This past weekend I spent a lot of time on the phone talking to my youngest son who is away at college, to my counselor, and to the Interventionist who helped me formulate a plan almost one year ago to send my daughter to a rehab program. The Interventionist, who has been a blessing to me and my family said, "I don't know how you do it. You are so strong and firm in your resolve. I don't know many parents like you and I really admire you." I relate this story, not for accolades, but to say simply this: "What choice do I have?" Seriously, I have no other choice than to put one foot in front of the other, stay the course, and pray for a god damn miracle because that's what it's going to take to turn this train wreck around. He doesn't know I have a blog where I pour my heart out or that I spent half the day on Sunday sobbing so hard I had trouble breathing. So, no, not always strong but I am firm in my resolve. My daughter's very life depends on it. The rest of the weekend I binge watched Season 2 of House of Cards with my eldest son, grateful for his loving presence and the distraction of an excellent television show.
Help was offered, help was refused. I almost can't believe we are back to where we were almost one year ago. Except for this: I don't have to watch it anymore.
I pray for my daughter daily, sometimes hourly, sometimes every minute in the form of a big "Oh, my God," sigh.
When I offered to help her back into a sober living house and an intensive outpatient program she said, "I would rather die that do that."
And so it goes.
High Flying Adored. Evita.