Why I Escape
The first bullet that I remember passing near my head was at the local recreation center when I was about 6 years old. I say “that I remember” and “about” because we lived in a neighborhood where our home was shot at more than once as collateral damage in drivebys, or the time when my Dad called the dog to come inside and startled a drug adict who started firing from across the street. Because there was a chopshop being run in the back alley, we weren’t allowed to pass through our garage into the alley. My parents made sure of it, and so did the thugs. The week we moved out a kid tried to steal from them and was killed in our garage where he snuck in to try and hide. The sexual and drug abuse that accompany this life are such common occurances they are accepted by the abused as a known reality of life, something you do not escape.
Yet, escape was a daily mission. I danced ballet, became a Girlscout Brownie, got sponsored to attend the Boys & Girls summer camp, sang in school choir, and even ‘volunteered’ for under the counter tips on a horse ranch. Eventually my family was able to leave that neighborhood. I was selected as a catcher in competitive softball and I fell in love with a boy during high school. When that man came home from the Army we started our own little family with the birth of our son.
We wanted more. More experiences, more positive memories, more from life. We wanted to buy an RV and travel the country. We dreamed of experiencing the wonders of nature that surround us, immersing our children in the positive cultures we encounter, and learning from each of them along the way. While still managing the loss of our first daughter we were lucky enough to celebrate the birth of our second daughter, on our son’s 10th birthday, in 2018.
On March 29, 2019 I was forced to watch as a semitruck ripped through our dreams and my husband was killed while we were serving as Good Samaritans. I had left the the hardships from my early life in the past, but death still surrounded me. In the span of 2.5 years, in addition to losing a beloved Grandfather, half the family I had created was gone. I was suddenly a veterans widow, solo parent, and sole caretaker for my veteran father while drowning in whiskey and trauma; both unhealed, and new. My whole life had been forged by the flames of trauma and the cold hammer of grief. All my dreams seemed impossible and I felt life spinning out of control again when I heard Mark Leach of “Keep Your Daydream” say something completely out of context that really hit home and forced me to re-examine the way I was framing my future:
“Even though the reality will be different than you imagined, you can still keep your daydreams.”
It became my mantra. Over and over I fought with myself. Fought against the desire to leave this wreched world behind, and the unwavering conviction that there is still good to be found. It was an internal war I refused to lose. I put down the bottle. I joined an RV owner’s training course and several online groups. I found just the right Airstream for myself and the kids, and we’ve been escaping the daily grind ever since. With time, grace has taught me to laugh again, and grit is taking us to the most incredible heights. I face life with the same feirce determination I used to stare down death, the ghetto, and my deamonds.
Gradually I realized, I was living again. Thriving even! People started asking how. How do I find the strength with so much trauma… but they really wanted to know if they could borrow my Airstream. The more people asked to borrow it, the more I began to realize that by fighting for my own dreams, I can help others experience their dreams of escaping too, even if only for a weekend.
On April 22, 2021, Forged Magnolia was born. Dedicated to the toughest, most steeled of Magnolias who refuse to give up.
Forged Magnolia 