I arrived at rehab. I entered my daughter’s room.
After months of sick leave from work, Laura was owed money from her employer for holidays she had not taken. This money was in my account for safekeeping. The money put aside for when she came home.
Laura wanted the money now.
‘What for?’ I asked. I put the bag of goodies on her bed.
‘To get things.’
‘This and … it’s my money! I can buy what I like.’
I felt sick. This attitude, this lack of gratitude was appalling. Since coming to rehab Laura had presented herself as little girl lost. Now she was finding her way, she fronted me. Telling me to mind my own business, to give back her money. I was shocked and alarmed.
‘You’ll need that money for when you get out of here. You’re not having it now.’
She was furious.
I was hurt.
I stormed out of her room, out of rehab. I left the goodies her controlling mother had bought. I retraced the winding country road home.
Husband was in the garden, pulling out weeds. ‘You’re back early, what’s up?’ he asked.
I retold the tale of demands.
‘It’s her money, give it to her. But she’s getting anything more from me.’
‘No. That is not happening.’
I knew Husband and I would give Laura money, support her return to the outside world. So did she. I gave some of her money back, not all. She was happy with that.
Husband and I had made plans with money we had. Money we would spend to help our daughter.