Tracee Peterson tells her story

As Tracee Peterson lay down to sleep in the early Saturday morning hours, she was too tired to contemplate the chaos that filled her life.

Her husband, Josh Peterson, had recently left a job in Nevada to return to a house that no longer felt like a home. Early in the year, Tracee is not sure when, she made it clear she had lost hope in the marriage. The Petersons shared the house with their five kids, but were rarely together. Josh had the house and kids during the week. Tracee would come over for weekends and Josh would leave. For Tracee, those weeknights away at friends’ houses were full of worry of what could happen to her children.

Tracee said Josh had lately done well with the kids — getting them to school, scheduling baths. But the past week had been full of accusations against his wife. He had reported her to Child Protective Services for alleged drug use. She hated the invasive drug tests, which she said she passed every time.

The night before, she attended the Troy High School football game. Josh objected to letting the children sit with her, she said.

It was just another example of the troubled relationship. For years, Tracee had wondered how everyone could see everything and do so little. Once a strict Christian, she had lost faith. How could years of prayers — for her husband to change, for her community to change, for her life to change — go unanswered by a caring God?

She was done trying to justify herself for others. She had no hope in her community. No hope in her family. No hope in humanity.

As Tracee lay down to sleep, she thought of none of this. These stresses simply swam through the undercurrent of her consciousness. It was just another night. After the football game, a friend drove her home. Josh was there and the conflict continued. He did not want to let her stay with the kids, she said. Tracee told him she was tired and going to sleep. She put on sweatpants, and he left, she said. Anger, frustration and uncertainty filled the house.

The first hit was hard.

The moment of panic after Tracee took the first blow to the head was grounded by familiarity with the feeling of being beaten. The blows eventually stopped, and Tracee thought it was done. She recalls lying on the floor as a baseball bat drew close. She remembers three blows. After the third, she says she pretended to be dead. She hoped that would make it stop. But the blows kept coming. Then things went black.

Tracee said her husband talked about baseball bats for years. She said he had threatened her with many things, but he always said he would kill her with a bat. It was perplexing to her. She always thought if he wanted to kill her it would be easier with a gun.  

Trish Hanson, Tracee’s mom, was sleeping on the couch in her home just around the corner from where her daughter was attacked. She remembers hearing what she believes was Josh Peterson’s noisy truck starting and crossing the train tracks. He called her cell phone twice before she heard the landline.

“When I picked up, he said, ‘I just beat Tracee with a baseball bat. She was still alive when I left. Take care of my kids,’” Trish Hanson said, wearing the same purple shirt with a turquoise cross she has worn everyday for two weeks.

Trish Hanson called 911 as her husband, Ed Hanson, dashed out the door, still pulling on clothes. Tracee has seen photos of the carnage her father ran toward.

“It was more blood than person,” she said. “My skull was cracked open and my brain was exposed.”

Gloria Hanson, Tracee’s aunt, saw her niece in Kalispell Regional Medical Center shortly after Tracee arrived.

“I saw her after she was cleaned up, and it was hard to believe someone could be so badly physically damaged and still be alive,” Gloria Hanson said through tears. “Her face was so swollen, her ear was reattached. It looked like a dog had gotten to her ear. Her head had stitches everywhere. Blood was coming out of her eye.”

Trish Hanson did not recognize her daughter in the hospital.

“Her face was swollen flat,” Trish Hanson said. “I thought, at best, we were going to bring a vegetable in a wheelchair home.”

Seven weeks after the beating, Tracee’s relatives gathered around her parents’ dining room table and watched in awe as she fed herself yogurt. In a neck brace with heavy, dark bags below dilated eyes and two scars across her forehead, it was the simplest miracle. Not long ago, doctors said Tracee had a two percent chance of surviving. Gloria Hanson cried as she watched her niece scoop a few bites.

“Before this happened I believed in miracles, but in others, not myself,” Tracee said.

Tracee believes the hands of a God that loves her children saved her. She is not sure if God loves her. She does not know if she has ever loved herself. She said she is getting there.

For the first time in a while, Tracee feels free. The last time was when she was two years into studying at Montana State University to become a councilor. That was before she knew she was pregnant with her first child by Josh Peterson. Before she came home to live with him and get a job and forget school to become a mom.

Now, she wants to talk to children about abuse and how to handle it. She is willing to become a national spokeswoman for domestic abuse.

“If I could talk to myself a year ago, I would say there are a lot of people who understand and know how to help,” Tracee said. “I would say it is not a solution to try to do everything on your own. I also know I would not have listened to myself then. Six months ago I would have.”

Since returning home, Tracee has talked to her children about letting go of anger. Her first memories in the hospital are full of fury. More than anything, she was mad she lost a month of her children’s lives. She is open with her kids about what happened — everything. Still, her youngest, Trinity, cries at night missing her father.

The physical wounds will likely heal first for Tracee.

“The kids are afraid of him coming after me,” Tracee said. “When a car drives by I check to see if it’s him. My fear lies in my children’s safety.”

Josh Peterson is free on bond and will face charges of attempted deliberate homicide, assault with a weapon and aggravated assault sometime next year. According to police reports, he led Troy police officer Lori Faulkner to the place he threw a baseball bat into the woods. In 2003, he accepted a plea agreement that found him guilty of misdemeanor partner-family member assault.

For now, Tracee is excited to help cook Thanksgiving dinner with her family. She is happy to be home.

“Even at my worst, I kept telling the doctors I had to come home and be with my five children,” Tracee said.