My mama was not always a good parent. She partied all through school and on into her twenties. I was an unplanned pregnancy. She partied till my grandparents found out about me and they insisted on her getting treatment and round the clock supervision. I had a couple of learning disabilities as a child but by the grace of a higher power, I muddled through and did okay.

When my mama stopped taking drugs at 34, I was barely 16. I had mostly lived with my grandparents but having her off of drugs made it possible for me to visit with her every day. The day I got asked to the prom, I ran and told her. The day I picked out my prom dress, I dressed in it and showed it to her. I told her about my high school boyfriend proposing to me the night of our graduation. I shared all the details of my wedding with her and showed her pictures of our honeymoon. The day the doctor told me I was pregnant, I told my mother even before I told my husband.

I have two children now, a boy and a girl. My son is ten and my daughter is eight. My mother quietly listens as I share every important moment of their lives with her. With my family, I am busier these days and only get to visit with her every couple of weeks now on the weekend. She understands, though.

As I lay the flowers at her graveside, I tell her I love her. I tell her how much I have missed her every day since she died of an overdose at the age of 34. I pull out my children’s pictures and tell her how proud she would be of them and how proud she would be of me because I never hit them and I never drink or do drugs I thank her for giving me life and I thank her for allowing my grandparents to keep me when she could have just given me away because I have my own two children and my wonderful husband.

My mama just listens quietly. As I sit at her grave, I hear the peaceful tranquility and I know that somehow, somewhere, she sees me and is proud of me, too. We don’t talk about regrets. I know hers are monumental. I whisper “I love you, Mama” and walk out of the cemetery to hurry home to see my beloved son and daughter, the tears streaming down my face. Mama listens to me now.

I recognized the white powder for what it was: cocaine. I knew because that was what my cousin’s brother had died from, a cocaine overdose. Did that give her an excuse every time she went after something she wanted? I didn’t think so. She used it, though, even telling me I could find someone else because Mark understood her and everything she had been through.

What to do, though, about the powder I found. Do I turn it in at the front desk? Do I call the police? Do I get involved? I had slept for a few hours but arguing in the room next to mine woke me up about 4 in the morning. Thirsty, I had grabbed one of the plastic cups, accidentally knocking the small ice bucket off the counter. The powder was underneath it.

My cousin was a few years older than me. He had never really been into drugs. He was a great kid. But one night he partied with some friends after his team won the regional championship and he gave in to peer pressure. He drank some beer and when the cocaine was introduced to the party and passed around, he went for it. He died before morning from an accidental overdose.

 Yes, my cousin had been through a lot. She lost her beloved brother. She saw her parents divorce and her mother slip into a depression. I looked at that white powder and quickly made the decision to flush it down the toilet. I know kids die every day from drugs. No one was going to die because of the powder I held in my hands.

I grabbed my things and checked out immediately. That afternoon, I arrived at my best friend’s house. My new life was just beginning.

I would drink now and then with Robin but for some reason, I never got into trying the drugs. Maybe it was because when I saw her doing them, something bad always happened. She would fight with her boyfriend, fight with her mom, get in trouble at school for not turning an assignment in. With Robin, life was never dull but it wasn’t always fun, either.

The summer between our junior and senior years, I went to stay with relatives. I loved being with my cousins and thought it was cool that my mom let me. She had an ulterior motive, though, one filled with love. She didn’t want me hanging out with Robin all summer.

When senior year started, Robin wasn’t there. She dropped out. She was pregnant. The baby was born with birth defects because of Robin’s history of drug and alcohol use. I went to see her and the baby in the hospital. My heart broke as Robin said she couldn’t wait to leave (the baby would have to stay a bit longer than her) because she was “dying for a joint”.

I stopped being around Robin altogether after that. Sure, we would run into each other from time to time. We each ended up having three children. Two of hers had medical or mental problems related to Robin’s drug use.

A few weeks ago I ran into Robin at the convenience store. I was literally shocked. She is actually a few months younger than me but she looked older than my own mother does. My fiance was shocked when I introduced the two of them. As we got back into his car, he said “That’s the friend from high school you thought was so pretty?” I said yes, she had truly been beautiful.

Even now, at 40, I am learning lessons from high school. My fiance had taken a picture of us standing together with his camera phone. We showed it to my daughter and her friends. He told them “If I had met your mom and this lady the same night, it would have been no contest. Your mom is beautiful.” The girls saw what drinking and drugs can do to age a beautiful young girl so that 40 looks so much older. While I felt somewhat sad about what had happened to Robin, I was grateful that my daughter and her friends could learn from it without doing so the hard way.

In high school, Lisa was out sick for a week with the flu and I was invited by another girl, Stacy, to go to a party. ME. Not Lisa, not Donny, me. So I went. It was there that I became acquainted with a new world. It was there I met crystal meth.

When Lisa came back to school, she noticed the change in me immediately. I was dressing “goth” she said. I told her she was just jealous. She warned me to keep away from my new friends. I told her she was being spiteful because they wanted to be friends with ME.

As the days went by, I got more involved with crystal meth and my new friends. One Tuesday afternoon, I got home about an hour late from school to find my family, Lisa and a lady there. They told me they cared about me. Not because I was just a sister, just a daughter, just a friend, but because I was Tory. They said they missed me. They called it an intervention.

The lady told me she was a counselor and that it was not too late to get off crystal meth. She said I had a wonderful family and best friend who did not wait until I was hurt or in jail to get help. It had only been about six weeks. They were not going to take chances with me. As soon as they confirmed I was involved with drugs, they sought help.

Lisa was one of the speakers at our high school graduation two years later. She had been on the honor roll all four years. She told the audience she would not have maintained her high grades if not for the creative and inspirational ideas of one person, her best friend, Tory. She looked over at me and everyone stood up giving both of us a standing ovation. My parents were beaming from ear to ear even though I had not won any awards.

I am Donny’s sister, David’s daughter, Margaret’s daughter and Lisa’s best friends. My name is Tory and I am the luckiest girl on earth.

Something did.

We graduated from high school and college with honors. David got a job right away at the accounting firm he had interned with and I was hired as a nurse at our local hospital. I started out in the emergency room.

We picked a wedding date that coincided with vacation time from our careers and planned the perfect wedding. I had found the dress of my dreams and it hung in my closet with a promise from David not to see it until the day I walked down the aisle to him.

One night I was getting ready to get off when a three-car pile up was called in with multiple injuries. When that happens during shift change it is mandatory for all available staff to stay on. Rumor was coming in that one of the drivers was drinking and had crossed the center line, hitting another car and calling a serious accident. As victims came in, we got them into triage and worked steadfastly.

There were four children in a minivan involved as well. Children always have the hearts of hospital staff but we have to work diligently and concentrate on helping them immediately so it does not always show. Miraculously, they all made it. We were told that the car between the drunk driver and the minivan had taken the brunt of the hit.

Another team was working on that driver. As I walked out of the room where the last of the children had been checked over thoroughly, I heard a doctor stating the time of death. I looked over and screamed. It was my David!

David had been driving home from dinner at his parents’ house when the drunk driver, a man who had stopped in at happy hour four hours earlier, took it upon himself to drink and drive. The only person killed in an accident that involved eight people, David, the drunk driver and the family of six in the minivan, was my fiance.

That was seven years ago. Instead of a wedding, we had a funeral. Sometimes the pain is so great that I think about just forgetting myself in a bottle of pills or whiskey but that seems almost like it would be a sign of disrespect to David’s memory. So each year, on Valentine’s, his birthday, the anniversary of his death and what would have been the anniversary of our wedding, I go to his grave. I tell him in my heart he is a hero because he took the impact and four children are alive today.

I don’t date and I get that dress out from time to time and try it on. I know David sees me in it from where he is. If I could have anything, it would be for David to be here. He isn’t so I can only ask this. If you are reading this, please, PLEASE, I am begging you. Do not drink and drive. It isn’t always just your life you ruin.

Marci was beautiful. I admit, I was into her. However, Marci had a bipolar disorder and when she drank at parties, it was even worse. As beautiful as she was, I could not see her for very long. After just a few weeks, it was getting well, sort of creepy.

I met her at a party one Friday night. We ended up hanging out all weekend together. She was beautiful and honestly, I could have found myself falling in love with her if given the chance. But her mood swings became apparent in just a couple of weeks. Her watching me seemed almost, well, as my mom said, like a stalking situation.

One night, Marci called me. I started not to answer but something made me. Her voice was slurred and I thought she was drunk. She was but there was something more going on. I could sense it. Marci mumbled something about her brother dying. She said she had no family left now and she wanted to die, too. She had taken all of her bipolar medication, a half bottle of sleep sedative and was on her fourth drink. She wanted to die.

I raced over but her dorm was locked. I called 911 while my roommate called Campus security. The paramedics got there and tried to revive her but they were too late. Her neighbor in the dorm said Marci had been notified earlier in the afternoon that her brother had died in a car accident. Marci did not have a roommate because she was hard to live with according to the girls in her dorm.

I think about Marci from time to time. She was so beautiful and had everything to live for. She was in college and wanted to be a journalist. She was always writing in a spiral. She could have gone places.

I was studying psychology and became more and more interested in bipolar disorder after Marci’s death. I did some research and saw that people with bipolar disorder who have a drug or alcohol problem have more episodes than those who don’t. Today I am a mental health counselor. When I see a patient with bipolar disorder, my mind goes back to Marci. When I see one with a drug or alcohol problem, I make sure they are part of a dual diagnosis program. Maybe, just maybe, if someone had done that for Marci, she would still be alive.  I feel like every time I help a patient, I’m doing it for Marci, too.

I also remember the man that was going through asking people for money. The hotel was nice, not charging people for rooms that weren’t available and allowing everyone to have a dry, safe place to sleep even if it meant the lobbies were overflowing. Something about the young man had my mom and aunt being protective. When the young man asked me if I knew where to get some coke and I pointed to the vending machine, he got mad and called me retarded. My mama stepped in between us while my aunt went to the desk to ask for help.

Today, I know what he meant. He meant cocaine, something that was gaining in popularity at that time. Still, a country girl from Texas had not heard of it at that time. It was March, 1979, and what stands out most to this day now that I am a parent is that my mom and aunt were protective of me against a stranger.

Sometimes I wonder about that young man, like when I hear a story on the news or when I see my own children dealing with social issues with peers and every day life. I wonder if he had a mother as protective as mine was but somehow got hooked on cocaine anyway. I wonder if he had a rough childhood. I wonder if he is clean now, sometimes even if he is still alive.

I don’t know why that one short conversation stayed with me all these years. I only know that before that day I had no idea that coke was something other than a soft drink. I mark that as a moment in time where I lost a touch of innocence. To me, that was the day . It may not seem like a big deal to most people but I realize something. If that one question 30 years ago can stay with me, I have great empathy for someone who deals with peer pressure from close friends.