I'm coming back!!!

For the past eight years of my life – extremely long, painful, and miserable years – a huge part of me has been missing. An internal flame that once burned brighter than the sun has been fully extinguished. Already a severely damaged and extremely scared soul, I was about to experience a sadness that defies modern description. One of the most important parts of my life was ripped straight from my heart, and I believe it was done with malice and intent specifically targeted to damage me. Evil and darkness had certainly found their mark this time.

My entire life had already been a constant battle that I was losing. Every day, I struggled with undiagnosed and untreated mental illnesses. I had developed into a drug addict and had spent many years in the past as a terrible alcoholic. The only way I knew how to live was as a trauma victim. Abuse and neglect started when I was very young – some people familiar with me have said it began when I was a baby. My first memory is of being punished. The psychological, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse is what basically raised me. My decision-making and thought process were solely based on abuse. When you make life decisions based on abuse, they are almost never good decisions at all. Most of the bad choices I made were aimed at hurting myself even more. I always thought that when people saw me hurting, it made them happy, almost as if I didn't know right from wrong.

This latest instance of mental, emotional, and spiritual abuse happened when I was 45 years old. My response was to do as I had always done: fully accept it and try to make the person who inflicted it upon me very happy. My brain was conditioned to firmly believe that I deserved whatever happened to me in life; it was always my fault. I would always make sure to abuse myself worse than the actual abuse. It really does make your abusers happy to see it, and it gives me a sliver of pride to outdo them. Anytime I was ever abused, I started to self-destruct – that was my only coping skill. I was trying to destroy myself before anyone else could. This time, I started inflicting non-stop, extremely painful punishment upon myself.

The self-punishment changed me completely. It altered who I was as a person. From the time I was a little baby, most of the abuse I received came at the hands of my mom. She was someone who was supposed to show me unconditional love, the person who was supposed to support me, build my self-esteem, and give me worth and value as her son. I was supposed to be taught exactly what is right and what is wrong. She was supposed to watch me grow and encourage me to do better if I slipped up. Instead, I was on my own. Because of a lifetime of abuse from my mom, I am certain I have never had the opportunity to know what real love feels like.

This most recent pattern of abuse actually began for me at a very early age, so young that I cannot recall a single memory from our first trip. There was a great fisherman already in my family, who quickly became my idol. He was like a fishing superhero to me, the only man I would ever look up to in my entire life. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. When I was old enough, I became my grandpa's lifetime fishing partner. I accepted this role with great pride, an abundance of joy, tons of self-confidence, and genuine happiness. From the very first fishing trip with my grandpa, it began. I believe that's when he started to pass down to me his passion for fishing. We shared that same passion for at least 18 more years.

I was blessed with a grandpa who was a great role model. He taught me so much about fishing, and it didn't stop there. In the early years, he taught me all the basics: how to tie a proper fisherman's knot, how to make your very best cast, how to set the hook if you had a bite. He would teach me about all the different species of fish that lived in the waters, what to look for, and what to look out for when fishing. The learning went beyond the water. He would teach me about all the wildlife that roamed among us. I learned all about the effect that wind has on fishing – one of the most important qualities that I still possess and utilize every day. He taught me how to have a great deal of patience. He always had my undivided attention.

I must say that I loved learning everything he was teaching me. I learned how important fishing can become to someone, even if they have never fished a day in their life. My grandpa and I alone were able to feed our family from what was usually our Sunday morning catch. A lot of times, we were able to feed other families as well. Every once in a great while, we were able to sell part of our catch to people who were friends with my grandpa. He would always tell me that we needed the money for the next fishing trip. Whenever we would deliver fish to someone, we always made it our responsibility to clean it, preparing it to be floured and tossed into the frying pan. Over the years, I learned to clean multiple species of fish from Grandpa. He taught me that the guts, bones, heads, and skin make the best garden fertilizer. He showed me how to sharpen a knife and keep it sharp so that fish could easily be cleaned. All of this breathed deep into my soul what I thought was the beginning of a beautiful life. Due to the fact that my grandpa shared his passion with me, a young new fisherman was born. My eternal flame that fueled my passion for fishing was lit. I was sure that no matter what happened to me the rest of my life, I would always have fishing to hold on to; I would always be a fisherman.

When my grandpa passed away, I was working in Omaha. I had seen him two days prior at the hospital. I will never forget our final hug. I took his death really hard. One place where I seemed to find comfort was on the fishing bank. It was there where I grieved the most. At times, it was like he was right there with me. Not only was fishing like therapy during these hard times, but it also made me feel closer to my grandpa when I was fishing. I believe he was there with me to comfort me. I was the only person in the family who could carry on his passion, not just for him, but to keep the passion alive for the sake of both of us. I was still young with a long life ahead of me. I looked forward to many more years of fishing, doing so in the memory and honor of my grandpa. Mostly all of his fishing equipment ended up in the basement at my mother's house after he passed.

One afternoon, after obtaining permission from my mother, I started my descent down her very steep basement stairs. I was hoping to find a physical memory from the years I had fished with Grandpa, perhaps a fishing pole that I could remember him using on one of our trips. I wondered if there was a rod and reel in that basement that would speak to me, something I could claim and keep as my own, a keepsake that would be a reminder of what my life used to be like. Not only did I find a rod and reel, but I discovered a bright yellow, 8-foot heavy-action surf rod equipped with an open-face baitcasting reel. It was extremely filthy, having sat in that basement for a while. The bearings and gears in the fishing reel were rusted and almost frozen. Even though I doubted that my grandpa had ever used it before – I can't recall him ever using an open-faced reel in the years we fished together – I chose this rod to be mine.

I took my find back upstairs and let my mom know that this was the one I wanted. When I began to clean the almost black dirt from the rod, I discovered something so significant that it gave me chills. The rod was actually engraved with gold letters: "JC Higgins." Out of the dozens of rods in that basement to choose from, I chose a JC Higgins brand. My grandpa's name was John Charles Higgins. I imagine it was either a gift to him, or he had purchased it for the namesake. I was dedicated to restoring this gem, a gift I had discovered in that dingy old basement. Not only was I able to bring it back to life, but it was almost as if it were brand new once again. Everything worked exactly as it should, and it looked like it was ready to be displayed in a showroom. It was ready to become a permanent fixture in my life.

Unfortunately, I could not take the rod with me that day, as I was experiencing homelessness at the time. I asked my mom for permission to hang it on her bedroom wall. I thought that she could enjoy and appreciate this special family keepsake. After I became stable enough and had an apartment, it would be then that I would officially take it with me. She absolutely loved the idea and appeared to be extremely excited to let it be an exhibit on her bedroom wall. She knew how much this JC Higgins rod and reel meant to me. I had plans to use it as motivation, a symbol of hope that one day I too could be restored. It would be a physical reminder for me to try to make better decisions and do better in my life.

It was on August 23rd, 2017, when I was back at my mom's house, approximately a month since I had displayed my treasure on her bedroom wall. Of course, I went upstairs to her bedroom, looking forward to seeing what I thought was a gift from the heavens. The wall where I had hung the rod was completely bare. Hopefully, she had decided it didn't belong in her bedroom and had put it up for me, or maybe she didn't feel it was safe hanging on her wall. My mom wasn't home at the time. After waiting for her to return, I asked where she might have put my rod and reel. She told me that she and everyone else knew that I was completely irresponsible, that I would never be able to keep such an item without either selling it or trading it off for drugs. She said that I didn't even really care about the rod and reel, and went on to say that I never even cared about fishing itself. She told me my grandpa's rod and reel found a new home.

With my trauma triggered and my emotions ready to explode, I asked her what she meant by "a new home." She told me that she needed some money and that our family's eldest cousin would make a much better owner. She had reached out to him, and of course, he really wanted that rod and reel. She felt it best to sell this fishing equipment to my cousin, to make him a good deal and get some money for her grandson; she sold it to him for twenty dollars. I didn't know what to say. I did not see it as just a rod and reel; it was symbolic to me. It would remind me of what once was and offer hope for what could be in my future. I felt that on that day, what she really sold was most of my soul, the biggest part of who I was: a fisherman. My passion was instantly invalidated. There would be no more fishing for me from that moment forward. I get it though; I deserved this. That's been my whole life story. Just maybe, with this final crippling blow to my soul and with really nothing left of me for anyone to attack, was it possible that I had just survived a lifetime of the best abuse she had to offer? I certainly did not think I was going to survive this, or care if I did.

I made a vow to my mom on that day. I made a pledge that I would never fish again. I wanted to validate to her that she was successful. When I walked away from that house, it was with a brand new form of sadness, a kind of irreversible hopelessness that no man should ever experience. It was a masterpiece of brainwashing. I told myself that this is exactly what I deserve. I accepted this fate, knowing that I might never experience happiness. I was completely worthless. Not only did I quit fishing that day, but I quit living. I gave up on my life. That was the punishment I chose for myself. Whoever would have thought that at 44 years of age, psychological and emotional abuse were alive and prevalent, especially abuse from a person who is supposed to show you nothing but unconditional love? I would love to believe that perhaps that's all my mom ever got to know about parenting, maybe she truly believed that only negativity and constant punishment were the only way to raise successful children. As much as I wish this were true, I had two siblings, an older brother and a younger sister, who never had to experience the abuse that I had endured.

My mom passed away on December 22nd, 2020. I continued to allow her to have control over me even though she was gone in flesh. The years of damaging abuse inflicted on me still remained. The damage that she created was severely deep and painful; I had absolutely no hope that I could ever recover. I absolutely did not care about myself, but I did still care about others.

It was my mom's wish that her ashes were to be placed in the Missouri River. She wanted her final resting place to be at her favorite fishing spot. On Easter morning in 2021, we gathered there. I gave her a gift, a gift of love from a son who didn't really know what love was. I officiated her celebration of life ceremony that morning. I stood on the bank of the Missouri River at her favorite spot and gave her a beautiful eulogy, one that I had personally prepared for the family. If I had been hoping for some sort of closure between us, maybe some relief from the deep sadness and unimaginable pain, it never happened. I truly believed that I was damaged far beyond repair, with no hope of personal recovery. There was no reason to try to save me. I might not have been worth saving, but that did not mean that the thousands of people with experiences similar to mine had to continue suffering.

I started working with our local homeless community in 2019. I knew that I was somewhat intelligent, had good knowledge of all the available resources, and years of experience being homeless. But more importantly, I knew that no matter how bad someone's story was, there was a good chance I could meet them right where they were. I could put myself in their shoes, understand what they were going through, and share their pain. Not only did I have the lived experience and understanding, but I could also help change the lives of others, maybe even save lives. I thought I had what it took.

My ability to assist people experiencing homelessness started to get some attention from our city government, community agencies, social workers, and case managers. So many saw something in me and offered lots of advice. Ninety percent of the advice was about me. It seemed that every day, someone, somewhere, was being a life coach to me. I listened to every single piece of advice and retained every bit of information ever offered. I just couldn't ever justify applying them to myself; I certainly did not feel worthy enough to do so. I could tell that some of these people were becoming frustrated. They were probably thinking that I was an arrogant know-it-all who didn't have to listen to anyone. What they didn't know is that, in some cases, I literally took handwritten notes of the advice given to me. It was later in the summer that, very reluctantly and knowing for a fact that I would fail, believing I was not worth their time, I sought out mental health treatment for myself.

There was one piece of advice that I heard over and over: that I would never really be able to help others until I helped myself, that without helping myself, there would be no real chance of me reaching my full potential. That's what everyone who was critiquing me wanted. They thought I was good at what I was doing, but they knew I could turn out to be great someday. The day that I became a mental health patient really wasn't my decision. When I first walked through their doors, not only was I homeless, but I was also a drug addict who had recently relapsed and was living a very unhealthy life as a trauma victim.

After my mental health assessment, I was diagnosed with six diagnoses and disorders. In the past, I had been trying to live with treatment-resistant major depressive disorder (recurrent), PTSD, ADHD, substance use disorder, insomnia, and unspecified trauma disorder stemming from physical and sexual abuse as a child. All of this was untreated. I began a very long process of mental health treatment. Towards the beginning, I wondered if it was really for me. That didn't matter. I was doing it for the people I serve. I was doing it because it was my last hope. Due to my trauma and brainwashing, I actually ghosted a couple of times. My providers at the facility had already noticed potential in me. They made sure they tracked me down when I ghosted and encouraged me to continue treatment. I eventually became fully engaged in my mental health treatment and began to see a trauma therapist regularly.

From the beginning of my treatment, I would have to say that fishing was brought up a lot. It was getting to the point that I was about to get prescribed a fishing trip from my psychiatrist as medication. I believe she would have written that prescription. My trauma therapist was highly recommending that I try to return to fishing. Almost everyone in my circle was basically insisting that I go fishing. I will have to admit, after three years of treatment, I did give it brief thought in May 2024. I had wondered what it would be like to be back sitting at the river's edge, waiting for that fish of a lifetime. It was nearly the middle of July that I began to develop a plan.

I made a deal with myself: if I could somehow manage to get my apartment clean enough to invite company over, if I could pick one adult daily living skill to perform per week, and if I could learn to live comfortably with what very little I possessed, it would be at that point that I would start planning a fishing trip. I was going to make myself earn and deserve the chance to fish once again. I live in a one-bedroom apartment that I have lived in for almost three years, the longest amount of time I have spent in any dwelling. Something had to be working; the three years I've been housed are also the three years that I have been getting mental health treatment. I've had to pay people in the past to clean my apartment for me. The last time I paid someone was in April. The time had come for me to quit denying and to do something good for myself.

During the first week of August, I had bagged up at least 60 bags of trash. I then paid to have them all hauled away to the landfill. Having all the trash out of my life was a little boost to my mental health. Now that I could see my floors and countertops, I began the tedious task of organizing my apartment. I took the time to hang up all my awards and certificates on the wall by my front my front door. This will serve as a daily physical reminder of what others see in me, a reminder that perhaps I truly possess potential. They will be a new form of inspiration.

Closer to the end of the month, my apartment was finally ready to be lived in for the first time in three years. I could even invite company over if I wanted. I've proven to myself that I am worthy enough to live in a healthy environment, and I accomplished it all on my own. I did it for me!

I was assigned an additional counselor by my mental health provider, and I began attending weekly counseling sessions. I was also granted a home health nurse to be part of my recovery team. I am increasingly utilizing coping skills and grounding exercises and wouldn't hesitate to reach out to my support network for help. I was finally applying some of the tools, the training, and all the advice I had received over the past six years, for myself.

Now that I have cleaned and organized my apartment, and with the fact that I've been using positive self-talk, completing my adult daily living skills, and utilizing my support network, I began to believe in things. One of those things I started to believe is that I deserve to go fishing. It was the beginning of September, and I could actually feel a fishing trip in my near future. I looked at my calendar and chose Saturday, September 28th, 2024, to be the day I would return to my favorite place to do some fishing!

When my mom and her new husband would go fishing, they would insist that I join them. I'm guessing this started when I was about fifteen. I hated going fishing with them. They were both abusive alcoholics, and my new stepfather had no respect for our environment. He had even stolen fishing gear out of someone's truck once. I made it a habit to never fish alongside them, preferring either upstream or downstream. There were times I simply sat in the woods and waited for them to finish.

I remember one cloudy and cool day when we were on our way fishing. I let them know I was going downstream, telling them I would scout out the river and let them know if I found a good spot.

I found my way to this really cool-looking spot in a cove, tucked away from view. It was a difficult spot to get to; back then, it was all forest with no concrete hiking trails. There was a big cottonwood tree in the shape of a slingshot, which became my landmark. I even named it the Boomerang Tree. I climbed down the steep bank to the sand. The first thing I really liked about this spot was that I felt completely safe. I was out of sight, hidden among the trees and foliage. The only way I could ever be spotted was from a boat.

I got myself situated and was ready to fish, casting downstream about ten feet off the bank, just as my grandfather had taught me. No sooner had I set my pole down than I had a really good bite. I set the hook, but my first bite was also my first miss. As I was reeling in to re-bait and try again, I snagged on something that felt like it was fighting. I had accidentally snagged another fisherman's trout line. When I got it ashore, there were probably thirty hooks on it, and many of those hooks had fish on them. If I had been with my stepfather, he would have taken every fish. I took it as a sign and slowly released the trout line and the fish back into the river. This place I had discovered not only made me feel safe, but it could obviously produce some fish. That was enough for me to declare it my favorite place. A couple of decades passed before I ever took anyone else to my favorite spot.

Saturday, September 28th, 2024, was only a week away, and I was starting to become nervous. I need to stick to my plans, or I will disappoint myself. I feel that my mental health has been improving, and it would be a giant step in the wrong direction not to follow through with my plan. People have expressed their disappointment with me in the past. Almost all the poor choices I've made came from a sick brain; almost everything I've ever done has been based on abuse. If I make the decision not to go fishing with a healthier brain, the disappointment would be tremendous.

The only things really stopping me from going fishing again were a little air and opportunity. I have all the fishing equipment anyone would ever need. I know exactly how to get to my favorite place, and I'm confident that I still have the knowledge of how to fish. I only had to wait one more week.

Today is Wednesday, September 25th. Only three days left to wait. I've been thinking a lot about this upcoming Saturday. I decided there was something I absolutely had to do. It would help me prepare a smooth path and definitely make for a better fishing experience. It would also give me another solid reason not to back out of my date with my favorite spot on the river.

I set out on foot early that evening to go to the river. I wanted to scout out my favorite spot, making sure there were no accumulated brush piles or other hazards that would interfere with my return. My spot looked as good as ever! I had planned to use the nature trail at the river to reconnect with Mother Nature, something I've been missing in my life. Nature has always had a positive impact on me; I always feel welcomed there. But more importantly than scouting my favorite place or reconnecting with nature, I wanted to visit my mom. Her favorite spot on the river, and mine, are no more than 200 yards apart.

By the time I arrived at the spot my mom had chosen, it was already dark and somewhat cool. The first thing I did was introduce myself. "Hi, Mom. It's Tracy, and I'm not the person I was supposed to become. Instead, I'm successful, very well-liked, I get a lot of respect, and I'm an important part of my community!"

I could really start to feel the coldness in the air on this cool late summer evening. I'm not sure if it was a moonless night, but it all of a sudden seemed to be getting darker.

I continued to let her know the main reason I had come to visit. "Mom, I'm here to tell you from my heart that I love you. I want to forgive you for everything. Neglect, physical and mental abuse, sexual abuse, and any other negative effect your actions had on my life are fully forgiven. I really want us both to be set free. I now choose to live my life in peace. That's what I want between us. With the knowledge and understanding that I now have about mental health, I highly suspect that you were living with undiagnosed and untreated mental illness. I am well into mental health recovery," I let her know. "Just like my mind had played tricks on me, your mind probably believed it was okay for me to be raised the way I was."

"I understand how the brain works," I said. "It's my turn to take control of my own brain!" I shared with her that I would be back to visit her in three days. I had plans in the area to reclaim something I lost eight years ago. I had plans on starting a fire, the fire that fuels my internal flame. I plan to be in this area a lot more in the future. I will be visiting you every time. I will not disappoint you!

When I woke up on Thursday the 27th, I was really depressed. I didn't know if it was from the visit the night before or the intrusive thoughts of me failing once again. The depression was pretty severe. I tried using my coping skills and grounding exercises but was unsuccessful at getting it to subside. I needed a little more help. I called my community support specialist to try and talk through it. Neither of us could pinpoint what triggered this episode of depression. After communicating to another person that I was experiencing an episode, my depressive symptoms reduced. It took me all day, but that evening I was relieved from this depression episode. It really helped that I was offered a job later that afternoon, a job working with people experiencing homelessness.

On Friday the 27th, I had a couple of appointments at my mental health treatment facility. That morning, I walked over to my treatment facility. I had an appointment with my home health nurse and my counselor, and I needed to fax off some papers. In between appointments, I decided to walk over to the gas station to get an energy drink.

On the way there, I was walking through the parking lot of a construction company when I spotted something lying on the ground against the wall. To me, it was a significant sign that I was only one day away. It was a little round, red and white fishing bobber. Even though I don't usually use bobbers when fishing, this particular bobber went straight into my pocket. When I do Street Outreach, people are always asking me why I don't use a vehicle. My thoughts are that it would be fairly simple to accidentally drive right past someone in need, but almost impossible to walk right past them. This little fishing bobber confirmed that. I will make sure to write the date on it and give it a forever home.

Finally! It is Saturday, September 28th, 2024. I woke up early that morning, realizing this day was not a dream. The day that I started planning back in July was here! It was a sunny and beautiful morning. There's really nothing more I need to do to be ready. Everything I need to go fishing was packed away in my backpack. Most of my thoughts revolved around whether this day was real, if this fishing trip was really about to happen.

If I had any doubt that I would be able to follow through with my plans, that doubt was replaced with nothing but pride. At 0829 on this beautiful Saturday morning, I received a text:

"Foxtrot indigo Sam Hilo indigo Nancy gecko 0759 latitude 7743 longitude. I don't know C3PO circumstance engage with enemy fire.

Tango Hilo indigo Sam indigo Sam yo yo ostrich unicorn radio 2199 on a limb tango indigo margarita elephant. Do not I repeat do not disobey these orders. Juggernaut out."

This text was official orders sent to me by a United States Air Force Major, (ret). These orders simply meant that I was to go fishing or else! The fear that I would disappoint myself and others had been nagging at me. If I got cold feet now, if I did not follow these official orders, I wouldn't disappoint anyone at all. I would instead become a national disgrace to our great nation. I stood up and saluted my country, myself, and everyone involved with great pride. It will be hard for me to disappoint anyone again; I have just become proud of myself! That was exactly the final push that I needed.

I had made plans to walk out of my front door at exactly 11:00 a.m. to begin a brand new journey. I had already dedicated this special day to my aunt Donna. Before we begin this journey, I have a few minutes until 11:00. I find it a fitting time to share a tribute story, a story that best describes how fishing is so much more than one could ever imagine. This story isn't just about fishing; it's about the biggest largemouth bass that I have ever caught to date and a lifelong family memory that this fish helped create. This catch brought my favorite aunt and me together for an evening of laughter, a couple of lifelong lessons, and helped strengthen the already strong bond we had. Even though Aunt Donna's favorite fish was a bullhead, she absolutely loved her bass, and believe me, I was well aware of this fact. It was a hot summer day, and I decided to go fishing. My girlfriend at the time was at work and let me borrow her car. I went fishing in a farm pond just south of town. It didn't take long after I arrived at the pond before I hooked into something that I thought was a record-setting fish. It fought me like no other fish had. I used my best fishing skills and techniques to fight this fish ashore, being ever so careful not to lose it. When this fish was finally on the bank, I was totally amazed. I had never seen a bass this big before, let alone landed one. After the adrenaline started to wear off and I calmed down, I weighed the fish. This largemouth bass weighed 4 lbs 8 oz, not really even close to any kind of record fish. That didn't really matter; this fish was my personal best catch. The one person who came to mind, the only person I wanted to show my personal best catch to, was my aunt Donna.

After packing up, I drove directly to my aunt's house and knocked on her front door. When she answered, I told her I would like to show her something. We walked together down to the driveway. I reached in through the back hatch of the car and pulled out the bass. She was amazed at the size of one of her favorite fish. "Wow! That is so cool!" she said. I had learned that when my aunt Donna used the expression "that is so cool," it usually meant she really liked something. She asked me what I was planning on doing with the fish.

I couldn't have lived with myself had I driven away with that fish. I told her that it wasn't my fish at all, that it was hers. I told her that I caught it just for her. I asked her if I could use her kitchen sink, saying I would be more than happy to clean it for her. And that's exactly what I did. It didn't take me very long, and I was handing her two beautiful all-white bass fillets. I knew that this made her extremely happy. Knowing that I had just made her happy gave me a brief moment of happiness too. It was either the following day or the day after that when she reached out to me. She had invited me over to her house for dinner. I was homeless at the time, staying in my girlfriend's chicken coop. Aunt Donna left a message somewhere that thankfully got to me. And of course, this was a no-brainer; I absolutely accepted her invitation.

I wasn't even thinking about the bass I gave her.

When I arrived at her house, there was what appeared to be a cheesy casserole sitting on the counter. It looked really good, as I remember. I expressed to her that it smelled amazing and asked her what kind of casserole it was.

"That is our Bass," she responded. Did my aunt Donna just tell me that she made a casserole out of that bass? Wait a minute, what? OMG! Had my favorite aunt gone crazy and ruined a perfectly good bass by putting it in a casserole? What had she gone and done?

The only way I had ever eaten fish was fried.

The two of us sat down together at the table and prepared our plates. I really didn't know what to expect about this meal. Would I even be able to eat it? If my memory serves me correctly, the casserole had two fillets of bass, potatoes, rice, broccoli, and plenty of cheese. Of course, there had to be other ingredients, but that's what I remember.

When I put that first bite into my mouth, I was completely shocked and amazed. "This has got to be the best-tasting fish I have ever eaten in my life!" I told her.

"Wow! Who would have thought you could cook fish this way and have it turn out so spectacular?" I do know that I had more than one helping of that casserole.

When we both finished our meal, we were just sitting there shooting the breeze. I can't recall if we watched a TV show or maybe played a game of cards. The time had come for me to leave. Before I was able to leave her house that early evening, she let me know that she had something for me. She went into her kitchen. When she came back out, she handed me a full carton of Marlboro Red cigarettes. "I can't take these!" I told her. "I did nothing to earn them." She told me they were a thank-you gift, in appreciation for me thinking of only her when it came to my biggest catch.

It is now 11:00 Saturday morning, September 28th, 2024. As I head out my front door, it is with an open mind, an open heart, open eyes, and ears. I'm going to take in every single step of this journey and try to make it the most memorable fishing trip of my lifetime.

I only made it a block and a half away from my apartment. There was a police car sitting at the corner of 14th and Edmond. I couldn't tell if there was an officer in the car. There was something I had to do. I approached the driver's side of the police car with my fishing pole in hand and a fully loaded backpack on my back, with a visible machete, multiple knives, and a hatchet hanging from it. The window began to roll down. There was a female officer sitting behind the wheel. And without hesitation, I asked her a question: "What are the chances that you would be willing to give me a courtesy ride down to the river? I need to obtain some much-needed mental health and fishing therapy." Her response completely shocked me. "Well, I don't know what we're going to do with that big ol' fishing pole, but I will be happy to give you a ride to the river for that."

I quickly let her know that I was just kidding and that I was actually trying to validate something. I told her that I was only three miles away from my fishing spot and that walking is also good therapy for me. I never introduced myself or caught her name. I asked her if she knew a certain officer who was a friend of mine. "Of course, I know her, we love her!" she said. I suggested to her to let our mutual friend know that she had just met Tracy. With a big smile, she told me that she would do that. I told her to have a good day, and she wished me luck fishing.

As I walked away and turned the corner, not only was I thinking about how nice and friendly she was, but I also thought she was really cute.

The real reason I walked up to her car was for self-validation that I have changed for the better.

You see, from 1990 to at least 2000, on multiple occasions, I was being awakened by the St. Joe Police Department, St. Joe Fire Department, or EMS. I would be highly intoxicated and passed out on the sidewalk. Sometimes when they woke me up, I would be in the middle of the street. On a couple of these occasions, EMS would transport me to the hospital psych unit for a 96-hour hold. More times than I can count, the police department would give me a courtesy ride, taking me home if I had one, or to a friend's house for my safety. I was very sick when I first learned about courtesy rides. Tears began to roll down my cheeks as I had just proven to myself that I have experienced positive change. I am worthy of holding company with those who serve our community. And probably for the first time in my life, I began to believe in myself. I wanted to turn around and let the officer know that when she said yes to a courtesy ride, her decision gave me the green light to always believe in myself. I vowed that I would see her again one day and let her know how much I appreciate her, let her know she has become a part of my new journey.

Because of the work that I do with the homeless population, the police department has actually told me I am a part of their circle. I allowed myself to accept that I am part of an important circle.

I can hear loud bluegrass music coming from a block or two away. As soon as I turn the corner from behind the old church, physical validation that I belong to an important circle was before me. There was a heavy presence of emergency vehicles: a police command unit, police cars, sheriff's cars, fire trucks, ambulances, and even a semi-tractor trailer. If I ever deny that I'm not part of an important circle again, this memory will always confirm otherwise.

I've only been gone from my apartment at this point for probably no more than 10 minutes. I've only traveled four blocks, yet I've already received validation that I've changed and confirmation that I truly belong here.

Instead of walking down Francis Street, I chose Jules Street and passed in front of City Hall. Many of the employees there know me and seem genuinely happy to have me as part of their community. As I reached the corner of 10th and Francis, I saw several people clapping and cheering, all wearing green shirts. "It's not really that important," I thought to myself, "I'm just going fishing." Thank goodness for my dark blue sunglasses, not just to hide my tears, but also because encounters with the Police Department haven't always gone smoothly when my eyes are red, bloodshot, and swollen. This particular encounter with an officer happened at the corner of 9th and Francis. As I approached the intersection, I was smiling. The officer stopped traffic with one hand and waved me across the street with the other. I thanked him, starting to believe I was living in a dream.

Either my backpack was already getting heavy, or I'd experienced so much in such a short time. I knew my energy level would quickly drop at this rate, so I decided to utilize a local resource: the city bus. I knew it would drop me off only half a mile from my favorite spot.

Walking up 8th Street towards Edmond, I was a mere four blocks from the bus terminal. "I'm going to get to my favorite place much faster and have plenty of energy left when I arrive," I thought. Then, I noticed an elderly lady crossing the street from the United States Post Office. She was pulling a rather large cart and carrying a big bag. I didn't recognize her from the homeless community, but she appeared as though she might be experiencing homelessness. "Not this time, Tracy!" I told myself. "This day is all for you." However, she was heading west on Edmond Street, the exact same route I'd planned on taking. About half a block separated us. I picked up my pace and crossed the street, wanting to be ahead of her. As I stepped onto the sidewalk on Edmond Street, she was a little under half a block behind me; we were now both on the same sidewalk. I quickly ducked around the corner, out of her sight.

I was only two and a half blocks from the bus station. I've always cut through the parking lot across from the Missouri Theater when going there. I stopped dead in my tracks. I was smoking a cigarette. I threw it down and extinguished it with my foot. "There will be no more of them for the rest of the day," I said aloud. I peeked back around the corner to see the lady struggling to get her cart over the curb and onto the sidewalk. I took a deep breath, knowing there was a chance that offering help might derail my fishing plans for the day. But I listened to my heart and knew I had to do what was right. And just like that, I found myself standing next to her, saying hello. After asking how she was doing, I asked a pretty selfish question, one I would never use during outreach and can't recall ever asking anyone: "How far are you going?" My mind was already made up to help her; I felt like I was fishing for an answer that benefited me, not her. She told me she was going to the bus station. I felt great relief as I told her that was also my destination. I offered to help her get there with all her belongings. She appreciated my offer but said she enjoyed the exercise.

As I walked with her, I did a quick mental assessment, pretty much the same one I use for outreach. This usually gives me an idea about someone. In the cart she was pulling, there was nothing except empty boxes. Her blazer or jacket appeared clean, almost pressed. I couldn't see what was in the big bag she was carrying. She was wearing pink-tinted sunglasses. I quickly ruled out the possibility of her experiencing homelessness. We started walking together down Edmond Street. She asked me if I was going fishing. I told her that I had started out this morning intending to go fishing, but that today felt like a much better day for me to start living instead. She looked up at me, her hand now on my shoulder. She had the cutest little grin as she looked at me through her pink sunglasses. "Oh man, that sounds so cool," she said. It felt almost as if I knew her. She instructed me to live this day to its fullest, to savor every moment. Believe me, after what I've already experienced today, I'm committed to living every day to its fullest. I told her that I always cut through the parking lot and that I would soon see her at the bus terminal.

I proceeded on my usual route through the parking lot. To my amazement and disbelief, in the back corner, there were thirty or forty giant bouquets of flowers. I almost dropped my fishing pole. In all the years I've crossed this parking lot, I had never seen flowers before. Could they be some sort of magical reward for choosing kindness over selfishness? A lady was tending to the flowers, and I kindly asked if I could take a picture of her with them. She agreed to let me photograph the flowers but made it clear she didn't want to be in any photo herself. I didn't mention that I had decided to document the events of this day through photographs. I wanted to capture these moments so I could always remind myself of what happened when I decided to truly start living. It's almost as if this is the first day of my life, and it's only 11:34 a.m. I knew the bus I was planning to catch didn't leave until 12:15.

I hadn't packed any water in my backpack, intending to buy a bottle at the gas station near my destination. Now that I was taking the bus, I wouldn't be passing that gas station. That was alright, though, because there was a soda machine and a water fountain inside the bus station. If necessary, I could find an empty bottle or two and fill them up at the fountain.

The bus depot shelter was locked up tight. I turned and inquired with the bus driver. She informed me that the city had shut it down permanently, believing the reason was due to people experiencing homelessness. Quickly, I reminded myself, "You have a date with your favorite spot. No working today! You can always deal with this new development on Monday."

It was a good thirty minutes before the bus's departure. I kept looking for my new friend as I waited for her to appear. There was no further sign of the mystery lady. I hoped she reached her destination safely and had a wonderful rest of her day.

Once on the bus, I knew it would take me close to where I was going. I thought I could relax and process the day's events. The bus route took us past the parkway system. I simply sat there, looking out the window and enjoying the ride. Just like when I started walking, there was a group of people standing at an intersection. They were waving, clapping, and cheering the bus on. This group was also wearing green shirts. A lady sitting in front of me turned around and wished me good luck fishing. The bus was approaching the stop sign where I wanted to get off. I pulled the stop request cord, still shaking my head as I stepped off the bus.

I set my backpack and fishing pole down on the green grass. As I put my backpack on, I couldn't help but notice some unpleasant looks from people heading towards the casino. This area is known for its homeless population, and I suspected that was the reason for the dirty looks. It was with great pride and confidence that I stood extremely tall. I became a statue on that corner for about five minutes, representing all three facets of homelessness: the terrible path leading to it, the struggle of living as a homeless individual, and most importantly, the possibility of finding a way out. I felt as if my body language was telling my story of recovery. I made sure to smile and wave at those who seemed to be judging me. Just because someone is on foot with a backpack doesn't give anyone the right to judge them.

I secured my backpack snugly, picked up my fishing pole from the grass, and with my eyes focused straight south, towards my favorite fishing hole, I began my final approach to a much-needed reunion.

As soon as I entered the parking lot, I noticed a small, three or four-inch long green ribbon lying in the gutter. I didn't think much of it and walked right past it. I didn't know the significance of a green ribbon. But something made me turn back and retrieve it. I carefully placed it in my wallet to take home. I did know that green represents growth. I had once served on a green belt committee, where our job was to review policies and procedures and find ways to improve them, working together to enhance something already good. All the people who seemed to be cheering me on earlier were wearing green shirts.

Again, with tears welling up, I stood there in the breeze and let it sink in. I had grown so much without even realizing it. I have a lot of potential, and now I had a little green ribbon to prove it.

This ribbon is now framed and hangs alone on a wall beside my front door. Every time I leave my apartment, it reminds me to look for opportunities for continued growth. If I couldn't find growth waiting for me outside, I planned on initiating new growth. I could always plant a seed of hope and recovery.

The weather was turning out to be absolutely beautiful. The sun was shining, and there was a slight southerly breeze. It was only 12:30 p.m., and people were already out and about. Some were visiting the nature center, while others were walking, jogging, and riding their bikes along the nature trail.

There were families, single individuals, and a few animals, all seemingly enjoying the trail together. There's nothing wrong with being out in public among others. We are social creatures, and I am a particularly friendly one. I had a feeling that I belonged there. I should stop staying indoors and go out to make some friends. As soon as I took my first actual step onto the nature trail, I could feel the adrenaline start pumping. I could clearly see the boomerang tree. This time, I simply let the tears fall; there was no stopping them. A reunion was about to happen after eight long years of separation.

I am now walking across the footbridge that safely crosses Black Snake Creek. After crossing, I followed Black Snake Creek down to where it flowed into the river. This is where my mom's favorite spot is located. And just as I told her Wednesday night, I was stopping by to visit her. I had planned a moment of silence followed by prayer.

All my fishing equipment is brand new, although it's a couple of years old but has never been used. I only brought one of my fishing rods with me: a top-of-the-line open-faced baitcaster reel, a catfish special, mounted on an eight-foot Ugly Stik catfish river rod. My mom loved using her open-faced baitcasters. I would let her know that during my visit, I wanted to offer her my rod and reel so she could be the first to use it and catch the first fish of the day.

I wedged my rod and reel between two rocks as a token of peace between us. Then, I walked away to sit on the riverbank, allowing her time to catch a fish. I acknowledged she didn't have much time, but it was still her time to fish. I sat down on the bank and observed a moment of silence in her memory, followed by a prayer for both of us.

I could feel the coldness and darkness I had experienced two nights ago lifting away, being replaced by warmth and light.

It wasn't the coldness and darkness I thought my mom was experiencing Wednesday night; it was my own. And by making peace with Mom, forgiving her from my heart, and allowing her to become a part of my new journey, there would never be coldness and darkness between us again.

I continued slowly walking along the riverbank. I've never really been a fan of the concrete path. I was taking in every single detail, and I think I might be starting to experience life as it's meant to be lived.

I wanted to share this new feeling with everyone. What was happening to me was too wonderful not to share; it felt almost unreal. I then invited every person who had ever treated me right, every person who had been good to me, every person who believed in me and had helped me. I invited them all to join me. We began holding hands, embarking on the last part of my journey together, hand in hand. This day was too amazing to keep to myself. I wished I had thought of it earlier. I didn't want any of the bad people who had hurt me in my past, all the people I thought were mean and evil, to be allowed to join us. We finally made it to the boomerang tree. I can't count how many people I've seen using the boomerang tree as a photo opportunity. It's a tradition for me to visit that old tree. I guarantee I was the only one talking to it forty years ago. It was my turn, though. I took a selfie with me and the tree. When I posted this photo online, no one mentioned the tears running down my face. Everyone only saw my smile and my happiness. A few people actually noticed the boomerang tree.

Just like I did forty years ago, I descended the steep bank. I still felt a sense of safety here. I've only shared this special place with a few select people. I forgot to tell my mom and stepdad about it.

I walked out to the end of the sandbar and sat down with all my fishing equipment.

I owed this place a huge apology. I abandoned this river paradise eight years ago. It had done nothing to me; it never once tried to hurt me. I cried because I understood how my favorite place must have felt. I had lived through neglect and abuse. I was the one who hurt my favorite place. It was all a trauma response that led me to the bad decision to never fish again. It was my turn to ask for forgiveness. I had decided to abandon this place with a troubled mind. Now that I feel healthier, I never want to make another bad decision again.

I'm taking in every sight and sound that nature has to offer. There were plenty of beautiful birds around: songbirds, blackbirds, predator birds, and even a little birdie. They all felt so much like family to me. I knew there was other wildlife around, but it was the wrong time of day to see them. They too feel like part of my family. I had to congratulate myself for following through with a plan I made. This is the proudest I've ever felt sitting at my favorite place. It was so surreal, tranquil, and relaxing—like visiting a mental health spa. Just as I took a selfie with the boomerang tree, I did the same with my favorite spot, a photo I will have framed and hung on my wall. It will remind me that almost anything is possible when you set your mind to it.

I have returned here for one reason and one reason only: to relight my internal flame, the flame that fuels my lifelong passion. I plan on it burning longer and hotter than ever before! The time has come for me, for my favorite place, to reclaim my broken soul. The time has come for me to fish once again!

When I go fishing, one of my best-kept secrets is that I never bring any fish bait with me. With just a little effort, it's not that hard to locate quality fish bait. No matter where you are near water, you can always find some sort of bait. And if the bait is indigenous to the region, all the better. The fish are accustomed to the local food supply, and that's what I use—whatever Mother Nature provides. And then again, the best kind of fish bait is always free fish bait. I saw some frogs when I was coming down the bank. I don't like to use frogs as bait unless they are already dead. My mom really loved her frogs, and I've always left Mom's frogs alone. If it were a life-saving emergency, I would probably use a frog as bait. I know from experience that if the frogs are out and about, especially on a breezy hot day, they too are after something. I knew exactly what I was going to look for. It took me less than a minute after I stepped into the taller grass. Just as I thought, a nice-sized grasshopper hopped onto the sandbar. I'll have to admit I was rusty. After a short chase, this grasshopper was between my thumb and index finger. This grasshopper would be my first bait in eight years. I always feel a little remorse for grasshoppers and worms that I catch for bait.

I sat back down in my little fishing chair, bait in hand, prepared to bait my hook. I let the grasshopper know how special he truly was. Out of the billions of grasshoppers across the world, I had chosen him as the final piece to my journey.

I also told the little hopper that not many of his kind have the opportunity to turn into a fish. I thanked the little fella, and in a jiffy, he was comfortably resting on my hook, ready to become airborne. At 12:51 p.m. on Saturday, September 28th, after a beautiful cast, I watched that little grasshopper fly until he splashed down! And with that, my eternal flame was relit, and I could instantly feel it burn.

Once I settled comfortably in my chair, watching the tip of my rod for a wiggle, that's when I began to breathe. I wasn't just breathing; I was using mindful breathing techniques, attempting to breathe life back into my soul. Then, with my arms outstretched to the heavens, I praised myself. I praised Mother Nature for allowing me to come home, and I praised my Creator who kept me alive all those years.

Feeling the way I did was a brand new experience. I congratulated myself. I made a plan, and I stuck to it. I owned it now. If this day were to end right then, it would have been an amazing success. And most of all, I welcomed myself home. I like to sing to the fish and all the other critters around when I'm at the river. When I'm on the riverbank, I don't usually sing quietly; I'm usually dancing in my chair like a solid gold disco dancer.

I do not and will not take my eyes off my fishing pole when it's in the water. My fishing pole sat there as still as could be. The occasional little gust of wind would wiggle the tip, but I was much too familiar with that trick. The fish just hadn't become active yet. I didn't care one bit. I sat there in almost disbelief that I had finally arrived home.

Whoever would have thought that on this magical day, in this beautiful favorite spot of mine, PTSD would rear its ugly head. I could hear people walking along the trail, talking and chatting. Some were couples, and some were families. There was laughter, politeness, and mostly respect. Then, approaching from the south on the trail, I heard a dad and his daughter. He was screaming and yelling at her, asking things like, "How stupid are you?" And then he yelled the infamous, "I can't take you anywhere." "Are you retarded?" the man said. I couldn't catch what else he was yelling, but I could tell it was negative. It triggered a trauma response in me. I had been that little girl once, and I instantly felt her pain—a pain that little girl didn't deserve. She had to feel unworthy, unwanted, and her self-confidence had to be damaged. I quickly identified my personal feelings and used my skills and training to process what was happening, to ground myself. I knew if I lost my temper at the dad, she would suffer even more.

One of my favorite grounding exercises is fairly simple: think it, speak it, create it. That's all I could do. I thought to myself, "That little girl deserves to have the best day of her life today." Then I spoke it out loud, kind of hoping the father would hear me, but that wouldn't have done any good. I'm sure that with all that was happening within me, I created at least some peace for the rest of her day.

The fish themselves were not active at all. I had to wonder if I had somehow made a mistake, if I had done something wrong that could have put a jinx on them. I sat there watching my pole, thinking, "What could I have possibly done wrong?" The answer was very simple: Who did I think I was to judge others, to cast them out solely based on an opinion I formed? I had absolutely no right to deny anyone. Even though people in my past may have been bad to me, we all have our haters. It was the bad people, as well as the good people, who helped me become who I am.

I felt so relieved that I did a moral soul-search and recognized that all people deserve a chance. With my arms stretched up to the sky, I invited everyone to join me. "Let's do this together. We all might learn something from each other."

My pole was in the water, and I was sitting in my chair, dancing away and singing to the fish. I felt rewarded for changing my opinion.

From the bank above and behind me, I heard a little girl's voice. She said, "Look, Dad! I want to do that! That looks so cool!" I couldn't turn around and look because I would take my eyes off my equipment, so I started dancing just a little more, singing a little louder. How badly I wanted to invite her down to take a seat in my chair and experience firsthand what I was doing. After all, in my backpack, I had a dinner bell, whistles, a sand shovel, even a fishing magnet. I could have let her toss it, but she had a dad for that.

From the moment I arrived at my favorite fishing hole, I felt welcomed. I didn't know what kind of critter was so comfortable with me, but it continued snapping twigs from the bank to my left. Of course, I assumed it was a beaver. Perhaps they were building a winter nest deep within the bank. They sure seemed busy.

I had planned to stay at my favorite spot for three hours, whether the fish were active or not. I knew I could catch the 3:35 bus, and that's what I intended to do. My mind began to wander due to the fact that for three hours, I hadn't even had a nibble. I knew that happens, but this was my comeback fishing trip!

It was about 2:30 p.m., and the wind was picking up. It appeared to me that beavers liked working in the wind; the twig snapping became more frequent as the wind increased. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a dirt clod rolling down the bank.

I didn't even have to look. I knew exactly what was going on. 

Looking out across the mighty Missouri River, I wondered, "Could this be real?" I told myself, "Tracy, just look! You know you're right about this. There's no way anyone can change it. It's mother nature." Slowly turning back towards the bank, I hoped I just might be wrong.

Over the past eight years, the river has come up and out of its banks many different times, generally causing natural bank erosion. I liked the way it changed the river. However, it had made my favorite fishing spot an extremely dangerous and unpredictable place to be.

There was a big old cottonwood tree at the edge of the bank. Erosion had exposed 60 to 70% of its root system. The tree was leaning towards the river, with maybe a quarter of its root system being the only thing holding this massive tree in place. I had been sitting directly underneath this tree the entire time.

The twig snapping that I thought were beavers working was coming from the tree itself. After all, it was a breezy day, which made sense. It was only a matter of time before this gentle giant came crashing down.

I had been experiencing so much change, happiness, self-worth, acceptance, growth, and a feeling as if I could finally identify who I was. The list of positivity only got longer the more i thought about this day. When you arrived there earlier that afternoon, I made an assumption. I  did not take the time to properly scan your environment for hidden hazards.

Had I  not sat there and created change within myself and invited everybody to join in, there might not have been enough strength available to hold the tree back. Even though, if that was the way I were to go, I could live with that.

But I was  much, much too important of a person to be gobbled up by a giant cottonwood tree. It took this giant cottonwood for me to realize how important I really am. And not just how important I am, but how important life is!

It was almost as if this tree, by possibly killing me, had finished its job of hiding me. It was my time to shine!

Back in July, when I made the conscious decision to change the smallest of things to earn and deserve this fishing trip, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that no fish would be caught that day. What today really was, was you living. Living life to its fullest, every step, every breath, and every new connection that I made about myself along the way. All the pieces of information that I  had retained throughout the last six years, I looked for opportunities to apply them to myself. Eight years ago, a traumatized 45-year-old man vowed to never fish again. Today, Saturday, September 28th, at exactly 3:00 p.m., I vowed from this day forward to live each day as it was meant to be lived, to create days just like this.

Along this entire journey, I was looking for something. I just knew in my heart that I would get a sign from Grandpa. Even if it was seeing a pair of overalls, a truck that resembled his, or his famous flat-top haircut, not one single thing stuck out. Not only was I saddened, but I was concerned. I woke up early the next day, Sunday morning. After making a pot of coffee and replaying yesterday's events through my mind, I went into the kitchen to perform an adult daily living skill—one of my least favorite skills: washing the dishes. For the first time in decades, i started to experience a good memory. Before Grandpa and I  would head out fishing on Sunday morning, we usually had some breakfast and then cleaned up our mess for Grandma, including doing the dishes. I was standing at Grandpa's kitchen sink, doing dishes with him. The memory was so vivid and clear. And I realized the reason that I could not find any signs from Grandpa yesterday, signs or memories that I hoped and prayed I would find. The reason there were no signs was because yesterday, I became my grandpa for the day. He taught me so much about myself yesterday. He helped me to pick up the pieces and put them where they belonged. He was well aware of the fact that I was a fisherman. I just needed one day to experience life the exact same way he would have.