Carrie And Me: A Mother-Daughter Love Story Part 2

All through grammar school, Carrie excelled in her cla.s.ses, never bringing home any grades lower than a B-plus, but more often As. She won the school's coveted Silver Bowl when she was graduating from the sixth grade for not only having the best grades, but also for being the most popular student. I almost exploded with pride when her name was announced.

By the time Carrie entered the seventh grade in junior high, she had sprouted up and become noticeably taller than her cla.s.smates. She was reed thin (best described as gangly), and I knew she worried about her big feet, the railroad-track braces on her teeth, and her stringy ash-blond hair. Still the question caught me by surprise.

"Mama, am I ugly?"

"Why would you think that, sweetheart?"

"Because I am. I'm ugly."

"Well, you're not. You're just going through that awkward age, that's all. Before you know it, you'll turn into a b.u.t.terfly!"

"I'll never be a b.u.t.terfly."

"Of course you will."

"No I won't!"

That should have been a red flag for me, but I truly believed what I said to myself: "It's simply a stage she's going through, that's all."

In 1978, I had decided that we should end our eleven-year run of The Carol Burnett Show. Even though CBS wanted us back for a twelfth season, I felt it was time to move on. I wanted to be able to pick and choose projects that would give me even more time to spend at home. Also, I believed it was better to leave before someone from the network would eventually knock on our door and say, "Stop doing this!" Our final taping was in March of that year. It was a bittersweet ending, but I felt it was the right thing to do.

Even though I was home much more, Carrie was becoming more and more agitated. As much as I tried to get her off her pity-pot, she kept digging in her heels, and over the next year, in spite of the fact that her braces had come off and many of her friends were now as tall as she was, Carrie seemed to be losing all the self-esteem she had enjoyed in grammar school.

Diary entry:

I wish I could get through to her, but d.a.m.n it, she cuts me off at the pa.s.s every single time. Whenever I want to have a talk with her, to communicate, she either ignores me or says she's tired and retires to her room. Also, she seems to be losing her appet.i.te. Is this all about p.u.b.erty? I know being a teenager is a pain in the a.s.s, but her att.i.tude is becoming a pain in my a.s.s, too!

TEENAGERS!

Quite frankly, there are times I'd like to sedate her and wake her up when she's twenty.

In my navete I continued to "know" that she would grow out of it. But Carrie didn't know it, or believe it, and I later learned that she began to "experiment" to make her feel better about herself. She had always aimed to be the best at anything she tried, and it didn't take long for Carrie to become the best drug addict in her group at high school. However, Joe and I were still in the dark about what she was doing. She was fourteen.

Diary entry:

Now I'm really getting worried. Carrie brought home her report card and it was filled with Ds and a couple of Cs. It's not like her. She doesn't talk much at home anymore, either. She and Jody and Erin used to chatter like magpies at the dinner table. Now it's just Erin and Jody. Joe asked her what was wrong tonight, and she said, "I have a headache." He shot back, "Seems like you've had a headache an awful lot lately." She excused herself, took her half empty plate into the kitchen, and went up to her room without so much as a goodnight.

As parents, Joe and I were unbelievably nave about the whole situation, in spite of the fact that Joe had been in recovery for several years, and both my parents had died of alcoholism. I was in a state of denial, convinced that all the "bad stuff" I'd gone through in my younger years was a thing of the past. It wasn't until Carrie's grades went from As to Fs that we started to suspect it was due to more than mere growing pains.

Diary entry:

Joe and I had a long talk with Carrie after she got home from school today. There were big circles under her eyes. We asked her if she was on any drugs. She said no and started to cry. We talked to her at length about the dangers of using drugs. She calmed down and nodded at everything we were saying. I want to believe her. Dear G.o.d, I want to believe her!

Over the next few weekends we encouraged Carrie to have some of her girlfriends come over and spend time at our house. They did, but they would just hole up in her room for the afternoon. Things didn't improve. Carrie was still hidden and distant. I was afraid of who she was becoming. One morning I made the tough decision to search her room. At first I felt guilty, but my fear overrode my conscience and, after she left for school, I went into her bedroom and started to poke around... .

Diary entry:

Dear G.o.d in heaven! I found some marijuana hidden in one of Carrie's shoes in her closet. When Joe got home, I showed it to him and he was fit to be tied. I cried all day. My worst nightmare has come true.

When Carrie got home we showed her what we'd found and she got furious with me for being a "snoop." She screamed at both of us, burst into tears, and ran into her room. Oh G.o.d, I'm heartsick. What have we done? What did we do wrong? Why is this happening?? What can we do to help her?? I feel so helpless... .

We grounded Carrie, but allowed her to have her girlfriends over, making sure they checked their purses downstairs on the kitchen counter before they went up to her room, in case they were bringing drugs. (As if that would do any good. They could've hidden them anywhere in their clothes. How stupid were we?)

Carrie would sleep away the weekends behind her closed bedroom door, coming down to the kitchen to grab something to eat, and then retreating back into her room. Joe and I both figured she was getting drugs at school. But how? She didn't have any money. Then, while he was getting dressed one morning Joe discovered one of his watches was missing. He stormed out of our bedroom, and the next thing I knew he was taking Carrie's door off the hinges! (As if that would do any good.)

Nothing worked.

I would go into Carrie's room late at night to make sure she was breathing. Several times, when she was very still, I would put a mirror under her nose. When I saw the fog, I would think to myself, "Thank G.o.d, she's okay." I would sit on her bed and cry for hours. I remember wailing to Joe, "I'm at my wits' end, what can we do?"

The whole family was in an upheaval. Jody and Erin were torn between being loyal to Carrie by keeping whatever secrets they knew, and worrying themselves sick over their beloved big sister. One of the secrets was that after everyone had gone to sleep, Jody, who at this time was around eleven, would sometimes help Carrie sneak out of the house late at night by turning off the alarm, allowing Carrie time to make her exit, and then turn it back on. Jody would then sit up for an hour or so, waiting for Carrie to call her to tell her she was on her way home. Then Jody would disarm the security system again, turning it back on when Carrie was safely inside the house. When Jody confessed this to me much later I asked why she would do such a thing. "Because I didn't want her to get in trouble with you and Dad. I wanted to help my big sister."

Meanwhile, Carrie was losing weight, staying home from school, and becoming more and more sullen. This went on for more than a year. We were terrified that she could be killing herself.

Diary entry:

I'm positive it's not just pot anymore. Something tells me she has graduated to heavier drugs. I find myself treading on eggsh.e.l.ls around her all the time now. I'm scared to upset her because it might trigger more use, and I'm scared if I'm not strict enough she'll sink even lower. Scared if I DO, scared if I DON'T. I'm just one big ball of fear.

Joe and I decided to see a psychologist who specialized in substance abuse. We had lost all confidence in our ability to handle Carrie. Nothing we said or did helped. The doctor explained that this was a "family disease" and should be treated as such. He recommended a rehab facility in Houston, Texas, the Palmer Drug Abuse Program (PDAP), which specialized in teenaged drug abuse.

Diary entry:

We flew to Houston today and admitted Carrie into the rehab hospital, where they tell us she will be weaned from whatever it is she's been taking. She'll be there for thirty days, going to meetings, and having one-on-one sessions with counselors who themselves are recovering addicts. The head counselor told us, "It's like when kids get braces on their teeth, they don't want to hear from their parents or the dentist, they want to get the scoop from another kid who has gone through the same thing." He said that at the end of the thirty days the family would be invited to come and attend family groups for a week.

When it came time to say good-bye Carrie wouldn't look at us. She was so angry with Joe and me for putting her in rehab that she wore a T-s.h.i.+rt with SING-SING written on the front.

Carrie was just fifteen. That evening, in spite of the day we had gone through, I actually slept through the night, knowing that for the time being she was safe in a lockdown situation. I was so tired of worrying and crying. Jody and Erin were upset with Joe and me. They didn't want Carrie to be "sent away." We explained to them that we'd all fly to Houston in a month for "Family Week," and bring Carrie back home with us.

We weren't allowed to speak to Carrie for the first two weeks and the days dragged by. When we finally could call, she spoke to me, Joe, and her sisters, wanting to know if we all would come for "Family Week" at the end of her thirty-day stay. Before we hung up she said, "I love you, Mama." My heart almost exploded with happiness.

Diary entry:

"Family Week" was amazing! When we got to the PDAP headquarters, Carrie was waiting on the steps. When she saw Joe, me, and her sisters, she ran up to us, crying, and threw her arms around all four of us. Jody and Erin were already crying, and Joe and I joined in. She's not mad at us anymore! She introduced us to other patients and to her counselors. She looks wonderful. She has gained some weight and has color in her cheeks!!! OmiG.o.d, I'm so grateful. Thank you, G.o.d. Thank you! Thank you!

Joe, Jody, Erin, Carrie, and I attended the twelve-step meetings at PDAP together, and Carrie got up and shared her story with us and the other patients and their families. She talked about losing her self-esteem, and how the program helped her to understand the root of her addiction. She spoke with great authority, sounding exactly like one of the counselors! I was overjoyed, except for the fact that Carrie had taken up smoking. The counselors a.s.sured us that it was a "healthy" subst.i.tute for drugs.

There was a final meeting with all the patients and their families, where those graduating after thirty drug-free days received a leather thong, to be worn as a necklace, with a small leather knot called a monkey's fist attached to it. The monkey's fist is a knot used by mariners to help them dock a s.h.i.+p. PDAP had adopted it as a symbol of sobriety, representing the addict being pulled in from the sea of drugs and alcohol to a safe harbor.

I was so happy to see Carrie proudly wearing her newly earned necklace. We were thrilled that we were bringing home our now healthy Carrie Louise.

After we got home, I went on a tear and spoke at various schools about what we had gone through. Parents were contacting us in droves, miserable about their kids who were using, asking for any kind of advice and hope they could hang on to. I talked to the PDAP people in Houston, and we were successful in starting the program out in California.

The months flew by, and we became more and more secure about Carrie's recovery. On her sixteenth birthday, we presented her with a car.