Was The Teacher Still Teachable? by Marilea C. Rabasa | Feb 19, 2015 | Acceptance | 0 comments Memoir Excerpt: “Her apartment was only two miles away from the condo. I parked on her street and was relieved to see her car, so I knew she was home. Running up the stairs, I tripped over a cat and sent it screeching down the steps. I knocked on her door but there was no answer. I knocked again—again, no answer. Music was playing, so I knew she was home. If she’d answered her phone, I could have told I was coming. But I was determined to see her so I banged on the door. Finally she came and opened it, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth while she zipped up her jeans. Without waiting for an invitation, I brushed past her and approached the bedroom, but stopped in my tracks. Joe, her boyfriend, was lying on the bed, prostrate, his long legs hanging off the end. He was so out of it I don’t think he knew I was there. “Mom, come back here,” she hissed, frantically beckoning me back into the living room where she was standing. “This is not a good time.” “It’s never a good time, Angie. You’ve been avoiding your father and me, and I want to know why.” “Mom, I know you’re worried. Joe’s really trying to kick the stuff, honest. Me too. We’re detoxing right now. That’s why it’s not a good time.” “Not a good time…” Summer of 2005 was upon us, and Angie had been struggling with serious drug addiction for four years. First it was methamphetamine, then cocaine, and now meth again. There had been two abortions, countless betrayals, one rehab, and brief, blessed periods of sunshine between the clouds, not to mention the accomplishment of earning her college degree. The highs and lows were exhausting me. But I was so sick of it all and frankly really angry with my daughter for not trying harder to work on her own recovery. She had so much going for her; it was such a waste. “I can’t deal with this, Angie. You know what you need to do, forchrissake—just do it!” Pausing to take a breath and looking back toward the bedroom, “And get rid of that creep on your bed,” I hammered. I turned and left the apartment, slamming the door. I was furious—and terrified. It was so overwhelming after all we’d already been through, to be watching her in the middle of another relapse. Had Angie learned nothing from all her suffering so far? And what about me? Was the teacher still teachable?” Submit a Comment Cancel reply Your email address will not be published.Comment Name Email Website This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.