Dealing with my Mom's Addiction Part 3

     The next time my mom ended up in drug rehab I was in 9^th grade. She had been struggling for who knows how long. I remember her thinking she was being so sneaky by hiding her pills, but I followed her around and knew many of her hiding spots. Once I remember her being downstairs in what was Shanea’s old room. She had the vacuum down there and was unzipping it where you put the bag in and she was stashing her pill bottles. I found out she would buy bottles of vanilla extract and drink it on the driveway. Once I saw her drinking beer over by the trailer. Every little thing was a major offence in my eyes. I didn’t know that people could drink a beer and be fine because my mom couldn’t. My brother Kevin would bounce back and forth from living with us and moving out, and he was an alcoholic and a major pot smoker. He was always kind and kept it pretty well under wraps. I know that he would hid his bottles though. Our laundry room didn’t have a finished ceiling and he would tuck his bottles up in the nooks and crannies. In the junk room there was always bottles in the vents. I often wondered how many of those bottles were his vs. my mom’s.

               It was the week before Memorial Day. We were getting ready to go on our annual family camping trip to Moab. It was my favorite trip every year! All of my siblings had trailers or tents, we would caravan down to south-east Utah and hike the Fiery Furnace (The Devil’s Onion), Arches, swim in the pool, walk around to all of the quirky shops. Kevin had lived in Moab so he could always take us to new places that we didn’t know about. We were packing up the trailer and the cordless phone rang. I cannot remember if I answered it or if my dad did. But my mom had been arrested for driving under the influence. She was in Centerville and was so smashed that when we got out of the car to get arrested she fell on her face and chipped her two front teeth. I remember running through the front yard, past the pine tree and away from my friends. I think we were all together just messing around skateboarding and talking. I took my boyfriend Tyler aside and told him what was happening. He was so kind to me. I’m sure he hadn’t any experience dealing with a situation like that. It was so devastating and embarrassing. That night I had a nightmare. I dreamed my mom was the wicked witch of the west, had a green face and chipped teeth. It terrified me.

Tyler was coming on the trip to Moab with us. His mom wasn’t overly happy about it, but she let him come. I didn’t even see my mom before we left. My dad must have got her checked into rehab, we decided not to cancel our trip and stay home. I remember Shirley being especially kind to me on that trip. I had never thought that she liked me that much, I am sure now it was less of that and more of her being busy with her own kids. She offered me bottled water, and it was back before it was common place to have cases of water. It really made me feel like she cared. My dad drove us down, Tyler and I rode in the back of the truck and pretty much kissed the entire way down. My poor dad! I’m sure he know exactly what was going on. We had a great trip! It was awesome to get away and not think about it all for a while. When we got back and my mom got out of rehab, she had bought me flowers. They were on the kitchen counter. She was so happy to see me and I was so fucking angry. I had always been easy to win over with gifts and my mom knew it. I walked right past those flowers as she was trying to reach for me and retreated to my bedroom. I had never been disrespectful like that, and I was sure that I was going to be in trouble. I wasn’t. I think finally everyone understood that I wasn’t a tiny child that could be bribed and told it wasn’t ever going to happen again. I knew it was. I wanted to believe her. I still do. But things don’t seem to change. It was then that my perception began to change. I had the utmost faith that she would stop, but deep down I think I knew that this addiction was not going away.

Dealing with my Mom's Addiction Part 2

     The second memory that comes to my mind when I think about my mom’s addiction and how it affected my life, is when she went to rehab. I have several memories about this, but the first one I am going to write about is the first one that made me feel shame. My mom made the decision to go to rehab. She was going to be gone for three weeks at a center called Charter in North Salt Lake. I spent every waking moment with my mom, so I was a little afraid of being without her, but I wanted her to stop using drugs so much that I was actually thrilled. 

    I was in fourth grade. My parents weren’t the type that went to parent teacher conferences, or volunteered at the school, so my teacher was oblivious to what was going on. It must have been a Monday, because the teacher asked if anyone had any good news or had something to share about the weekend. I raised my hand high above my head and hoped she would call on me. She did! I was so excited to tell this adult, who was so much a part of my life my good news. I excitedly said, “My mom went to rehab this weekend! She is going to stop using drugs!” I was bursting with excitement, and hope. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, my teachers face dropped. She was mortified. I knew immediately that I had made a mistake. She tried to make light, tried to recover, but it was too late. I knew that my pride shouldn’t have been pride, that it should have been shame. But how could it be? I was maybe 9 or 10 years old, and I just wanted my mom back. I was filled with optimism, anticipation and faith! I knew she was going to do this and it would never be a problem again. I was very wrong.

Now as an adult, looking back on this, I can see what a struggle it would have been for my dad. He would have had to use his vacation time to stay home and care for me during this stint. He still had hope. He drove me to school every day and bought me a tape of The Bodyguard soundtrack. We sang Whitney Houston and he drank coffee and I got candy. I loved spending time with him. Those weeks that my mom was gone, really made us depend on one another. We had always been close, I knew he worshipped me. But now we were partners with a common vice. We went through it together because we were the only ones in the family home now. Everyone else had moved out. We wrote letters to Kade, babysat Shanea’s kids, and called Debbie every week. But we were the ones dealing with the day to day of addiction.  

Dealing with my Mom's Addiction

 

The first memory that comes to mind about my mom’s addiction is always the same one. I had just gotten out of the shower. I was probably 9 or 10 years old. I had just gotten out of a steamy shower and I was wearing a white bathrobe that had a peach windowpane pattern on it. My hair was wrapped up in a matching peach towel, which Santa had brought my mom for Christmas the previous year. My dad was out on the road. I’m not sure what day it was, but he wasn’t due back anytime soon. 

My mom was constantly rearranging the furniture (something that I also do constantly at my own home). And for some reason there was a recliner in the dining area, along with a round oak table and an 11” TV on the counter. My mom was sitting in the recliner, and something was wrong. I don’t remember exactly how it escalated, but I know that somehow I was worried enough that I called my sister, Debbie. Debbie lived in New York, so she was pretty helpless in the situation. 

My mom was slurring her words, and I was frightened. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it may have been the first time that it had happened while I was alone at home with her. 

That same year, my sister Shanea had gotten married and moved out, and my brother Kade had left on a mission that lasted two years. It was just me and my mom when dad was at work, and he was usually gone for two nights and three days. Anyway, Debbie told me to go into a room and lock the door behind me. I chose the first bathroom. It is a small bathroom that is the length of a tub, with the sink and toilet directly across from it. I don’t know if, Debbie got in touch with Shanea somehow, or if I had called her previously, but I think I knew she was on her way. My hair was getting dry, and I had the cordless phone with me. I was crying, I didn’t know what to do. Debbie kept telling me that I had to hang up the phone with her and call 911.

I had never done anything that serious before and I was terrified of what that meant. That mom really had a problem, that I was really all alone with her, that my dad couldn’t get home to me. The whole while my mom was banging on the door insisting that I open it up. I am telling her, no, no. I won’t open up, you are scaring me. Debbie is telling me to hang up and call the ambulance, that I am the only one that can do it, and my mom is still banging. She is telling me through the door, that if I call 911 that they will take me away from her forever. That I won’t ever see her again, that I will go to foster-care, that they will take me away. I close my eyes tightly, I tell Debbie that I am hanging up now, she makes me promise to call her back as soon as I get off the phone with 911. A deep breath, and I hit the off button. Bang! Bang! Bang! They will take you away! I won’t ever see you again! Don’t you love your mom? I press the phone button, Bang! I press 9. Bang! Savannah! Don’t you do it! I press 1 and 1 again. 911, what is your emergency? There is something wrong with my mom. I think she took too many pills. Please come. I am all alone with her. Minutes later someone arrives, I don’t know if it is the police, the ambulance, my sister or a neighbor. But I am not alone anymore and I can come out of the bathroom. I don’t remember coming out. But I remember feeling the responsibility of having called the cops on my mom. That I could still feel the tears dripping down my face. Shanea hugs me. It is her old bathrobe that I am wearing. We hadn’t been close before, I actually had bugged her all my life. But she held me and took me with her. I don’t know what happened to my mom after that. Did she stay in the hospital overnight? Did my dad come home? I don’t know.