Even though Jo, like my wife and I, don't believe in "bad boys", just boys - or grown addicts - who had a variety of bad things happen to them. And have probably done a lot of bad, but can still receive salvation through the atonement of Jesus Christ.
Dan was the name of the baddest boy in the book. Which for those simpler times meant that even though he was only a teenager, he had drank a beer before, played poker and smoked cigars before, and sometimes said "damn" when he was angry. Yeah, simpler times. In a hypothetical gritty re-boot D-Dawg would be a crack addict.
They had difficulty in having took him in. He wasn't as well behaved as the other boys, and caused a lot of trouble. They worked with him as long as they could, but eventually they had to send him away. They made sure he had another situation, not so nice as theirs, but as good as they could find. Regrettably, he ran away from that new place shortly after, so they did not know what became of him.
 |
| Different century, same concerns. |
Me deliberately taking "Little Men" as my personal guide book for how to run a sober living home, we try to do the same thing, and always give the person who can't stay a ride to any where they think they'll have better luck, or to another shelter if they have no ideas. And usually, though we make sure they have my card, we lose track of them after that. Just like the Bhaers lost track of Dan.
Yet in the book "Little Men" there was a chapter in which Dan returned. "Fritz, the boy has come back." is what Mrs. Bhaer said to Mr. Bhaer when she was telling him of it. When she had found the boy, hiding in the back as he was not sure if he'd be welcome, the first words, as he was dazed and wounded, were an expression of gratitude that he was back "home".
This has happened to us before, lest you think that my modeling some things after this old book is old fashioned, naive or silly. Alcoholics and addicts - of all ages - really are like wayward teen boys. As I should know, having been one. Of course, this doesn't just apply to addicted men, addicted women display some of the same behaviors. All fiery upon the exit, but when the chips are down, they know who was kind to them and who was not.
Which is how it came to pass that my wife was making breakfast for an active heroin user this morning. Her name obviously was not "Dan", but I'll call her Danielle for this article, and she'd "come home" all the same. Kind of sort of.
It started out yesterday, same as the book, when someone else saw her. I observed out the window that the guys seemed to be milling about the side yard, and I could not help but wonder why. So I went out, went around back, and there in a lawn chair was a former guest of over a year ago, high on heroin and dressed as if she was hoping to score some more. Looking rather beat up, too.
She had apparently staggered up the driveway, dragging all of her worldly goods behind her (like Naughty Nan in "Little Men" having walked all the way from the train station to the orphanage). Having been beat up and drove out of her last place, it was too much for her, so she collapsed in the side yard, falling forward upon her face. The guys helped her into the chair, and that's where I found her when I went out.
The men thought it was amusing that a woman who looked and dressed like her was asking for me. They were a bit surprised when I knelt down near her at once and patted her shoulder. My wife coming out and giving her a hug surprised them most of all, though. I'm not sure they were thinking that my wife knew this rather scantily clad woman.
We both did though. She had not been too happy to have had to leave over a year ago. But sometimes that is necessary. In spite of her quite intense anger at the time, though, she knew when she had no other place to go who might aid her. If this were a fairy tale, this is where I'd be speaking of how we made up a bed for her, blah, blah, blah. Regrettably, this is not a fairy tale, nor was a bed really what she needed most.
But while we're an all men sober living facility now, and had no extra beds in any case, we figured we could help some what. She let us know through tears of exhaustion that she'd been planning on getting a "hot shot" to deliberately overdose. As there wasn't anything left for her. But she figured she'd try here first, just in case, before doing that. I was relieved that we had been home.
Long story short - or shorter - and skipping past the whole dramatic tale of abuse and betrayal and Jerry Springer fodder, she's facing several criminal charges, has a daughter who doesn't seem to be treating her as well as could be hoped, and needs to enter rehab. That last we took as a given. We'd been trying to get her to do that over a year ago. Her PO has been trying for that, too.
I got her to the hospital for her injuries, not without several stops before hand. That's always the case with addicts. They don't get rides too often so the moment you agree to take them to one place, then half a dozen other "just for a second" stops come up. Including to get more minutes on her phone, which when I got to where she said did not look like a phone dealership. A dealer, no doubt. Just not a phone dealer.
Still, that was not entirely a shock and if you don't put up with a heroin user using, you won't keep them near you long enough to talk to them. She came back, feeling better, and we went then to a real phone place where she put some minutes on her phone, then to the hospital, then to the gas station as she had forgot to get cigs, then back to the hospital to check in. I went in with her, as she was not now in as much of a position to speak clearly.
I had hoped that they'd put her up for the night and then I could give her a ride in the morning to rehab. Regrettably, they could not. She called around midnight to let us know this, clearly hoping we'd let her stay, but that just could not be. Oh, if we were millionaires, we'd have spotted her a hotel or better, just bought a whole facility for women in distress, but we're not. We knew she'd find a place.
She found a place. Her dealer. What a prince. I went over this morning to pick her up, and was upset again about where the dealer was living. See, I knew that house. It's a nice house - a beautiful house - on Fifth, and I had wanted to buy it many years ago when it was going for only $75,000. I knew then that it would be a great place for those who had trouble with drugs to kick back.
Well, while I couldn't afford it, he apparently could. And I guess he thought it would be a great place for those who had trouble with drugs to kick back, too! Just not quite in the same way I'd been thinking! As I told my wife, "I guess there's more money in dealing heroin then dealing with heroin addicts." She agreed.
Having picked her up, I first noted that she seemed fine. Which by the math of withdrawal meant that the dealer had not - as you may have foolishly supposed - kept her overnight out of the kindness of his heart. No, it was for having her trade for more heroin. Such is the life of an addict. Driving off, it turned out that she needed all her stuff to check into rehab. So we went back to get the stuff that Katie and I had agreed to store.
This delayed things a bit, though. She came in for her stuff, then she needed some toiletries - which we have a donated supply of - then Katie asked her when she had ate last, and then we get to the point where Katie was making her breakfast. Probably the first cooked breakfast in some time, I was thinking. "You guys don't mind helping me if you think I'm helping myself, that what it is, isn't it?" I nodded.
We gave her the pep talk. And it's always a true pep talk. I took her to the rehab, but as I expected, they could not take her in, due to her injuries and that she had spoken of her suicidal thoughts - even though those were over - to the ER nurse. But all was not lost. Another solution was found with the aid of "Danielle's" probation officer. That solution will remain private.
As I told her, and as my wife agreed, we'll be definitely praying for her. Her life, if she got off the stuff, could be really wonderful. If she stays on it...increasingly horrible. She still has not quite hit 40. And heroin and meth haven't done the rapid aging thing to her that it does to so many...but it is coming. Without getting off drugs in the next year or two, her 40 could look like 60. And not the pleasant sixty of your average church lady. Bag lady sixty.
Now we wait. We had already gone over her legal problems, and likely sentences and like facilities where she may have to go. She is well aware that her options now are entirely dependent on getting off of heroin. We reviewed with her all her other troubles. And provided as best we could advice on that. With again the lesson that these options all get tons better off heroin.
Yes, now we wait. As we started waiting over a year ago. Will we hear from her again tomorrow? Next week? In a few months if she needs some friendly faces at a possible trial? Never? We have, after all, had a guest who disappeared one day only to be found three weeks later dead behind a strip mall, dead from over drinking and exposure.
But we wait, as it's all we can do. I always wish for a magic wand to remove these addictions, these struggles from those who come to us. It's such a shame how they suffer so greatly, and ultimately so pointlessly. I used to have a rather libertarian attitude towards drugs, but that was years ago. Now, with all those we see and try to help, I hate drugs with a passion. There's nothing fun or cool about them.
Guess I'll stop writing and get back to waiting. Sometimes it seems that it's all we're good for doing.
No comments:
Post a Comment