OVERVIEW OF FIFTH CHILD

We can fool ourselves into thinking that we have our lives well planned out. It was that way for me, being a product of the 1950/60’s: I’d go to college, meet my prince, get married, have children and live happily ever after. As much as I thought I knew what to expect, my life was riddled with surprises. But the last was the most unexpected, compelling me to write Fifth Child, a non-fiction book about the anguish and consequences of a drug-addicted child, which resulted in parenting her child almost since birth.

My husband and I are cast into a shockingly large demographic. Grandparents raising grandchildren is a growing phenomenon in our country because of our shifting economy, unmarried teen mothers, alcohol abuse and illegal drug use. Close to 10 million grandparents comprise the club. We had already raised four children. Jaime was our third child, and Brady is her son, who began calling us Mommy and Daddy when he was three. Readers may be amazed to find calamity overcoming a so seemingly traditional family. But as events and family history unfold, disturbing pitfalls and unfortunate genetic vulnerability reveal fault lines that can sabotage people from any walk of life.

"The Addict's Mom Sharing Without Shame" Video is so important whether addiction has touched your life or not. It's powerful. Please click on the link below to watch the video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gHNZbbePiKg

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Friday, October 19, 2012

Excerpt from Chapter 3 -"Into The Abyss"


                                                                                                          
         “How are you, Jaime?” I said, with my walls up.
         “I’m living with friends in a motel room,“ she depressingly said. “None of us have places to live so we pooled all our money for the motel. We’ve been here four days and I can’t buy groceries. I need my money to pay for the room.”
         She began to choke up. “I’m hungry, Mom.”  
         I began to weep. She said she was hungry. I knew to never give money to an addict, but I am a mother, and I had to go to my child. She was hungry.
         After driving an hour, and arguing with myself whether I should be doing this at all, I was there. I pulled into the parking lot of a seedy golden yellow-painted motel with what appeared to be strung-out druggies and drug dealers crowding the area. It was like a scene out of a movie. Some were in cars, some leaned against them, while others were hanging outside the motel doors. I felt ill and scared. I never imagined I’d be in a place like this. How could my daughter have adapted?

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