Believe in the Magic Traci Diary

Reason for the Book – Part 3

I’ve divided the rest of the book into 5 parts: An All About Me, Meet my Mom of the Last 3 Years, Unveiling the Mirror of My Life, My Relationship with my Mom before August 2016, and Lessons I Learned Along the Way.

Today we are going to begin the section of the river where we get a more in depth look at my life.

As you climb aboard your raft, please make sure you have on your life jacket. Even though this river is smooth with no ripples and whitewater, you never know what the river might present. Drink in the scenery of a brilliant blue sky with no clouds. Enjoy the reflections of the brilliant green trees that line the bank of the river.

It’s pure nirvana. However, you only see the surface of the water. Underneath is a torn and twisted world unseen by the naked eye. This is the metaphor for our lives.

It certainly a metaphor for my life. I often only allow people to see the surface level and not the real me. Very few people have been allowed to enter my underwater world.

Instead of staying on the surface of the river, we are going to dive into my underwater world as you begin to get to know the real me.

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¹ There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

²     a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot,

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-2

One of my favorite parts of most blogs is the about you page. It allows the reader to have a glimpse into the lives of the author or authors of the blog. Later in the book, I’m going to share a more in depth autobiography of my childhood. Right now, I’m sharing where I’m from.

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I am from lots of tomatoes and bananas because that is what my parents could afford, from the land of Hershey chocolate and the Abigail, my Cabbage Patch doll, who still resides somewhere in my house.

I am from the house next to a dam with lots of green grass and an apartment in a house that had three floors with a spooky door that intrigued me. I am from a home that had a magical forest where we never roamed and a giant side yard where we played cricket and learned our Rainbow ritualistic work. I am from the hill way in the back with a metal fence where I sledded and broke my leg.

I am from the black walnut tree that splattered walnuts onto the driveway – such the mess and the tomato plants my Great Uncle fertilized while we were at my aunt’s wedding. We had tomatoes coming out of our ears in the summer of ’88.

I am from eating olives and white salad at family reunions at the farm with the Willow trees. Photography, family history, always having chocolate, coffee, obscure driving, Word Power, and faith in God from Uncle Corky, Grandpa, and John.

I am from talking a lot and a Masonic tradition, something I passed on to my oldest. I am from big hips, thighs, and butts, and thick hair.

From “You have long legs,” “quit standing like that,” and random vocabulary words, I was told to look up in the HUGE dictionary.

I am from the United Methodist Church. Grandpa was a pastor and insisted we go to church. As a teen, I discovered Clayton UMC that changed my life. The Dukes will be my forever family.

I’m from Hershey, PA, pretzel sticks with cream cheese, Fat Rats, and pickles.

From our trip to Walt Disney World, where I told my mom that Thunder Mountain was not a roller coaster. She closed her eyes and wished it was over while on the ride. The time I got carsick while riding on the Blue Ridge Mountains on our way to Harper’s Ferry, where we saw Betty and the independent plane ride at 10 to see my aunt in Colorado. It was my first and only time seeing the Rocky Mountains. I discovered my love of olives on that trip and my sense of adventure.

I am from my mom’s oral storytelling of people long ago. I am from the special scrapbook my aunt made of my grandpa’s time as a tail gunner during World War II. I am from the plastic tubs of photos and other mementos of my family. I am from the family recipes my grandma sent to me while I was in the College Program at Walt Disney World. I cherish those because she hand wrote each of them with her love for me.

I am from the many miniature golfing trips, trips to Downtown to eat lunch in the food court of the Arcade, and shopping at Woolworth and the bookstore. I am from summer trips to Virginia, where I learned American History at Monticello, Stratford Hall, and George Washington’s birthplace. I am from many years in Rainbow, learning how to be a proper lady while messing up my temporary room in only 2 days. I am from the youth group, where we went on Mission trips. Ambo, the traveling hobo, “I don’t like Chinese food,” making the boys pretty, and becoming a family at Myrtle Beach.

To be continued . . .

Part 2

I’ve divided this chapter into 3 parts because it is so long. Here is the first part.

It was at that moment; I began a new season of my life. A season of life that God had been preparing me for 2 weeks prior to finding my mom. Just like a gardener plants his seeds, God planted a seed in my mind. He told me that it was finally time for me to tell my story. Just like a boulder, I can be stubborn and not listen to my Father. So, he sent to me people to tell me, “You need to write a book and share your story.”

Even so, it took me a while to write my story.

There is no princess in my story. Instead there is a monster who tried to tear me down. It was a Randall from Monsters Inc. not a cute and loveable Sully. Satan filled that monster’s heart. The only way I defeated him was through the word of God.

As I heal through these words I am typing, I am beginning to sort through the emotions and tattered memories. Those memories make me who I am today – a robust and resilient person who has made a legacy for future generations.

This book is meant to be healing for me as I sort through all the emotions and tattered memories of my childhood and young adulthood. Those emotions and memories make me who I am today, which is a robust and resilient person who has hopefully made a legacy that will be carried on long after I am gone.

One of my absolute favorite musical artists is P!nk. I’ve been to two of her concerts and have fallen more in love with her music. The album she released in April 2019 has many songs that speak to my soul, whether it is present-day Traci or past me. One of those songs is called “My Attic” one of the lyrics is “Hoping, one day; you’ll find them all – ‘Cause I wanna let you see inside my attic.”

She is talking about her thoughts, feelings, and memories that are stored in her memories. So, welcome to my attic. Just so you know, my attic is full of hurt feelings and tattered memories. I have decided that it’s time for me to show people what is in my attic. My intention is that my attic will help you know that you can overcome adversity.

Throughout the book, I’m going to make references to the Bible, scripture, and music. Beware some of what I’m going to write is going to be challenging to read, but it’s essential to share it so that it can help other people.

I want to welcome you to my attic!

As I am writing these words, I’m allowing them to float away on the river of life. I’m going with the current while they are still in the riptide. They’ll always be there but I’ll move further away from them. Just like seasons change, so do the seasons of life.

In him and through faith in him, we may approach God with freedom and confidence.

Ephesians 3:12

Part 1

I’ve divided this chapter into 3 parts because it is so long. Here is the second part.

Soon after the arrival of the police, my husband quickly pulled into the parking lot engulfing me in a hug with an apologetic word. He took over talking with the police after I gave them my initial statement. Hubby knew I was running on adrenaline but didn’t need to relive the moment of finding Mom over again.

Thus, began my pacing of the apartment complex while calling my aunt who was her only sibling who was still living, my best friend, and the funeral home. Since I am the only surviving child of my mom, I posted the news of her death to Facebook. I didn’t want to call everyone.

I must have paced at least a mile during the time, the police were checking out the apartment. People began to gather and ask me questions about what had happened. One was sympathetic telling me how much she enjoyed my mom while a couple of guys were invasive like a mosquito trying to find a food source. They didn’t help me while I was still in shock.

After what seemed like forever, the police gave me the okay to leave the complex before the funeral home came to pick up Mom’s body. They understood my need not to be there because I already had the awful image of her lying dead on the floor.

As I drove off to do my Saturday errands, anger began to fill my heart. I was angry with my mom for various reasons. I needed to heal from that anger but how was I going to do that? My mom didn’t let me know how sick she really was the week before. My question is why did she do that to me? It wasn’t’ the first time she disappointed me, but it was the last time. In order to heal, I needed to learn to forgive her.

Yes, I did my errands because I needed some things to feel normal even at that moment my world was falling apart.

Oh, before I forget. I never made that appointment with the pediatrician. My oldest read about his condition and realized what I was trying to do the night before. Even though he didn’t go to the game, he did go to the Homecoming dance. He did see HER which was a disaster but that is his story, not mine.

I walked into Aldi’s that morning numb from the shock of finding my mom had died. This Aldi was shut down after the devastating Memorial Day tornados. During the time it was shut down because of the rebuilding, Mom and I decided to take a tour of local Aldi’s. At that time, it was appropriate for me to be there.

As the cashier checked me out, I asked her if she needed to see my license because I was buying some alcoholic drinks. She responded with “I recognize you, so you are okay.”

With a shaky voice, I told her that she wouldn’t see my mom anymore because she had died.

“Oh, no. Let me give you a hug,” she told me as she got up from her seat. In the middle of Aldi in front of strangers who were waiting to cash out, she hugged me and allowed me to cry on her shoulder. A mere stranger became a messenger from God during a time I needed someone to remind me, “You are one of his 100 sheep. I have found you and bringing you home right now.”

To be continued . . .

Introduction

I’ve divided this chapter into 3 parts because it is so long. Here is the first part.

The night before was a rough for my oldest and myself as we came to a crossroads. His social anxiety was causing a rift between us. I wanted him to go to the Homecoming Game, but he became a still statue refusing to move when it was time to leave. For weeks, he had talked about going to the game but since his breakup, he just didn’t feel comfortable because he could have run into HER. Plus, the rain was coming down in buckets.

After a long tense discussion, I then agreed to take him to the 5^th quarter which was also known as Hangout in a Church after the football game. When it came time to get in the car to go to the church, he reluctantly got into the car. The air smelled of autumn rain. Darkness filled the sky. The tension between us could not be cut even with a knife. Once we got there, he refused to get out of the car. His anxiety was through the roof.

It was then I made the decision that I needed to call his pediatrician of advice because he might have needed to see someone to talk about his anxiety. After yelling at him, which to be honest doesn’t do any good, we drove back home. Both upset with the circumstances and each other.

During the night, sleep evaded me. I was tossing and turning trying to wrap my head around the events of the evening and how I could help my 16-year-old son. The next morning, I texted my friend for advice. As I vented and took her advice, I kept trying to call my mom. We had a system where I would call once or twice and then she would call me back. Sometimes she was on the phone with one of her friends, so she couldn’t take the call right away. Plus, she screened calls because of scammers.

I dialed her number at least 10 times with no response. Fear crept into my body.

A week earlier, I had called her. “We are having a family day. I’m going to go shopping in the evening. Do you want to go with me?”

“I have a sinus infection,” was her response. “I don’t think I want to expose you to it.”

Later, I called her again just to make sure she didn’t want to go with me or if she wanted me to pick up something for her at the store. She responded with, “No, I don’t need anything. Please don’t come around. I don’t want you to miss school if you get sick.”

What I didn’t realize is that she didn’t want me around for an extremely specific reason. The morning after the fight with my oldest is when I would realize the reason.

After not reaching her, I begged my husband, “Please, go and check on mom!”

“I will after 10 o’clock,” he replied not wanting to get dressed. He didn’t realize the circumstances on why I needed him to do a welfare check for me. Ever since my mom moved over to my town 3 years prior, I feared my mom would die in her apartment alone. I was going to be the one to find her.

“Fine,” I responded as I left to do my Saturday errands. My heart felt heavy in that moment. I needed to call the pediatrician and I couldn’t get a hold of my mom. As I turned onto the main road, I made the brave decision. “I’ll stop and check on her myself. No one else is going to do it for me,” ran through my head.

As I turned into her apartment complex, my heart began to beat a little faster. My breathing almost stopped when I saw her mailbox. My mom was obsessed with two things: the dumpster and her mail. I would constantly hear stories about how people would fill the dumpster and when her mail was dropped off for the day.

Her mailbox was overflowing which was not a good sign.

I put the car into park and quickly opened the car door. Dread hung over me like a cloud. As I climbed the step onto her stoop, I grabbed her mail and attempted to open her door. Fortunately, she had left the door unlocked.

As I entered her apartment, I noticed it was eerily quiet like one of those horror movies. I dropped the mail onto her dresser right inside the door. And began to yell, “Mom, mom, mom!”

Silence greeted my ear.

I turned the corner to go down the minuscule hallway towards her bedroom and bathroom when I found her. She was half dressed as though she had just taken a bath and was getting ready for the day. She laid half in the bathroom and the bedroom as though she had just fallen asleep.

Quickly I retraced my steps. Breathing in the cool autumn air as I exited her apartment.

Once I got into my car, I called 9-11. “What’s your emergency?” the calm operator asked me.

“My mom,” I blubbered as tears escaped my eyes.

She talked me through the whole call. Even though they want you to stay on the line until the police arrive, she allowed me to get off the call so I could call my husband.

In a matter of minutes, the police were there confirming my worst fear. My mom had died alone in the apartment earlier in the week.

To be continued . . .

I’ve written a book but don’t want to publish it for several reasons.

1. Fear
2. Don’t think people will read it.
3. I think people will judge me.

Even though I have those reasons, I need to get the story out. God says not to worry. I need to cast my worries onto him. So, I’m releasing my fears. Instead of publishing it, I’m going to share it a little at a time here on the blog. Some I have shared before but I’m going to share it once again here.

God grant me peace. Let’s jump in.

Welcome! May God’s peace and blessings rain over you as you read this book. During the reading of this vulnerable and raw book, you will discover the rapids I encountered during my formative years. Those rapids could have drowned me. Instead they made me a better person.

In the early 2000s, the Goofy One and I along with a friend and my father-in-law to West Virginia to go to white water rafting. This was my second time white water rafting, so I knew the excitement and dangers that lurked ahead of me.

The sky was a brilliant blue that morning. As we put on our life jackets, my heart was knotted up and my brain was on high alert. Instead of feeling the typical “high” people feel when doing this high adventure sports, I was feeling dread and a sense of foreboding.  I didn’t know what lied ahead and worry had crept into my brain.

We climbed into the raft and set down the New River Gorge which is a white-water rafting experience that high adventure thrill seekers sought. Not me. I was there to spend time with my husband and to try to conquer my fear of drowning.

The trip begins with smooth water in which all the passengers on the raft help paddle their way down the river. Every time I attempted to help with the paddling, our raft would go the opposite way. “I’m so uncoordinated,” I thought to myself.

Instead of worrying about helping the other rafters, I wanted to sit there and wallow in my misery. Worry kept creeping into my brain. “What if I drown?” I asked myself repeatedly. Even though rationally I should have known that I was with a guide who was trained in knowing what to do if one of the rafters fell in the water.   

I should have been drinking in the scenery and lavished in the water that was like a mirror until it was disturbed by our oars. Instead I was allowing the Devil to take over my thoughts. He’s a liar. The One who will take the joy out of your life. He was doing a great job of that at this moment.

After lazily “floating” down the river for what seemed like hours, which it probably was because time stands still while you are on the river, we found the drop off zone for lunch. A sigh of relief washed over me as I ate my lunch or at least attempted to eat my lunch. My stomach was still in knots and where my appetite should have increased because of the physical exertion I was left with a lack of appetite because of the Devil running my thoughts.

During our break, we were allowed to jump off this one cliff into the water. People were encouraged to do this jump because again thrill seekers. I instead cowered in the corner like a mouse hiding from the homeowner praying that no one would notice me.  I was determined not to drown that day.

As soon as we were back on the river, I noticed that the river had changed. No longer was it mirror smooth; it was choppy like the sea Jesus had calmed during the storm. “Dear Lord, please protect me,” was my prayer. I clenched my butt cheeks so tightly that no quarter would get between them. I was determined not to drown that day.

Our raft crashed into the white rapids and jumped into the air. I prayed, “Dear Lord, please protect over me,” repeatedly over the next few hours. The rapids got increasingly stronger. Our raft kept hitting rocks which caused us to fly into the air. “Woo hoos were heard throughout the raft,” when the roaring noise of the white water wasn’t deafening my ears.

During the midst of this, I traveled back in time and was suddenly 7 years old not listening to my father.

The swimming pool was calling my name. It was one of those hot steamy days where your feet burned as soon as they touched the cement. I just wanted to be in the water, but I was told to wait until one of my parents could help me.

My stubborn Taurus self knew that I could swim, so I didn’t need to listen to him. He was my monster anyway.

The cool water was calling me. “Traci, Traci,” it taunted me.

 “Oh, all right,” I responded to the water.

Without hesitation, I jumped. My life flashed before my eyes as the water overtook me. I couldn’t get off the bottom of the pool. A heavy weight pushed down on me. I tried to push that weight off but couldn’t. I was sinking further into the water.

Suddenly I was grabbed by a lifeguard who saw the struggling between life and death happening in the pool. God was not going to call me to his Heavenly home today.

As I was sitting in that raft some almost 20 years later, that memory plagued my thoughts. Instead of enjoying the moment, I was in fear of a heavy weight pushing me further into the water.

After hitting those rapids for hours, we finally made it back to smooth mirror like water and were on the journey back to dry land. God had protected me like he had protected me when I was a child. He wasn’t ready to call me Home.

Once we were on dry land, I kissed the ground and praised God.

I tell the story of my white-water rafting trip because it’s a metaphor for life. Life is like a river. There are moments in our life that are like the mirror smooth water where everything is going the way we want, and we can just float along. Then the river bends and rapids begin to develop. Every time we hit those rapids; it feels as though we are flying into the sky without a parachute not knowing where we are going to land. Are we going to land softly or crash? Is this rapid the one that will make us drown? We don’t know. God is the one who knows the plans for our life.

Through it all, we need to remember God is our guide just like I had a guide on that raft. He knows what we need or don’t need. He will protect us even when it feels as though he has forsaken us.

He is also our life preserver when the Devil tries to drown us with his taunting and constant bullying. We need to turn to him when it seems as though life is trying to drown us. All we need to do is pray, read the Bible, and love others.

This book is my journey on my river of life thus far. I have had those mirror smooth water moments and class 5 rapids in my life. Before we begin, I need to give you the safety guidelines that all white-water rafting guides give their rafters.

1. Put those life vests on which is the armor of God.
2. Listen to your guide: God.
3. Listen to the directions the oars want you to go: The Bible will tell the directions.
4. Have fun.

Let me tell you a secret, even though I was terrified during that trip down the river I still had a blast. It’s a memory of mine where I conquered a fear of mine to come on the other side a much better person.

May you be blessed,
Traci