I wait again. For the phone call. Then I will be anguished that the worst has finally happened. Or just angry that someone I love has disrupted my world again.

     The phone rang just before midnight. Her boyfriend, Jay. She didn't come home. Do you know anything? I know everything and nothing. She left here at five thirty. I don't know who she was with. I try to reassure. This is Rose, remember. Things happen with her.

     I clatter about this morning in perfect irony. I joined a 12-step program for dealing with a dysfunctional loved one. I no longer listen in on phone calls. Don't have a password for her log-in on my computer. Don't demand to know who is picking her up. I let go and let God.

     I check back with Jay. His phone isn't available, just like hers. The poverty-stricken among us have phones until they don't. Then they open an account with another of the countless phone companies out there and they have a phone again. I have three listings for my daughter in my phone. Rose I, Rose II, Rose III. I deleted a number once and later she "got up some money" and negotiated a smaller payment with an old account than it would have cost to keep a new account current. So I save them all.

     I call Jay's dad, Art. Art isn't like me. Art has two adult children living off him and his wife. They live in a two-bedroom apartment with Art's dad, who gets one of the bedrooms. Jay and Rose and two large dogs and a ferret have another. Art and Luann sleep on a mattress on the living room floor, the other son sleeps on a couch. Mom and Dad have steady jobs and plan to get a better place as soon as they are done paying for the legal bills accumulated over the years by their jobless sons. Jay is 25, the other a couple of years younger.

     This is why I am different than Art. I threw Rose out. She wound up with Jay. I don't lord my 12-step knowledge over Art, don't talk to him about enabling, letting go or any of the rest of it. We do the best we can and hope for the best. No guarantees either way. Art confirms Rose didn't return last night. We agree to stay in touch.

     I pull up the call history on my land line. (I learned not to let Rose touch my cell.) Eight calls to the same number over a 20-minute period right before she left. No listing on Caller I.D. A man answers and I explain. She never got there. He talked to her but she never came over. I subtly try to get his name, but he's wary and doesn't offer.

     "Listen," I say. "Could you do me a solid? I just wanna know she's okay. Do you know the guys she got a ride with, could you maybe make a call or two for me?" He agrees.

     I call my 12-step sponsor. He suggests I wait 24 hours. He suggests I re-read the report.

     I took Rose to a rehab class in October. Her driver's license was suspended. Her behavior had improved dramatically. She confirmed what I had long suspected, that her bipolar disorder had been aggravated for years by rampant drug use and drinking. She said she had wised up, didn't use any more.

     Based on this uncharacteristic  honesty, I agreed to pay a lawyer and drive her to court-ordered class in order to get her license reinstated. I was blunt before we entered the intake session.

     "Honey, this session is 350 bucks. If you can't pass the urine screen, just say so. Your license will be suspended for six months. You can live with that. It doesn't make any sense to do this if you can't pass the drug test. I won't hold it against you if you just tell me the truth."

     She protested. "I thought we went through all this. You said you believed me. I want this. I want to prove myself to you."

     I waited in the outer office while she met the counselor. She came out carrying a plastic specimen cup a few minutes later. Went to the ladies room and returned. The counselor called me in.

     The cup contained water. She thought no one would notice. I had a Slushy this morning, she said. It must of watered it down. She didn't bat an eyelash. She smiled. Her internal sun was shining. I think she really believed it. My al-anon sponsor makes me read the report. I have highlighted two things in yellow. "Specimen diluted," and "$350." There was another $600 for the lawyer.

     This is when I joined al-anon, at the counselor's suggestion, so I got something for my money.

     "She said she wanted to prove herself to you," my sponsor said. "And she did."

     Since the water specimen, I once again set boundaries. I can't see her till she gets help. I have been in a 12-step program for my own addictions for 21 years. I know it works. Willingness is the key.

     Rose called a month ago. Jay drinks all day and she's scared. Can she come over? Of course. I drove 20 minutes and picked her up. I had a plan. She could stay in her old room, which I had since converted to my office. We'd work it out. She'd come to meetings with me. She would forget about Jay, the unemployed waiter/hip-hop artist, maybe meet one of my young, sober friends.

     She went back to Jay's house that night.

     "He said he'll stop."

     I moved my boundaries. She can come once a week, no friends allowed.  

     She returned yesterday for her weekly visit. Ate, slept and sat in front of the computer. She left and I breathed a sigh of relief. Today I remember a friend whose son was a junkie. He terrorized the house for five years. It got so bad my friend found himself wishing the kid would just die and get it over with.

     And he did.

     I try to ease my mind with tasks. Dishes, laundry. I bundle up and go outside to shovel snow. Being outside in the worst winter in years doesn't help. I think of her helpless in the hands of some pimp, strutting up and down a west side Chicago street, legs and tits on display in the bitter wind.

     In four more hours it will be 24 hours since she left here. I'll call my sponsor and say, now what? Until then I wait. Again.

UPDATE:  At hour 23, she returns. Sometimes it's a day at a time. Sometimes an hour. Sometimes a minute. I remain humbled and grateful that people in 12-step groups have been so patient in teaching me how to use these tools.