My name is Debbie and my 33-year-old daughter, Amy, has an addiction.
She is the mother of two boys, ages 14 and 11. This is our story.
Amy became addicted to drugs when she was in high school. I sent her to rehab for 90 days. When she was 19, she had her first son while she was in recovery. By the time the baby was nine months old, she relapsed.. She got involved with a young man who was not a good influence. She voluntarily gave up her baby to his dad and ran off. She was missing for approximately two years. When she turned up, she was pregnant with her second baby and she was not in recovery.
Once again, Amy got into recovery and spent the next 11 years raising her baby and reconnecting with her first son. She appeared to be sober for most of those 11 years. I say appeared because I have since learned she wasn’t in recovery: she was just able to function without too much suspicion.
We were proud of Amy. She seemed to have finally made it. She had two very good jobs, a car, a license, her kids, and an apartment. She was respected in our little community. But then the same man appeared again, after 14 years. Within a week, she relapsed again.
She lost her jobs, her kids, her license, her apartment, her car, and her freedom within two months. They used heroin, meth and anything they could. They went on a crime spree of robbing and stealing money, jewelry, and tools. They even stole from Amy’s sister. As a family, we knew this had to stop. My daughter filed a police report. I called CPS. My daughter was arrested and as a family we worked with the DA to prosecute and sentence her to prison in hopes that they could help her and save her life.
It was our only option. At the time, she was living outside under a bridge, running from the law and committing crimes, and using dirty needles. Prison was our last resort to save her life. She was sentenced to six years, but could get out in two, if she completes her programs.
We are now raising our grandson. He has severe anger issues, ADHD, and abandonment issues, among many other things. Caring for him is a hard role to fulfill. His needs are huge. We are all alive, in spite of the stress. We are all surviving and learning and growing.
At 56, I joined a citizen’s police academy. I love it. My grandson is now a Boy Scout and Student Body President of his elementary school. My daughter is still working on her progress, but she is alive. There is hope.