I am finally home, I live with and care for my 91-year-old father, with the help of an aide.  Although I’m middle-aged, since my Mom passed a year and a half ago, Dad has become much more worrisome about me and everything in general. Mom and Dad were blissfully happy all of their 65 years marriage. Even when Mom was ravaged by Alzheimer’s, they were still madly in love. So when I walked in the door 6:00pm after my flight being delayed 4 hours, Dad was waiting for me to make dinner. He wouldn’t let his aide cook for him so we ate together and I excused myself to pass out in my own bed. I just wanted to nap but when they tried to wake me they saw I was exhausted and I continued to sleep happily in my own bed.

Until…I received a phone call from the Police.  I was petrified, as the last time I got a call from the police, it was to learn my beautiful son had passed.  I realized almost immediately that this wasn’t the case with my daughter because she was close enough for them to knock on my door.  She was finally picked up after absconding months ago.  I had called her Parole Officer (PO) probably 15 times in the past few weeks, leaving ten messages with the names of who she was with and the address.  I never received a call back from them, nor did they pick her up.  This is the usual behavior from her Parole Officer, she just doesn’t give a damn.  The seven other times my daughter absconded, I found her or led them to her.  They don’t look, I don’t know why.  I would think it’s a reflection on them but apparently not.  They never worked FOR my daughter.  Never helped her find help, never looked for her, never gave me any respect.  It’s definitely not anything like television or the movies.  The real-life criminal system as it pertains to handling drug addicts, SUCKS!

I went today to pick up her belongings from the Detective who called me last night.  They were actually really sympathetic.  Seems they had pulled over my daughter and the piece of shit that my daughter called her “boyfriend”, last week and after noticing bruises on her face they ran their names through the system.  My daughter’s name came up clear, there should have been a warrant for her arrest, had the PO done her job.  They had to let them go but because the Detectives saw the bruises on her face, they took it upon themselves to try to get her away from this dirtbag.  Somehow, they managed to find her and arrest her and get her to safety.  Now she will get the help she needs.  I will be filing a formal complaint against the PO TOMORROW! Again, the parole system failed.

I asked my daughter why she hadn’t reached out to me.  We spoke numerous times a day and Facetimed a few times a week.  She always had her make-up on beautifully, I suppose to cover the bruises.  She told me, she didn’t know why it was a mental thing.  Thankfully, she will receive help for being the victim of domestic abuse.  Abusers are usually great manipulators, but his game is up.  I hope he spends the next few weeks looking over his shoulder because these detectives were not happy.  I am not happy and an unhappy mother, especially one whose child has been hurt by the hands of another, is the worst kind of enemy.  As we all know though, God doesn’t like ugly.

I really pray though that my daughter receives the help she needs to change her patterns in life.  It’s been too long for her, this horrible life of abuse and drugs.  When I was on the plane yesterday I was seated next to a young family with two little girls. While watching and listening to them, I began to cry. I thought of my family at that age.  Teaching the kids, holding them when they were afraid, showing them the beauty in nature, the good in people and telling them they could, of course, obtain anything they desired in life with passion and determination. I’m not losing hope on her.  My son is finally at peace, my other daughter is growing into a beautiful mother and woman.  I will not give up on her, I just pray she doesn’t give up on herself.

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