Drug Rehab

My mom got high in her closet every night. My sister and I would be sitting on her bedroom floor because back then we watched TV as a family, and she'd go into her closet and snort cocaine. I knew she was doing something bad in there, but when I was young, I was not sure what it was. I never went in her closet. I knew it was off limits, and I am a rule follower.

She went into rehab when I was in sixth grade. We lived in Alief, still on Huntington Field. I was ashamed to have a mom in drug rehab. I told one friend about it at school. We were changing in the girl's locker room and she kept asking about my mom. Another time, I was next door on my friend's swing set. I remember the warm sun in my face as my her mom asked a lot of questions about where my mom was. I did not lie back then either. I tried to answer her without lying or mentioning drug rehab. I do not remember how I satisfied her curiosity, but I remember the relief of her being satisfied with my answer and going back inside her house and me getting to swing with my friend and be a kid.

My dad was good to us while my mom was getting help. Monday nights we went to Pistol Pete's Pizza which was kind of like Chuck E Cheese. We'd eat dinner and get to play games. It was during this time that I perfected my skeeball game. My dad taught me to aim for the forty instead of the fifty. It was easier to sink the ball in the forty over and over and still get a high score. A high score equaled lots of tickets which meant lots of prizes.  Monday nights at Pistol Pete's continued ever after my mom came home because AA meetings were on Monday nights.

Rehab and AA for my mom meant therapy for us. We would go to therapy at the hospital. The kids, my sister and me along with the other children who had parents battling addictions, would meet in the small room with a male counselor. He wore glasses, had brown hair, and asked a lot of silly questions. I learned early on not to give silly answers because he would probe deeper trying to find the dark reason for my response when all it really was a silly answer from an eleven yer old girl who wanted to be home playing Barbie instead of in this room with him and these other kids.

West Oaks Hospital would have "family days" which were supposed to resemble BBQs and carefree times. I guess these days were created for patients to feel like they were having normal family time. To keep them connected to the family they left at home so they could get clean.  These never felt real to me in the sterile beige rooms with plastic blue furniture. It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't home.

After rehab, my mom was more physically present. Less nights were spent in the closet. She watched full tv shows and movies with us. We could depend on her to pick us up after school if we needed her to. Drugs still took my mom from me. She was not part of the early years like she should have been.