Checking in?
June 25th, 2010
My brother was in rehab a little over two years ago. My parents had divorced by that point, and my mom was living closest to the rehab center. One day, she drove to see him to take him some toiletries. She had her hands full of the items, and as she sauntered up the steps to the center, she stumbled and lay sprawled across the porch. As she looked up, the rehab director was standing over her, shaking his head. “Checking in?” She said no, she was just bringing her son some things, but did he have any fireproof file cabinets? The director really wanted to know why she asked, but he didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
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