As I picked up the telephone receiver, the tremulous voice at the other end was that of our youngest child, 19-year-old Jennifer.
"Mum"—the tone made my heart sink once more, as it had countless times in the past four years when Jenny would call us for help. "Mummy, I'm in Las Colinas. I've been arrested. I've had an accident..."
Las Colinas is a women's detention facility in Santee, a small township of San Diego County, a short distance from our Alpine home. Being 19, Jenny, of course, had been charged as an adult.
"An accident?" I asked. "Are you hurt? What happened?" Now my despair was tinged with anxiety.
"I'm OK," she replied, "but my car is totaled. Can you tell Daddy? They say he can collect me soon—or, can you come?"
"Why were you arrested?" I then asked. "Were you—are you—on something?"
A mumbled affirmative response followed. "But come for me; I don't want to be here," she pleaded. I could detect hysteria rising within her throat.
"I can't come now," I explained. I have Meghan here today." Meghan is our oldest daughter's child. "I'll call Dad and find out how we can help you. Stay calm," I urged, realizing the authorities wouldn't tolerate a dramatic outburst of panic from this young person.
"OK, please help, Mummy," came the response. "I have to go now—someone else needs the phone."
"Alright, don't worry; Daddy will call the police."
"Mum?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry," came a whispered apology, with tears very close to surfacing.
Yes, she was scared; she realized the consequences of her actions. Thoughts crossed her mind that, as an adult, she possibly could be facing some time in this place—jail. We would learn just how serious this infraction of the law was after contacting the authorities.
I immediately called my husband, Russ, at his office, and, just like I knew it would, his voice conquered the quivers in my stomach. I'm fortunate to have the sort of husband, who, no matter how occupied he is, can switch to a "take control" mode in a crisis. With our youngest child, there had been many emergencies from the time she turned 15.
Drugs misuse...addiction...how on earth had we gotten to this place in life? Like so many parents before us, we were asking ourselves, "What have we done? Where did we go wrong? What has happened to this precious child—the only one of our six children to be 'planned'?" |
