Her family ( mother, father, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and her own daughter ) remained central in her life. Phone conversations, usually initiated collect by Anna, were frequent. She expressed concern for their well-being. When her older sister, in chronic and debilitating pain for several months, told Anna she sometimes felt she could no longer endure, Anna wrote her a letter: "I beg you my dear dear sister, don't ever ever hurt yourself, don't ever punish yourself. I love you so much. Please get well for the family. I love you so much. Your sister, Anna." She cautioned her mother, "mom, please don't go to those parks in San Francisco, don't go walking on the streets, always go with Gary or somebody else... You could get raped. I've been through it so many times I can take it. But you couldn't." She was direct with her mother's partner Gary. "Do you love my mom?", she asked him. He replied "yes", and she said, "That's good. She needs someone to love her." She drew pictures of the few photographs she had of her daughter, sent her letters and gifts, and eagerly looked forward to any news of her. On those occasions when she received a photograph or heard details from others of her daughter's life, her face would light up and she would lose for that moment any hint of her inner torment.

Long distance visits from her dad and brothers were anticipated weeks in advance and she negotiated with staff to earn passes off the locked units. Her younger sister and she began a relationship not possible when they were small, and phone calls were constant between her and her brothers in Los Angeles.

Supported by family, her case manager, public conservator and a number of mental health professionals who had grown to know and care deeply for her, she continued her struggle to stay out of long term locked psychiatric facilities. But on June 15, 1992, her options were exhausted. She was sent to Napa State Hospital, a place she had learned to fear from the reports of other patients who had been there.