There are some stories I can’t leave at work.
My older brother was murdered in June 1999.
More than 27 years later, I can still remember the phone call. I can still remember riding with my dad to my mom’s job because we had to tell her that her son was gone.
I can still see my mother falling to her knees.
I can still hear the police officer’s words as she matter-of-factly told her that her son was on his way to the morgue.
There was no pause. No compassion. No recognition that a mother’s world had just shattered.
That moment has never left me.
Maybe that’s why stories like Trey Reed’s affect me so deeply.
Every time I read about Trey, I don’t just see a headline.
I see my mother. I see my dad. I see myself. I see a family whose lives changed forever with one phone call.
I think about what it must feel like to wake up every day searching for answers while the rest of the world has moved on.
And I find myself asking one simple question: What if this were my child?
This question sticks with me because today, I’m a mother myself. I know what I would want to know.
I would want every answer possible. I would want every promise kept. I would want every phone call returned. I would want someone to care enough to keep asking questions long after everyone else had moved on.
I think any family would.
That’s why I am so grateful for the way the Mississippi Free Press has handled this story.
From the very beginning, we made a choice that isn’t always easy in today’s news cycle. We refused to rush, sensationalize or fill in the blanks with assumptions simply because everyone else was doing it.
Instead, Nick Judin kept reporting.
When new facts emerged, we reported them. When rumors spread, we separated fact from speculation. And now, almost a year after Trey died, while much of the national attention has disappeared, Nick is still making the calls, still asking the questions and still standing beside a family that says they are waiting for answers.
That is what journalism rooted in humanity looks like.
We don’t believe our responsibility ends when the headlines stop trending. In many ways, that’s when our responsibility begins.
Because families don’t stop grieving when the cameras and attention leave. They don’t stop waiting because social media found a new story.
And they shouldn’t have to search for the truth alone.
The Mississippi Free Press stays. We listen. We verify. We ask difficult questions with compassion, not because we know what the answers will be, but because every family deserves someone willing to keep looking.
If that kind of journalism matters to you, would you consider becoming a recurring donor today?
Your gift helps us stay with stories that others have left behind. It helps us continue reporting with patience, compassion and integrity. And it reminds families across Mississippi that even after the spotlight fades, someone still cares enough to ask the next question.
Follow the Mississippi Free Press’ coverage of Trey Reed and read past stories here.
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