My War Against Bullies

Tracey Anne Hallberg is our Monday Guest Contributor.  She is a survivor of Family Crisis, and proof positive that there is light on the other side.  She shares from her heart, leaving very little to the imagination.

Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared.  My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.  

Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.

Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers.  I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.

From the time I can remember, I had no power. Either I was born into submission, or I was woven that way in the womb. I dunno.

It seemed that from the earliest time I could remember, I was three....and people would always be the boss of me. My sister was five years older. My mother was a selfish, grown child, and poverty gave others the right to desecrate me even further.  Kids would hate me. Cuz I was dirty. Ugly. Stinky. Holes in my clothes. Teachers would hate me because the subject of me made them uncomfortable. I was a leper.  Donations would be made to appease their guilt.  Lysol would be sprayed on me, and dirty looks would be shot at me.

It was my mother.  She was my bully.  She emotionally raped me, I have come to realize. Her neglect would stab my soul repeatedly. Her pain and loathing of herself would trickle down into my life. I would pick up the bill for the harm he had caused. My grandfather.  See, my mother was wasted.  She didn't get it.  She was diseased.  Soul sick.  Mentally ill.  Forgotten, and discarded. We were drug into her living hell. So I reckon you could say, God was preparing me all along to hold this torch. 

No voice.  No understanding.  No friends.  No hope.  No joke.

I was falling deeper and deeper into sadness. Lost. Useless. The scowls. The cruel laughter. The shame. I tried tellin' my mom how I felt.  "That is jest stupid," she would say. "You SHOULDN'T feel that way."

I came to realize I had no right to feel at all. I was a no one.  Nothing.  Zero.  I still have issues with self worth.  Value.  Void.  Zip.  Nada.  My sister was beautiful, popular.  Smart.  Funny.  Mature.  I had found I could never compete with that. 

Years past. Same ol' same ol'.  I cried in the corner.  I insulted myself.  Started cutting myself.  Doing drugs.  Bad relationships.  I caused more pain to myself.  Used to it.  All I knew.  Victim.  Rag Doll. Non-human.  Dog.  Rat.  Roach.

I became more attractive, but the words and the neglect would remain.  Nine years in a bad relationship would drain on me.  Age me.  Kill me further inside.  I deserved to die.  Burden.  Unwanted.  No matter how much my mother had hugged and kissed me, which was the ONLY thing she did right.  It would not take away the sting of all the things she DID NOT do: Protect me.  Validate me.  Prepare me.  Guide me.  She did none of that. She was lost in her addiction. 

When I was 24, I had left my destructive relationship.  My mother had passed.  I had met Jason.  My future husband.  He was a friend to me.  Nothing more.  He cared about me.  He came to find out about my OCD and eating disorders.  He still loved me.  How was this possible???  He said he was a Christian.  That having sex and saying he loved me was something he wanted to wait for.  Unreal.

Over the years, he helped to heal the damage.  He was a true child of God.  He showed me my value. He uplifted me.  He encourages me still.  He is amazing. 

When my first born came home from Kindergarten, she said, "Mama, my friend said I have to give her my cookies and put her jacket away...and not to play with other kids or she won't be my friend."  I said, "OH, NO.....SHE DIDN'T!!!"  In the famous words of Dr. Phil, This ain't MY first rodeo!  She picked the WRONG girl. Mama is very prepared. To equip. To teach. To protect this child. Whatever is goin' on in that girl's house, we will pray for her. But you can imagine what is coming next:  This is MY child. And I will be shot first, before someone tries to break her spirit. 

My mother's neglect prepared me to know what NOT to do. I was meant for this purpose. To bring awareness to bullying. I am a professional at knowing what to look for. I taught Trinity her value. "You are Smart, Nice, and you are Beautiful.  Don't ALLOW anyone to have you feel different.  It is about THEM.  Nothing to do with you. You know who you are, girl?  You are God's child.  Take up for your friends.  Take up for your brother.  It is your job.  Love poor children.  Share with them.  Be like Jesus.  He would be proud and that is ALL that matters.  No one else's opinion makes a hill of beans, girl." 

These are the words I tell myself every day. I am learning to love myself through my husband's eyes, through my kids' eyes, through God's eyes. We are HIS.  No one can change that.  Tears...I got tears of joy.  Praise Him.  I am unfinished.  But He will complete the work He started.  My kids will avoid this torment.  They will have big purpose.  This world is jest a test.  I made it out...with my soul in tact.  It was a pure miracle.

A Note to Everyone Who Has Ever Told Me to JEST GET OVER IT!

Tracey Anne Hallberg is my Monday Guest Contributor.  She is a survivor of Family Crisis, and proof positive that there is light on the other side.  She shares from her heart, leaving very little to the imagination.

Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared.  My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.  

Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.

Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers.  I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.

I have heard it all.  The past is the past.  Think about what you have now--a wonderful husband, two beautiful kids.  A home, two cars, your health.  JUST GET OVER IT! 

This is coming from people who either have no sense of what has happened to me--not jest ONCE or TWICE--but for 24 years straight. 

They go on, and on.  Everyone has traumatic things happen.  They jest don't spread it all over, telling people all about it.  They just GET OVER IT.  You are not alone, or special.

Let's just say, I do not share my complete heart with everyone anymore.  They have heard the stories. Sometimes I have repeated myself, trying to gain their understanding. Only to be left feeling worse, and misunderstood.  Rather than being admired for my strength, I'm pitied and criticized.

OK...Maybe their intent was to see me happy. Or help me find peace. But these words left me feeling more of a freak...and weird inside all over again. I have come to accept. Some people CARE...but they will NEVER understand. NOR do I wish them to. They would have to have felt what I have felt. Seen what I have seen. Now why would I wish that on anyone?

From the time I was on my own, I rode my bike to jobs. To college. Up a Huge hill. No one ever gave me a dime. I paid my own way. I didn't want to learn to drive. Could not really understand why for a long time. People would ask me. "What do you do when the weather is bad, not being able to drive?" I said, "I get wet. I get cold. I get hot. I survive. I am strong . I am healthy. I endure. Have you seen my muscles? Hello?" Hahaha!

They don't know what to think or say. I prolly wouldn't if I had come from a regular home. Been taught to drive. Bought a car. College paid for. I cannot relate with these people, nor can they with me. I CARE for their problems, jest the same. But I DON'T understand. Can't. Impossible. Both ways. 

People ask me. "Why didn't you learn to drive until you were 29 years old?" My reply, "I did not need to. I was perfectly fine."

For fifteen years. Riding my bike. Healthy and strong. Then at 29 years old, Trinity happened. It was a huge change. As I rode in the car with my husband, Jason, I noticed all the mothers sitting at the bus stops in the rain, the snow, the triple digit heat. I did NOT want that to be me. With a baby, I could not ride a bike everywhere. So, I decided to ALLOW Jason to teach me. 

The first time I got behind the wheel of a car. My hands began to shake. And sweat. The sickness rose inside like a long lost enemy. I grew nautious. I nearly fainted. I peed my pants. "JUST GET OVER IT," rang the words of the Brilliant.

I thought of all the drunk drivers that must be aching to jest KILL me. Where were these feelings coming from? If the past is the past, then how come I cannot jest FORGET. I thought of all the horrific things that could happen to me in an instant. I thought of the little control I had of other drivers. Their choices. My inexperience would surely cause me to have a lapse of quick judgement. I would surely die by car accident. FOR SURE. 

It took three or four months, for me to drive out of the school parking lot. Onto residental streets.

Yea...some people consider me rediculous. Trapped in my fear. Lack of trust for God. They got no idea what I have seen. Heck, I blocked out most of what I have seen in order to survive. I had to try to forget. But these memories would soon surface with a vengance. I had no idea how incredibly bad it would have to get in order for me to finally face my fear. No idea. Thoughts racing. Hands shaking. Guts wrenching, I inched out into the street.

Months went  by. I was becoming more secure with my skills and abilities. NEVER at ease. NEVER relaxed. Still to this day, I am an uptight driver. I don't trust anyone on the road. ANYONE. That includes you. So stay away from my car.  Haha!!

When Trinity was 2 years-old, I was a brand new mother, and a two year-old driver. I was taking her to Mommy and Me classes. Coming home one day, she was incredibly thirsty. Screaming for her juice cup in the back seat. I reached for it on the passenger side with my right hand, with my left hand still on the wheel. Big mistake. I turned to the back seat passenger side to hand her her juice. I veered the wheel to the right about a foot.  BAMMM!!!!!  I yelled, "JESUS!!!!!!"  I had popped a curb. Clipped a palm tree with my right front tire. Going about 25 miles per hour, my white Ford Focus flipped in mid air, about 20 feet, landing on the roof. CD's flew.  Glass shattered.  Trinity screamed so loud.  It happened so fast.

I didn't understand what happened, 'til we were upside down, hanging in our seat belts. I popped open my seat belt, pried my car door open, and ran to the back seat door.  I tried to open it. "Dear GOD! My baby!!!" I could not open the door!  I screamed, "Someone HELP ME!"

There was oil everywhere. Glass EVERYWHERE!  It was a residential street. Luckily, there were no cars on the sides. A little old Mexican man on a bike rode up. I started speaking in Spanish. "Mi bambina!!! Mi BAMBINA!!!" He went to the back seat door. Pried it open. Unlocked her seat belt and handed her to me. I thanked him and he road away. In shock, I sat on the curb.  A lady came out of her house and said. "What the hell?" I said, "JeSuS is alive! He is ALIVE! I called for Him to save us. He did. He saved us!" 

I am very grateful my baby was saved. God sent that little old man on a bike to save her. I don't even know who he was. I am grateful to be here. From then on, I DO NOT get distracted while driving. I pull over. 

After that happened, when I finally got up the nerve to get behind the wheel again.  I had to pull over A LOT.  I began to have flashbacks from the accident.  Then, from previous, PAST accidents I had buried in my mind. 

From when I was a child. Remembering how I used to hide my mother's car keys. When I was 7. Begging her not to drive. Her rants about  "I don't have anything I own exept my car, and I will be DAMNED if anyone is gonna take that from me too!!" 

So hearing, GET OVER IT, is kinda hard.

During stress, PTSD causes INVOLUNTARY physical reactions in your body. Involuntary.  This isn't what I want, or how how I want to react when I'm stressed.

I wish more people understood PTSD, and how those of us who have suffered terribly in life, are affected.

I can taste the blood in my mouth, see broken glass everywhere, hear crunching metal.  Bodies spread out over the highway. I see my mother in a drunken haze, getting back in the car.  She would seem to not even realize what she had jest done.

She killed a mother of three and one of her babies.

I see dead people.  Memories that no one should ever have to live again. And again.  And again.

I don't have these experiences on purpose, and I can't will them away, no matter how hard I try.

So, I went to a doctor. And I got help. Told him everything I was experiencing. He gave me the PTSD diagnosis.  And it was only then, that I was able to begin to gather the tools I needed to retrain my mind.

This is such a difficult subject for me.  I still feel myself getting angry at the people who have put it all back on me, like I was doing something wrong by having this disorder.  By not being able to jest get over it.  So that they could feel better, right?  Our loved ones do not like to see us hurting.

But, I understand that my PTSD comes from my journey.  How can I expect them to understand?  They don't understand.  They can't understand.

So, I concentrate on me.  Getting me healthy.  Not for their comfort, and definitely not in their timing, but I do it for my children.  For my husband.  For me.  Because I am determined to survive.

Life After Dana's Death

Tracey Anne Hallberg is my Monday Guest Contributor.  She is a survivor of Family Crisis, and proof positive that there is light on the other side.  She shares from her heart, leaving very little to the imagination.

Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared.  My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.  

Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.

Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers.  I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.

TRACEY'S MULTI-PART TRIBUTE TO HER SISTER, DANA
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

My world came crashing down.  All I had ever hoped and dreamed for my sister.  Gone.  All I had prayed for her.  Gone.  All the obstacles, triumphs, trials, victories, joys, celebrations.  Gone.  

It will be one year, tomorrow, since she died.

I think of her every moment, of every hour, of every day.  I dream of her.  Every night.  I miss her, with a gut wrenching cry, that resonates in my soul.  I am incomplete.  Forever.  Seems like forever without her.

I cannot call her when I am excited, scared, sad, or humored.  Ironically, I hear what she would say, and think, and do.  With every happening in my life, she is beside me.  She is in me.  Her soul is a part of me. Who I am.  I hear her voice when I speak.  I feel her spirit when I cry.  When I laugh.  It is ambivalence.  Happy and sad, all at once.  I am blessed to have know her.  I sometimes feel cursed to the way I  lost her.  God is good.  Every day.

But with this faith I have been given, I do believe she is there.  By His side.  Waiting for me.  Mama is there.  Uncle Neal is there.  Dana's baby Randi, her third girl she lost at birth.  She is there.  Jesus promises us Eternity together.  Without that, I would stay in bed.  Without that peace, I would surely drown in my sorrow.

 Dana lost her mind.  Her faith.  Her body.  But her soul belonged to Him.  She could not take that away.  No matter what she did.  I know this with all of my heart. 

The night I learned of Dana'a passing, I  dreamed of her.  Wearing armor.  A Helmet...of Salvation.  A Breastplate of Honor.  And a Sword of Truth.  She was fighting demons coming at her,  cutting her to bits.  She was swinging her sword.  Weaving and bobbing.  She was takin' some brutal hits.  She was falling down and getting back up.  Staggering.  Faltering.  Stumbling.  She grew tired.  So weary.  The demons were still coming.  Non-stop.  Exhausted, she took off her helmet, and her breast plate, and put down her sword.  They swarmed her 'til she was down.  Never to get up again.  Broken.  Torn to shreds.  Defeated.

I know in my heart that was jest her body and mind.  Her spirit did not belong to her.  She gave it to Jesus.  Satan cannot take that away.  It is his deception, if anyone believes otherwise.

The day after I lost her...  

That night, She came to me.  I was standing in my mirror, puttin' on  my makeup.  She stood beside me.  Head tilted to the side.  Sadness in her big dark eyes.  She said,  "I am sorry, BabySister.  So sorry.  I came to let you know I am OK. Everything will be OK."

It was jest like she used to say to Mama, when she was down.  "It is going to be OK."  

God it kills me, to think of her torment.  But I know the torment has ended.

I also saw her with baby Randi on her lap.  Glowing Gold Perfection.  She said, "Tracey Anne~!  It is beautiful here~!  Remember what I am saying to you....K.C...~!  My book has the same cover as yours." 

When I awoke from this dream, I was so sad.  I did not want to leave her.  I did not know what K.C. was supposed to mean. So I went through her Facebook friends.  There was a girl by the name of Kayleigh Camp.  On Kayleigh's Facebook page, it said..."Love one another, as I have loved you.  This is the first commandment.  It was a Bible verse!!!  The book with the same cover as hers.  A sign!  Straight from Heaven!!!   She was leading me to not forget my purpose.

I realized I had deleted all her messages.  Dana being goofy and funny, and singin' Happy Birthday to me on my phone.  And I was devastated.  Again.  In my sadness, I ran across a video of Dana singing and laughing when she was here.  Celebrating my sister-in-law's birthday.  A special gift from Jesus.  God is good.  Every day. 

When I learned of her death, I went to back to where she lived.  In a moment of anguish, back at her house...the place where she had died, I went through her poetry.  Such BEAUTIFUL, real, heartfelt struggles.  Her battles.  Her losses.  Her victories.  I cried out to God, "Why, God?  Why...?  Did I do everything I could?  Did I say everything I could say?  Is this my fault???!!!!"  My tears soaked her papers, and my hands were shaking, when I came across a poem entitled, "Tracey Anne."

It read:

Tracey Anne...

She is the best sister I could ever have asked for...

She never judges me...

It is me she adores...

She always prays for me...

She is there when I call...

She catches me when I fall...

When all is said and done...

She loans me her faith....

When I have none....

God is good.  Every day.

She is with Him.  I know it.  When I went to bury her, I helped with her hair and makeup because I knew how she liked it.  She was beautiful.  Even in death.  Beautiful.  She was peaceful.  At rest.  Her hands were done doing what she came to do.  Her mind was done thinking and feeling what she came to do.  She had loved everyone she met, as hard as she could.  It was done.

I held her hand for the longest time as she lay there.  In the funeral parlor.

I combed her pretty red hair with my fingers, and I promised her, "I got these girls...I got them...I promise you."

God's peace washed over me, and that is when I laid her down.

I walked so slowly, out of the room.

My beautiful sister.  Dana Sheree.

She waits for me.  She knew I loved her.

When I went to bury her I sang her a song:

 My Immortal by Evanescence.

I'm so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave

I wish that you would just leave

'Cause your presence still lingers here

And it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have

All of me

You used to captivate me

By your resonating light

Now I'm bound by the life you left behind

Your face it haunts

My once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away

All the sanity in me

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone

But though you're still with me

I've been alone all along

She loved the Lord.

No matter her sin.

It was Dana I adored.

We are all jest doin' time here.  Make it count.

Make 'em proud.

Until we meet again.

EDITOR'S NOTE.  Tracey's Birthday is this Wednesday, October 3.  She learned of her sister's death on October 3, 2011.  Please pray for her.

My Beautiful Sister is Gone

Tracey Anne Hallberg is my Monday Guest Contributor.  She is a survivor of Family Crisis, and proof positive that there is light on the other side.  She shares from her heart, leaving very little to the imagination.  

Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared.  My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.  

Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.

Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers.  I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.

YOU CAN READ PART 1 OF TRACEY'S TRIBUTE TO HER SISTER HERE

YOU CAN READ PART 2 OF TRACEY'S TRIBUTE TO HER SISTER HERE

EDITOR'S NOTE.  NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE IDENTITY OF THE FAMILY MEMBERS TRACEY INCLUDES IN HER STORY.

For 7 years, Dana was clean and sober.  For seven years, she called me.  Nearly every day.  She wrote me many letters.  She spoke about her life, her choices, her fears, her hopes and dreams.  She was the real deal.  She quickly became my best friend.  We laughed about the past.  We cried about it too.  We understood each other.  We became one voice.  We completed each others' sentences.  We were connected like no ones business...I finally got to see who she really was.  She was so much like me.  It was kinda weird.  Very strange.  But also very cool.  I could call her when I was exhausted.  I called her when I was excited.  I called her when I was scared.  I called her...jest to hear her voice.  Her laugh was jest like mine.  Jest like Mama's.  We were peas in a pod. 

She had been dating.  Some disappointments came and left.  She got remarried.  She got re-divorced. We talked about it all.  She was transparent.  She was real.  She never hid anything from me.  She knew I understood.

Her girls, Beth and Emily had moved in.  They were all takin' care of Kaylee, Dana's grand-daughter.  

We went to visit when Kaylee was almost 2.  It was so fun.  Trinity, my daughter, was 3 and they played together, bathed together, and swam together.  I am so grateful for those memories.  Our children were connected.  It was perfect.  God is so good. 

We flew home, back to Cali.  Dana and I would stay up for hours, talkin' on the phone.  Dana's girls were havin' troubles of their own.  Men, drugs, the same cycle.  They had been raised that way.  And no matter how much Dana went to church, kept her nose clean, she could not warn them enough of the dangers. They had to come to realize on their own. 

One frightful night Dana called me in a panic.  She said that Kaylee had been left in the bathtub...for a moment...and had breathed in water.  She had nearly drowned, and was unconscious for 3 minutes. 

Dana was a mess.  She was so scared.  Beth was so distraught that this had happened.  She could not forgive herself.  She would move out on her own, struggling with what happened, and leave Kaylee in Dana's care for the next three years.  

So, Kaylee lived with Dana.  She was on Dana's hip.  Even slept with her for the years to follow.  

The time came when Dana had to get a job.  She had gotten divorced and needed an income.  She started working long hours.  Sales for a cable company.  Speakin' on the phone with customers.  Emily was watching over Kaylee.

One night, while Dana was at work, there was a knock on the door.  It was the police.  It had been reported that there was drug activity on the premises.  They took Kaylee into custody and raided the property.  They found a meth lab in the back of the house.  On the property.  They tested Kaylee and found chemicals in her hair and in her clothes.  The welfare came and took her away.  My sister was devastated.  She had entrusted Emily with Kaylee's life.  She had to have known about the drugs.  How could she have not known?  

All of their lives began to spiral out of control.  

When Kaylee had been in foster care for 6 months, they found out she had been abused by her caregivers.  When told to go to bed, she would not stay put.  She wanted her Nanny.  Dana.  So they beat her into submission.  Leaving bruises all up and down her sides.  It was horrible.  

The guilt of this tore my sister apart.  She called me crying nearly every day.  

Kaylee's father Billy, and his mother, gained custody of Kaylee.  Billy's mother was terribly older and tired.  Billy, a lazy pothead, isn't doing much with her, and Kaylee is left missin' her mama and nanny.  Kaylee is still a prayer in my heart.  I wish I could jest go adopt her.  But, I got no rights.

Dana's depression got worse...and worse.

We found our brother, Jason.  Dana was so excited.  We flew her up to meet him and his family. Daddy came too.  It was the most wonderful time.  I will forever remember.  Dana, Daddy, Jason and our children.  Everyone was here.  We went to the beach.  We celebrated Tina's *my sister-in-law's* birthday.  We went makeup shopping.  We went out and sang Karaoke.  

We had a big BBQ and Dana met many of my friends.  We had THE most fun.  She was OK.  Dana was OK.  

But, when we'd have our times alone when we could talk, just the two of us, she kept tellin' me, "My kids are GROWN," over and over like she didn't understand what she was supposed to do with herself.    She got to visit Kaylee when she got a chance.  But, she didn't know what to do with herself.

She shared with me one night, while we were standing in my laundry room--the place where I had spent many hours talkin' to her on the phone--she said, "When I had to get a job, fresh out of rehab, it was the most frightening thing I ever had to do. I was used to cooking and cleaning, and takin' care of people.  My kids are grown.  And now I got no one to take care of.  I am scared to death." 

I told her that it was time for her to take care of herself.  She said, "I don't know how to do that. I want to move out here and stay with you."  I said, "OK.  You can come stay with me.  But, you will have to do two things.  First, you will have to get a little job to support your needs.  And you will have to take a random drug test to keep yourself honest.  I have to ask these things of you, if you are to be with us as a family." 

She got angry.  She said, "FUCK it then." 

Many times I  realized my sister had a form of bipolar.  I shared that with her sayin', "Dana, it is brain chemistry.  Science."  She refused to understand the  science part.  She said that Jesus was all she needed.  I told her, "Pray to God, but row for the shore."  She laughed and said, "You always been GOOFY."  

She could be so sweet.  Then flip a switch.  She calmed down.  She hugged me.  Told me she loved me.  We watched a movie and turned in for the night.  The next day, we drove her to the airport. 

For three months afterward, she wrote me on Facebook.  Told me about her new boyfriend, Mitch.  

We exchanged so many messages and comments.  "I miss you.  I love you.  I enjoyed being with you." 

She saw pictures on Facebook from my birthday party a few days before my birthday.  She said I was beautiful.  Looked jest like Mama.  I missed her terribly.  She told Daddy that she felt closer to me than she ever had. 

Her ex-husband had asked her to watch his place, where their girls were staying, while he did some time for failing his drug test.  OMG.  She would do anything for anybody.  Even if it was not healthy for her.  That house was full of her past demons.

Then the worst day of my life came.  Dana's boyfriend Mitch called me.  He said, "She is gone."

What?  What did you say? 

"She is gone Darlin'.  She had a terrible day."

He went on to tell me that she started drinkin' a 24 pack of  beer.  She went out with the girls.  Partying. Was textin' him back and forth.  He did not want her to go out, drinkin' like that.  He had gone to see his kids in Shreveport.  She felt lonely.  So lonely.  He said that at the end of the night she was riding home with Emily, fussing.  Arguing.  She stopped her truck on the side of the road to go pee.  She must have dropped her phone there.  Went home.  Couldn't find her phone.  She snapped.  Started raging.  At Emily.  For all the things that had happened with Kaylee.  She wanted the girls to go help her look for her phone.  But it was dark.  They offered to go in the morning day light.  Dana was angry.  Furious.  Drunk.  Wired.  Relapsed.  OUT of her mind. 

She locked herself in her room.  Started throwing her shoes at her door.  Screaming.  Angry at her life. She came out of her room.  Grabbed a plate of chicken, and potato salad.  Muttering obscenities.  She put down her plate.  Hugged Beth's neck.  Looked at Emily.  Made an ugly face at her.  

"Go to Hell, Mama," Emily said.

"I know you hate me, Emily." This was to be her last goodbye to her children. 

She walked into her room, locked the door. Ate her whole plate of food.  Not a single morsel left. Beth said, "Aunt Tracey, she hugged my neck so tight, I thought she would choke me." 

They found her the next morning.  After calling to her and no answer. They had to pry the door off the hinges. She was found in her underwear and T-shirt. With her britches *jeans* wrapped around her neck, tied to the pole in her closet.  She had her fingers on the noose on her neck.  Indentations in her neck and fingers.  Blue.  She was gone.

I got the call on my birthday.  October 3, 2011.  I turned 37.  She was 42.  

My beautiful sister is gone.

TRACEY'S STORY HONORING DANA'S MEMORY CONCLUDES NEXT MONDAY