Just a quick note for anyone who is feeling hopeless about a loved one's addiction tonight, as well as for those who are having a hard time with enabling.

Two years ago last night, we got a phone call from her that was typical of the feeling of rapid-fire elation and despair that we often went through when Carrick was using. She had walked out of New Hope Manor, the long-term rehab we hoped she would return to, a few days before.

Deirdre answered.

“Give me New Hope's phone number,” was Carrick's hello.

I was holding on another line on a call to Telecharge, buying tickets to the play “Addicted,” which we intended to see for our 26th anniversary on the 11th. (Talk about being consumed by the disease , but it turn out to be a very poignant and funny performance, and you should see it if it comes your way). Deirdre yelled at me to get off the phone.

“Carrick wants the number at New Hope.”

She was obviously excited. So was I. We figured that our tough love resolve to not let her back into the house was successful, and she was resigned to returning to New Hope. I put Carrick on the speakerphone, and read her the number.

“Why can't you just put some clothes outside the door.”

“No,” Deirdre said.

“You can have your clothes after you're back at New Hope,” I said.

“What do I have to do, come with the police? They're my clothes,” Carrick said.

“That would be a good idea,” I said (thinking that I'd love to get the police involved).

She didn't hear me, or pretended not to.

“What?”

It really dawned on me at this point that she had no intention of calling New Hope to return; she just wanted to get the stuff she'd left there when they sent her to a detox.

“We'll send you the clothes when you're back at New Hope," I said. "End of conversation.”

Carrick found another route to recovery — methadone — three months later.

It's election day. She has been working since 5:30 a.m. as one of the Democratic inspectors at a polling place across town. If you'd told me two years ago that Carrick would be working as election inspector today, I would have hugged you for the kind thought and told you that you were mad.