"And you!" he shouted at me, "Where is your purity ring?"

My family was the type that fought often with each other. It was sometimes honestly hard to have a family function without some sort of fight. This one felt different though. It could have been that I was now 18 and not living under my mom and stepdads roof anymore or it could have even been the way he pointed at me with such anger in his eyes.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at my mom, "Why did I get drug into this? I'm not the one he was yelling at in the first place!" I shouted to her as I walked to my car, not knowing the impact that conversation would have on me in the long run. You don't realize in the moment which conversations you'll flashback to when you're triggered. Unfortunately, this was one of those conversations.

As I drove off, I could see my mom rubbing my stepdads back as he ranted on to her about God knows what. This is the man who raised me and stepped up when I needed the support from a parental figure. I was the closest to a kid that he had in his life, other than my brother who he was yelling at in the first place.

Months have passed at this point with no contact from him. The last real thing I remember him last saying to me was a question about my purity. I remember seeing the hurt in his eyes. That is the last thing I remember before getting the call from my sister on Christmas Eve.

"Lillie! Duane is in the hospital!" she shouted through the phone in a shaky voice.

In that moment, I didn't believe her. "No, he's not. I will be on my way to dinner soon. I'm sorry I'm late." I replied.

"I'm not kidding. Come now."

I nearly dropped my phone as my hands began to sweat. A panic suddenly came over me as I flashbacked to my biological dad's death just four years ago. Remembering the scared little girl in the hospital room, knowing she was walking into the last time she would ever see her dad. It felt like I was going through the horrific pain all over again of leaping into the fearful unknown.

"Please God, don't do this! I can't lose another dad! I need him!" I cried out loud as I ran to my car.

Sometimes the human brain blacks out memory due to trauma. The truth is, I don't remember that drive to the hospital, I don't remember how many cigarettes I smoked, and I don't remember who I called in that moment. All I remember is banging my fists against the hospital walls as my brother hugged me for the first time in years, the voices in the hallway as I ran to the hospital room, and the screams of agony coming from not only me but my entire family.

Duane died on Christmas Eve, before the first coat was hung or the ham hit the oven. By the time the family gathered this holiday, grief had already taken his place at the table—and all they could do was cry.