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By Jack Beresford and Ty Dubiski
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Growing up with Madison as my big sister was awesome. She was more than a sibling, she was my best friend.
Madison was a cheerleader, and I went to every practice and every game. It got to the point where I probably could've filled in for her because I knew all the routines.
She returned the favor, showing up for my football games with plenty of support and the occasional critique. That was Madison. She was my biggest critic but also my biggest supporter because she always wanted me to succeed.
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Outside of sports, we did everything together. We'd hang out on weekends, go to the movies, and call each other almost every day. She was a beautiful soul and I loved being around her. Everyone did.
Some of my favorite memories are the simple ones: playing Wii Bowling and crying with laughter when somebody threw a gutter ball, going out for dinner and gossiping, or calling her from college whenever I had a problem.
One memory stands out. We were on vacation riding jet skis when I got thrown into the water. The first thing I saw when I surfaced was Madison doing a Baywatch-style dive off her jet ski and swimming over to make sure I was okay. That was who she was. She always showed people how much she cared.
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Madison wanted to work in event planning. She threw incredible parties and was the person people called on when they needed help with weddings, engagement parties, or holiday celebrations. She always joked that she was going to be famous one day. She is now, but not for the reasons anyone wanted.
We had attended the first Astroworld Festival in 2018 and had a great time, so when the festival returned in 2021, Madison and I decided to go again with some friends.
Madison was a little claustrophobic, and I remember her telling me over lunch beforehand that she felt nervous. I brushed it off, telling her we'd be fine. Looking back, I wish I had listened. But nobody goes to a concert expecting someone to die. You just expect to have fun.
We spent the afternoon with friends at Madison's apartment before heading to NRG Park on November 5, 2021. Lil Baby was already performing when we arrived. We took photos, hung out, and enjoyed the atmosphere.
Eventually, we moved toward the main stage for Travis Scott. At first, everything seemed normal, but as the evening went on, more and more people packed into the area.
About an hour and a half before Travis was due onstage, it was getting crowded. Then it became overwhelming. Madison suggested leaving our spot to get food, drinks, or look at merchandise. I kept saying no because we'd worked our way into a good position.
Around 15 minutes before the performance, I felt the crowd begin to surge. There was pressure coming from every direction. Madison wanted to get out, but by then we were trapped. Even then, I thought everything would be okay.
Just before Travis came onstage, the crowd was so tightly packed that you could relax your body and still remain standing. It felt like we were packed in, like sardines. Madison said, "We've got to get out of here." I remember telling her there was nowhere to go, and we'd just have to ride it out.
Then the surges started.
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I remember the pyrotechnics going off and the heat becoming unbearable. We were pushed forward, then backward, then forward again. People began falling.
Madison fell. I was still standing, and I tried to pull her up, but I couldn't. The crowd surged again and I lost sight of her.
At the time, I didn't think she was in serious danger. My mindset was simple: if I was okay, she was okay. When I couldn't find her, I assumed somebody had helped her out of the crowd.
But things kept getting worse. People were falling everywhere. Eventually, I followed a large man forcing his way toward an exit and managed to escape myself.
Outside the crowd, I ran into two friends who had come with us. I texted Madison and told her to meet us by a merchandise stand. I didn't know it then, but it was the last text I would ever send her.
As we waited, my parents called asking what was going on. When I described the crowd, my mom told me to start checking the medical tents. By then, the concert had been stopped, but it was too late.
We went from tent to tent asking anyone who would listen if they had seen Madison. At one point, a security guard told us he thought he'd seen her and that she was okay, just shaken up. I felt an enormous sense of relief. But soon after, we learned he had mistaken her for somebody else.
Madison had arranged for a driver to pick us up after the concert. For a moment, I hoped she might already be with him. Instead, my mom called and told us to come to the hospital.
During the drive, I convinced myself she would be okay. Maybe she'd broken a bone or been injured in the crush. Death never felt like a possibility. Still, as we got closer, I found myself repeating the same prayer: "Please don't let her be dead."
When we arrived, my stepdad met us at the door. He told our friends to wait in the main lobby. I went further inside, into a room where I found my mom crying. Then I heard my dad wailing in a way I'd never heard before.
That's when I knew.
Madison had died.
I collapsed. It felt like I was drowning. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't process what I was hearing.
Later, my mom asked if I wanted to see her. When I did, I just kept apologizing. I felt overwhelming guilt. We could have left to get food, water, merchandise, anything. I blamed myself for a long time.
Before I left, I kissed her on the forehead one last time. She had always been so warm, but now she was ice cold.
The days and weeks that followed were some of the hardest of my life. None of us slept. None of us ate much. We were numb. But we were also surrounded by incredible friends and family who supported us through the darkest period we had ever known.
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The day after the tragedy, my cousins went to the makeshift memorial at NRG. They hung a framed photo of Madison on the fence with a pink bow and the hashtag #PinkBowsForMadison. Everyone in Houston was putting out pink bows with the hashtag.
This organically traveled across Houston, across Texas, the United States and eventually went global. Pink bows were placed at NFL stadiums, naval bases, entire college campuses, cathedrals, businesses, Caribbean beaches and even in Africa. Our family knew we wanted to create something meaningful in Madison's name. That's how the Pink Bows Foundation was born.
Naming our foundation Pink Bows Foundation was our family’s way of thanking the entire world for their incredible acts of kindness and support.
One of our initiatives has been the Pink Bows Safe Space Tent, a bright pink, air-conditioned space at events where people can cool off, manage anxiety, access water, and receive support from trained professionals. To date, we have had over 450,000 people access our tent at various events.
Another focus is crowd safety advocacy through the Showstop Procedure Course, which we developed alongside leading crowd-safety experts. It is the only accredited Showstop certification program in the world and has trained more than 1,250 event professionals, security staff, crowd managers, and venue employees to safely pause or stop an event when lives are at risk. I truly believe that if those procedures had existed at Astroworld, Madison would still be here today.
Finally, the Pink Bows Foundation is focused on continuing Madison's commitment to helping others through scholarships, charitable giving, and community service projects. Madison had completed more than 500 volunteer hours at 25 different charities by the time she graduated high school. It is very important to our family and foundation to continue to enrich the charities that held a special place in her heart.
Knowing that all 10 Astroworld deaths were later determined to have been preventable, as stated by the Houston Police Department, is difficult to comprehend. But Madison was always a light in the darkness. She left a note in her handwriting on her kitchen counter that our family saw after the tragedy that read: "For those who do well, must also do good. Always give back!"
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That was her motto. It was who she was. Now it's my responsibility to carry that light forward, do good in her name, and make sure the world never forgets Madison. That's how we honor her legacy.
Ty Dubiski is the Manager of Partnerships & Corporate Strategy at Union Jack Classic, an organization promoting American college football events in the UK. He is also the co-founder of the Pink Bows Foundation, a non-profit focused on crowd safety awareness, event staff training, and support for safer live events.
Contact Newsweek editors on this story: Marc Vargas and Paul Donnelley.
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