Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (36 page)

Their house was huge, and the ceilings were incredibly high. Derrick led me up the huge staircase to the bedroom we would be staying in, which was once his for a few months when the family originally relocated. His bedroom looked like a time vault from about ten years earlier. He had a few pictures of old cars hung on the walls, and he had some pictures of him with his high school friends. It made me kind of sad for him when I saw these. He looked like a fun, innocent kid. The look on his face expressed true happiness and love for life. He definitely didn’t have that any more. He once had told me that his life didn’t really start to go downhill until he moved to Tahoe and had to live with his brother. Derrick tried to stay with his parents in Texas when they made the move. He was eighteen, and didn’t really have anywhere else to go. After a few months in Texas, he became homesick and missed all of his friends. He couldn’t take it anymore so in the middle of the night he snuck out of the house and got on a bus back to California. After realizing that he couldn’t couch-hop from friend to friend, he decided to move in with Donnie. Bad move.

Our week in Texas went by way too quick. We went out to eat a few nights, and we did lots of Christmas shopping. I was not looking forward to returning home. The thought of it made me sad and I just wanted a normal life away from Social Workers. Derrick’s mother was so excited when she heard that we wanted to move there, she started crying. We didn't know how long it would take but we did know that I still had a year and a half of Probation left. I had heard of people getting off of Probation early from complying with the terms and conditions of it. When I got back I was going to do some research and see what I needed to do to make this happen. We said our goodbyes, and had a miserable flight home. The turbulence was terrible and people were getting sick. Donnie was getting some sort of turbulence psychosis and cursing at the stewardess and pilot. For the next few months, the only thing I could think about was starting my new life as a cowgirl in Texas where nobody knew my name, my drama or my heartache. If they didn’t know about it, they couldn’t bring it up to remind me. I wanted to forget that anything bad ever happened and live the rest of my life normal. It was the only way I’d survive.

When we got back into our regular routine, I began to do some research and think of ways that I could quickly prove to my Probation Officer and the Social Workers that I was ready to be set free. I had a feeling that the Social Workers were going to recommend that the case be closed in a few months, but Probation was a different story. Although I had never violated any terms of Probation, it was apparently still pretty hard to get off of early. I immediately put in a request for an interstate compact transfer. Basically that would transfer my Probation over to Texas from California. My Probation Officer helped me set it up, but it wasn't up to him - it was up to the state of Texas. That was a big fat denial pretty much right away. I was really bummed and I felt a little bit defeated, but I knew there still had to be another way. I then asked my Probation Officer about getting off of Probation early. He told me that I would need to finish at least half of my term, which was coming up in a few months. That made me excited, and he almost made me feel as if he would help me.

With this little glimmer of hope of getting out of this town that gave me nothing but flashbacks and anxiety, I began to do everything that I could to go above and beyond. I became super involved with my NA meetings, and I even volunteered to lead the Thursday night meeting when the other members announced that they were shorthanded. This was the women's meeting that was held at the church. At first I was ridiculously nervous, but I quickly realized it was no big deal. I pretty much read out of a binder and led things like the Serenity Prayer and group discussions. I always left that meeting feeling good about myself and feeling like I was possibly making a difference in the lives of others. My sponsor, Jenny, was so touched by my story and my willingness to share it, that she asked me to go with her to the Saturday morning meeting that was at the Inpatient Rehab facility where I once resided. I thought it would be kind of cool to tell my story to the group of people there, especially because I knew exactly how they were feeling and how hard it was to live somewhere that was completely different from their normal environment.

I even told them about my other girls and how the case was never solved. I tried as much as I could to point out the positive aspects so my story could be one that offered hope and encouragement instead of depressing sadness. Midway through my story, I paused to take a breath and think about what I would talk about next. Every person in the room was intensely staring at me, and some even had their mouths dropped open. I was pretty sure that I had their attention. My story had the same elements as some of the other stories, but it was definitely its own, and it was definitely intense. I continued. “I often received comments about how shocked people were that I was actually doing so well after everything that had happened. Sometimes you just have no choice but to keep going. Even if you have the smallest amount of hope lingering in the distance, hold on to it like you’ll never see it again. Everything happens for a reason, a greater purpose. You may not be able to see what that purpose is right away or even for a very long time. But in the long run, there is a purpose. Losing my daughters has taught me so much about myself. It has taught me about the kind of person and mother I want to be. I see the joy in small things today, and I try to focus on what I do have and keep faith that what I don’t have will one day come back to me. I have to be a good role model for my daughters. When the day comes that they want to know who I am, I want them to be proud that I’m their mom. The last thing I want to do is disappoint them even more. These meetings are better than a $300 therapy session. The Steps are all you’ll ever need to heal every single aspect of your life. They force you to understand yourself, learn about yourself and eventually forgive and love yourself. I’m only on my fourth Step, but I’ve already felt the weight of so many burdens and regrets begin to ease up a little. I’m learning that it’s okay for me to be sad, and I also have a group of people I can call if I feel like I just can’t handle it any more. The best advice that I can give is to stay open-minded. Fake it ‘till ya make it. There is nothing more awesome than living a clean and sober life and actually enjoying it. And I can promise you that if you continue to go to meetings on a regular basis, get a sponsor, and work all the Steps, you’ll be able to say the same for your own life. You’ll get your life back, and you’ll really begin to live it. My name is Elizabeth and I’m an addict.”

The group of twenty or so patients in the meeting room applauded so loudly that I almost couldn’t hear. That was a good sign. It meant that I got through to them. I wanted to show them that I’m a real person who made real mistakes, and staying strong is the only way to go. I affirmed to myself as I was leaving the rehab that helping others was by far the best way that I could ever help myself. I felt like I had a place in the world.

Not too long after I spoke at this meeting, I was asked by a couple NA members to go with them to the jail to speak to the inmates. The thought made me nervous, but my heart was nagging at me to go. I wasn’t sure if I could get through because I had just been in jail a little over a year earlier. I thought that the jail had rules when it came to whom they would allow to speak to the inmates. A group of four of us went to meet with the sheriff who was in charge of coordinating meetings within the jail. He was very passionate about making sure that the inmates were able to attend these meetings. “I don’t care if you were in jail six months ago. If you’ve turned your life around, and other NA members can attest to that, I want you to come in and speak to the inmates. You will give them a good example that it is possible to quickly turn your life around.” I was in. I was going to go with the group of ladies next Thursday night meeting.

From what I could tell Derrick was still sober, but then again I never really knew anything about him. I assumed that he had enough common sense to avoid making bad choices since we had our daughter back full-time. He wasn't typically very supportive when I went to my meetings or volunteered to do extra stuff either. He tried to make me feel guilty by saying that I should have been spending time with Danielle instead of attending meetings with drug addicts. He was so backwards at times it just repulsed me. Regardless of what he said, I still went to the jail to do the meeting I offered to do. He put up the biggest fight over that. It was almost like he was weirdly jealous in a way, and he didn't want me to do well. I always spoke about this when I went to the meetings because I didn't know what I was supposed to do about it. I was truly in an abusive relationship. But Derrick was all I knew. I didn't remember what it was like to live a decent life. My decent life left me when I lost my rights to the girls.

It was a cold, icy night. The three other ladies who were also going to speak at the meeting came and picked me up. We rode to the jail together, and I was surprised that they were just as nervous as I was. In that sense, at least I knew what to expect. We walked into the visitor area to check in and put our stuff in the lockers. The sheriff in charge led us back to that room that I vividly recalled sitting in not too long ago - pregnant and not sure when I would ever get out. I’ll never forget the smell of that place either. The best I can describe it is like the smell of your elementary school cafeteria, in that it’s one of those smells that never leaves your memory. We took our seats at the square table and waited for the inmates to come in. It was strange that I was there, but in civilian clothes and having the option to walk out at any time. It made me feel so thankful that I had my freedom and things were turning out to be okay. One of the other women began the meeting, reading from the binder and saying the prayer. They all shared their stories, and I was the last to share mine. When I was through speaking, I had that dropped jaw look again. The inmates were all polite, and I recognized the look of defeat and shame in their eyes. Just like myself a while back, they just wanted to go home. The meeting was finished, and I went home to spend the next few days in a depressed and somber state. The jail experience was miserable. What was even more painful was the realization that I had really been there. The experience forced me to reflect back on all of the sadness and pain I had been through in the last few years. What was so depressing, with or without me even knowing it, was that all of the sad things happened not just to me but to my daughters as well, could have been prevented. They didn’t have to happen. My lack of judgment and extremely poor choices were the ultimate reason that I would not see my babies again for a very long time. As I would lay in bed at night unable to sleep for this very reason, a part of my heart was trying to reach its way into my mind. It was screaming at me to run. It was begging me to open my eyes and see the true life that I was choosing to live. Being with Derrick, whether he was responsible for Zoe’s injury or not, was not the real question to be asking myself. The fact that I did not know who hurt her was reason enough to never, ever return to him. I didn’t acknowledge that fact. It was too much to face. I had burnt most bridges and didn’t really have anywhere else to go. I was forced to stay in Tahoe and the county with my Probation and the CPS case. Suddenly leaving Derrick would only raise suspicion of the Court and prolong everything that I was trying to get out of. I was sure that my best bet would be to move to Texas. Getting out of town and starting over, maybe, just maybe, Derrick would become that happy kid that I saw in the pictures in his Texas bedroom.

I had a more than typical attachment to Derrick. I read somewhere and at some point, that when a couple goes through a trauma together, it either rips them apart, or brings them closer together. Derrick always told me that he went through everything right there with me. He may have been a part of the investigation, but he didn’t go through what I did. When Zoe was in he hospital, he didn’t suffer through a four-day hospital stay helplessly watching his own child being treated like a guinea pig to intern doctors. He didn’t have to see his child being put under anesthesia as she collapsed in his arms. He didn’t have to hear that his child had been given highly toxic chemicals that could have killed her. He didn’t go through shit.

I would think about the same things night after night, yet never allow it to click in my head that it was time to leave. My ration was that I had already lost the girls. I stuck with Derrick for this long, and it would have all been for nothing if I left. I had to stick to what I believed. It couldn’t be anything in the middle. I was going to stay with Derrick because that’s what I chose to do after the trauma. I made my bed, and I was laying in it.

A week before the six month review for the custody case, I had my last Drug Court meeting. I didn’t know it was going to be my last though. When I walked in, my Attorney excitedly told me that they were going to graduate me. I was really happy about this, but I was also shocked and unprepared. My case was called along with the others so the Judge could determine if he would agree or disagree on each recommendation, which in my case was graduation.

“I…I just don’t think I’m ready to set her free yet,” he said out loud as he was scuffling through my thick folder of progress reports. “Your Honor,” my Attorney spoke up, “Ms. Jeter has completed everything and more that the Court and Social Services has asked of her. Unless there is an objection that I’m unaware of, I think it’s time to let Elizabeth move forward with her life.” “The Department agrees, Your Honor,” the Attorney for the Social Services Department added. After Danielle’s State Attorney spoke up on my behalf, as well as Olga, the Judge finally gave in. He agreed to graduate me from Drug Court. Drug Court was probably the most intense hearing I had to attend. Its primary focus was accountability. The spotlight was on me - and every single move I did or didn’t make. I knew in my gut that I really wasn’t ready to move forward, but I wasn’t about to make an objection. It would confuse everyone and prolong being stuck in the system.

After all of the cases were called, Olga called the names out of those who were moving on from Drug Court and asked us to stand up and follow her to the back room. I was totally confused and almost died of embarrassment when I saw what was hanging on the wall - about ten burgundy colored caps and gowns. Oh…my…God… I thought to myself as I felt my face turning bright red. This is not happening. I feel like I’m graduating from kindergarten again! I was at least holding Danielle in my arms, so she was giving me something to do besides awkwardly stand there, swimming in a burgundy gown. Then it got worse. From the back room of the Court, I heard the song start playing - the graduation big-deal-symphony thing. I made sure to get behind everyone else. I wanted to hide so badly. As we walked out to the floor of the Courtroom, the other Drug Court families and the Court Staff started loudly applauding. Oh…my…God…I thought to myself, again. Olga walked up to each of us and put a sash around our shoulders and handed us flowers and gift baskets. When I saw that there was candy in my gift basket, I became a little more excited. The Judge gave his “congratulations” speech, my Lawyer gave me a genuine look of approval and kissed me on the cheek, and I was all done. I’ll never forget my Lawyer offering such a sincere gesture of love and concern for me on that day. She had been the only person, in a long while, whom I had gotten that from.