Reclaiming My Soul From The Lost and Found

PROLOGUE

Get the fuck out of my room.” These were the words spoken by my then 14-year-old daughter on Saturday, September 21, 2002, when I entered her room and woke her up at 5:30 AM accompanied by a rather large male and female from a youth escort service I had hired and flown in from Utah to take her away. They were to escort her to Redcliff Ascent, a Therapeutic Youth Wilderness Program for struggling teens, located in the mountains and desert of Utah. It was what I prayed would be the end of a year-and-a-half of living hell and the beginning of a miraculous healing that would enable both of us to reclaim our souls from the lost and found. In an act of pure desperation and hopelessness, it was the only thing I could do to try to save her life and my own. She had spiraled so far out of control and entered a world of rapid self-destruction. She was drowning in a massive sea of sex, drugs, and alcohol and was taking everyone in our family down with her.

As I stood watching from my bedroom window while they put her in the car, I sobbed with feelings of guilt and despair, but also relief. I could see her face and could tell by her expression that she knew this was the end of life as she had known it. It was as if she had an angelic look of calmness about her, resolving that someone was finally rescuing her from her own living nightmare. I knew she had no idea what she was in for or the long and winding road ahead. But the only thing that mattered at that moment was that I knew she was safe. I knew that there would be no more nights of wondering where she was – if she was dead or alive – and having my body tremble with fear every time the phone rang, wondering if this would be the call from the morgue asking me to come identify her body.

In between the salty taste of my own tears and standing over the toilet vomiting, it was as if every detail of my own life flashed through my mind. I couldn’t comprehend how we had gotten to this point. Where did I go wrong? How could I, the girl who “had it all,” have possibly reached this instant in life? After all, we had been living the American Dream, or so I thought. We had accomplished all the things that others so easily characterize as success – we had “arrived.” My husband and I were both executives in our respective companies; we had two beautiful and intelligent daughters, a beautiful home, three luxury cars, three dogs, and even an exotic bird. We were an all around happy family, or so we appeared.

But the dream had become a treacherous nightmare, and I hoped to wake up and find that my world was still perfect. But it was not a dream; it was cold reality slapping me in the face so hard I could barely stand up. I fell on my knees and resorted to the one thing I had learned in my life, if I had learned nothing else. I prayed the most heartfelt prayer and told God if he was trying to get my attention, he had it. I told him that I was leaving everything in his hands, and if I never trusted him before, if I ever doubted his almighty power before, then I asked him to forgive me for I had nowhere else to turn but to him. I was at rock bottom, and no one could save me but him.