard and cared for.
In high school, people would say, “Go to Missy.” In college, I was the one sitting and listening while someone shared everything they were carrying. I also learned how important community is, especially for siblings when a child is sick. Sometimes the best support is small. Sometimes it is a teacher taking you for ice cream or simply letting you know you matter too.
Meeting Mark and The Future I Didn’t Expect
For a long time, I was always the friend, not the girlfriend. I did not have long-term relationships.
After college, I moved to Florida with a friend. Years later, when I was thinking about leaving Florida, I went out one night with my best friend. I accidentally spilled a man’s beer and insisted on replacing it.
That man was Mark Wandall.
He called me for months before I agreed to go out with him. He was younger than me, lived in another county, and none of it felt practical. Eventually, he invited me to a July 4 soccer game, a concert, and a night out with friends.
Mark became my best friend. We married in 2002, moved into a new home in 2003, and found out we were pregnant that same year. Mark was beyond excited to become a father. He always wanted a little girl named Madisyn. I chose her middle name, Grace.
On October 24, 2003, I was nine months pregnant. That morning, we planned to go to dinner, but by evening, I felt unwell and encouraged Mark and my brother Phil to go without me.
Mark told me he loved me and said he was going to miss me. I told him I loved him too and that he would be home in a couple of hours, and we had the rest of our lives together.
On their way home, they were stopped at a red light. When the left arrow turned green, a motorist traveling between 48 and 51 miles per hour ran the light and instantly killed my husband. My brother survived but was deeply impacted.
When I arrived at the intersection, everything stopped. There were lights and sirens everywhere. At the same time, I felt calm in a way that still feels surreal. I knew I had to protect the baby I was about to bring into the world.
How Can You Be Optimistic in Hard Times?
The EMTs allowed me to say goodbye to Mark. I thanked him for our life together and for the best five years of my life. I promised him I would take care of our family. I promised him our baby would be born into love and light, not tragedy. I promised him I would find a reason for what happened, even though I had no idea how.
Two weeks later, our daughter Madisyn was born. Holding her, I made her the same promise. I promised I would not be a broken mommy. I promised I would find a way to move us through grief toward a happy, healthy, and optimistic life.
Optimism does not mean being positive every day. We all have hard days.
To me, optimism is the unshakable belief that we can create change, even in the most challenging moments. Faith plays a role in that for me. So does connection. So does showing up for people in small, meaningful ways.
My Why Behind My Purpose
After Mark died, I knew I needed to do something to move through what happened. Red-light running is preventable. I wanted education, accountability, and safer decisions on our roads. That work led to The Mark Wandall Traffic Safety Act, which took five years to pass and continues to protect lives today.
At the same time, I started The Mark Wandall Foundation in Mark’s memory and in Madisyn’s honor. The foundation exists to empower and connect children, teens, and young adults in Florida after a parent, guardian, or sibling has died. We do this through camp partnerships, equine-assisted learning, scholarships, and reconnect events. All of our programs are free to families.
Living The Promises I Made
Healing is not something you finish. It is something you live into.
It has been 22 years. I am still that little girl inside who made promises and meant them. I am proud of the work that has come from these experiences, but more than anything, I am grateful for the children who now know they are not alone and for the lives that have been protected because people chose to slow down and care.
Life is a marathon, not a sprint. I build things slowly because I want them to last. As long as there are children who need connection and families who need support, I will keep showing up.
Continuing The Work
If this story resonated with you and you believe in supporting children and families after the death of a loved one, I invite you to continue this work with us. A gift helps fund our programs and expand our ability to serve more children across Florida.
Donate to The Mark Wandall Foundation
Thank you for being here. Thank you for listening. And thank you for caring.
