I don't think rehab went well. I visited her once. She yelled at me for ten minutes. Then left and slammed the door and kept yelling, her voice finally trailing off after she turned the corner at the end of the hall. The therapist said she's getting better at expressing herself. I never thought this was a problem.
A close friend says this is all good. Every up, every down. They all count as learning. Rose is doing life without drugs, except the ones that come from a doctor, and even those have been limited. No more Adderall or Xanax.
No wonder she's pissed.
The insurance decided after two weeks that she didn't have to be there overnight or on weekends. My wife and I agreed to pay $200 a day "boarding charges." So much for the $7,500 annual limit on my out-of-pocket expenses. They took that check before she was admitted.
After three weeks the insurer says she doesn't need to be there at all. So we agree to pay $750 a day for another ten days.
We wanted to keep her there an extra week so she could make arrangements with a halfway house. It's an important decision because some of these places provide support for young women with emotional issues, and others are merely sober houses at which the clients are largely unsupervised, save the occasional drug test.
Our daughter insists during this extra week that she doesn't have to do any of this. She plans to move back in with her boyfriend. She could have avoided the short stay in jail which followed that decision, but maybe this is what my friend meant about learning from every decision.
She eventualy winds up in a nice halfway house. I find out some good things about the place. A former high school pal calls it her alma matter (class of '78) and can't say enough about it.
I call and ask how much this is going to cost me. Nothing. The client is required to pay her own way. Once she starts working, she turns over her check and gets $20 a week for walk-around cash. The tenants shop, clean and cook together. Eventually, a client can get on her feet and decide whether she needs the continued support or is ready to move out and set up shop on her own.
I love this place. And so does Rose. Until she doesn't. She's discharged in six days. Something about meds. Who knows. She's back in jail and I'm back in a courtroom waiting to see what happens next.
I start one of the longest days of my life at seven and get to court a little after nine. There is a sign in the entryway to the courtroom:
"Courtroom full. Defendents only."
I grab a seat outside and regret not bringing a book. I find a sports page and read about the NCAA basketball tourney for three hours. Then the bailiff pulls the sign and I enter the courtroom.
She is a late entry to the docket so she's the last one called. It's after twelve and everyone is checking their watches. The Assistant State's Attorney tells another guy to go on to lunch and he'll meet him later. The Public Defender, Mike, pulls me aside.
He found another halfway house that will take her. Good. It's 450 bucks a month. Oh. This new place isn't like the old place. It's a sober house designed for independent adults.Very little supervision. I get a bad feeling. Mike says you can pay by the week. That sounds prudent. I agree to pay.
They bring her and this time I don't flinch at the sight of her in handcuffs and the jumpsuit with COUNTY JAIL stenciled across the back. PD Mike explains her situation. The judge doesn't seem to care that she was discharged. He explained a few months ago that some people go back and forth between jail and halfway houses several times before they figure it out. The System is patient. He agrees to let her try again.
It usually takes an hour or two for an inmate to be processed out of jail. Sometimes it's quick, so I usually hang around and bring a book, but I'm hungry and have no book. I stop at a gas station where I find a copy of Men's Journal, with an article by one of my favorite writers, Matt Taibbi, about saving major league baseball. Then I hit Boston Chicken and get a chicken pot pie (how do they get those crusts so perfect?) and between the baseball and the food I linger longer than I had intended before heading back to the lockup.
A slight woman with a ponytail sits in the office. You have to bend over and talk throught the slot at the bottom of the bullet-proof glass. I tell her I'm here for Rose and she informs me that Rose is gone. Left about an hour ago.