Prodigal Daughter

A Family’s Brave Journey through Addiction and Recovery

Rob Koke, Danielle Koke Germain

• Publisher: Zondervan
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9780310356035
• eBook ISBN: 9780310356042
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

A gripping true story, Prodigal Daughter narrates a family's darkest time through addiction and their journey toward healing. Father and daughter team, Rob Koke - founder and Senior Pastor of Shoreline Church - and Danielle pull back the curtain on the mind-numbing power of addiction and offer hope and real strategies for those longing for freedom.

Unashamed and heartwarming, Danielle shares intimately about her teenage alcohol abuse and dependence on marijuana and Adderall. She offers a rare, first-person insight into the mental and emotional effects of addiction, and what it takes to get and stay clean. Rob tells about his struggle with his daughter's addiction, dealing with its effect on their family, and the reality of what it looks like to love someone battling addiction in your own home. He explores common questions family members ask like:

• Why can't they just stop?
• Why did they turn to drugs when I gave them everything I could?
• Where did I go wrong?
• How do I help without enabling?

In a raw, real-time glimpse, father and daughter reveal the vulnerable letters they shared with each other during Danielle's rehab. With transparency, Rob and Danielle disarm the shame factor, and share lessons and resources to prevent and overcome setbacks.

This book is your field guide in the battle of addiction. Whether you're longing for freedom, or helping a loved one along the journey toward recovery, you're not alone. Danielle and Rob's story will challenge you with truth, equip you with strategies for the journey, and infuse your heart with hope. 

chapter one

Reckless Deception

Danielle

I stumbled around the living room floor, unable to string words together that made a complete sentence. I said out loud to no one in particular, “Crap! I really have to get home, or my parents are gonna flip out.” At least this is what I thought I was saying. What actually came out of my mouth was a slurred mess.

The scene around me started to blur. The shadows of my friends merged together in a vibrant haze. I remember playing some card games. Then some drinking games. Lots of games and lots of drinking.

Their voices confused me. First they sounded far away, like listening to someone on the phone with bad reception. But then I blinked hard, and I could hear them loud and clear. My friend was shaking his head at me. “You’re not driving,” he said. Someone else appeared alongside him, nodding. Her words were more forceful. “Seriously, Danielle, you’re not going anywhere.”

I was annoyed. First of all, did they know how loud they were, and right in my ear? Second, had they met my parents? I don’t think so. All I could think about was how much trouble I would be in if I didn’t get home. How come no one understands this? I tried to straighten up, appear less sloppy . . . major fail. This was hard to do when a slew of vodka shots and salty margaritas was sloshing around in my body.

I wanted to open my mouth and try to defend myself and maybe prove that I was fit to drive. But that won’t work. I didn’t know what I’d end up saying. Truth is, I didn’t want to throw a tantrum and ruin everyone’s good time. I just wanted to leave. I have to get home.

So I nodded and tried my hardest to keep my mouth shut. Play it cool, D. I call myself that sometimes. Don’t cause a scene.

The room blurred. I’m not quite sure what happened next. It’s like time froze. For me, at least. I was alone. No one knew where I was. Shoot, I barely even knew.

Then time resumed, although it was still a blur. I heard a loud noise. It was the sound of the door shutting. I jumped a little but then refocused. From the corner of my eye I thought I saw my friends outside on the back porch of the house. Though drunk, I recognized an opportunity. The house was quiet except for the keys jingling in my pocket. My balance was shaky, but I slipped out.

Unnoticed.

Invisible.

Numb.

Everything went black.

I woke up on the floor of my bedroom with my clothes on backwards . . . not a great look. The world moved in slow motion. My head pounded, and my hands trembled. My first thought: Where’s my cell phone? I slapped my hand around the floor looking for my phone. No luck.

My heart raced as I tried to remember how I got home. But with my scrambled brain I had nothing but bits and pieces.

The party. So much alcohol. Wanting to leave. The keys. Leaving.

The memories of the night before were few and faint. But I guess the fact that I was home was good news. Maybe I got lucky. But then the thought hit me: Holy fudge nuggets! What about my car?

I gasped. I must have driven home! Where did I park? Maybe that’s where my phone is.

In extremely slow movements, I gathered myself off of the floor and tiptoed to the garage. The house was painfully silent, and at that moment I was not the most graceful human on the planet. The wood floors began to creak under the weight of my clumsy steps. I winced, hoping the noises would go unnoticed by my sleeping parents.

I spotted my car parked in the driveway. Phew! That was a close one. I didn’t really remember driving, so this was a major relief. The open air began to clear my head. Though still buzzing a tad from the alcohol, I couldn’t believe I had made it home. Stars glistened above as I took a few calming breaths. Still trying to flounder my way out of the mental haze, I looked at my car again. This time the other side.

My stomach dropped. I gulped hard.

The driver’s side was a mangled wreck of twisted metal. I stared at the tire. The rubber was unrecognizable, shredded to pieces. It must have blown out. Fragments of tread stuck out all over the place like bedhead. I’d been driving for miles on nothing but metal.

Rapid-fire questions shot through my mind. Dang it! I was so close. What on earth happened? What did I hit? What am I going to tell Mom and Dad?

I had no answers. But I was sure of one thing. As I stared at the wreckage, I knew I had no choice but to lie my way out. My mind racing, I thought of every possible lie I could tell.

I went back inside the house and sat on my bed, my heart beating out of my chest, so freaked out I could barely feel my pounding head. With the alcohol fog still waning, I tried to clear my brain. I needed to finalize a lie—I mean, I needed to make a plan. Once I settled on a story, I started rehearsing the answers to the questions I knew they would ask. Though this was the first time I had to tap dance my way out of wrecking my car after driving drunk, I wasn’t new to lying to my parents. At this point, I was essentially a master manipulator.

It was scary how easily the manipulative thoughts entered my mind. It was like instinct at this point. Owning up to my actions wasn’t even an option. The lies and manipulation were second nature to me. On my most devious days, I could even convince myself that my lies were true.

Hours passed. I didn’t sleep a wink.

When morning broke, I went downstairs. Crappity crap crap crap, this is going to suck! I was nervous, but I hid it well. It was time to put on a show. I didn’t want to be too dramatic, but I also didn’t want to come across as flippant. It had to be the perfect blend of both; there’s a sweet spot, after all. Master manipulator, remember?

“Oh my gosh, guys, you won’t believe what happened!”

My dad looked up at me, turkey bacon in hand. My mom stopped whatever she was doing and raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on, Danielle?”

Thump-thump-thump raced my heart, threatening to explode.

“I was texting and driving and hit a guardrail. The one by the front of the subdivision. I messed up the driver’s side of the car.” I tried to look sheepish. “I’m so sorry.” At least part of that was true. I really was sorry.

Mom shook her head. Dad sighed. He piped up first. “Danielle, you cannot be texting and driving, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I know. I know,” I said. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.” They hugged me, and it was over. I wasn’t in trouble. I got what I wanted. But what you want isn’t always what you need.

Rob

When Danielle told me she hit the railing of the subdivision entrance where we live, I believed her. Why wouldn’t I? Everyone hits that thing. It seems almost every week, a maintenance crew is repairing it. And the damage from the shredded tire? I chalked that up to teenage ignorance. Danielle probably wasn’t aware that if your tire gets blown out, you shouldn’t drive on it.

Nothing about her story sounded far-fetched. I made arrangements to have the car fixed. But later that day, compelled by a quiet gnawing in my heart, I pulled her aside. “You promise there was no alcohol or drugs involved?”

Her answer came fast. And she sounded very self-assured. “Yes, Dad, I promise.”

“Okay. Good enough.” I went about my day.

But there’s a reason I asked.

Six weeks prior to Danielle’s accident, my wife, Laura, and I sat at the kitchen table sorting through the day’s mail. Danielle was a freshman in college, and Laura was taking care of a few things for her. At some point I glanced over at Laura and noticed a surprised look on her face. “Babe, take a look at this,” she said, handing me a bank statement.

The statement belonged to Danielle. Each month, I would deposit money in her account to be used for school-related expenses. Scanning the statement, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: $21.99 to this Liquor Mart, $19.75 to that Wine & Spirits. On and on were charges to different alcohol and liquor establishments. There were at least fifteen in that month alone.

My wife and I were shocked. Danielle wasn’t even twenty-one. How was this happening? More important, why was this happening? Concerned, we immediately called her at college.

“Is there anything you want to tell us?” we asked.

Silence fell. “Uh, no,” she finally answered.

“Well, your mother and I never look at your bank statements, but today we decided to look. We saw some things on there—a lot of charges from liquor stores. What’s going on, Danielle?”

More quiet. “Uh,” she began. “Yeah, well, I guess those charges, uh, are mine.” Her voice sounded shaky. A lot of stuttering. She hemmed and hawed about her drinking and then said, “Okay, well, there’s probably a bit of a problem. Maybe it’s best if I come home. Uh, I think if I leave school now, we can get our money back.”

Laura and I were stunned. We never imagined that Danielle would be drinking this young, let alone drink so excessively she would need to come home from college. Even though she was great at lying, to her credit, my daughter had always been forthcoming when confronted with the truth. That day was no exception. She opened up a little about her drinking the more we talked on the phone. Danielle understood she had a problem. We understood she had a problem.

I can’t say I was outraged though. Four years ago, when Danielle was fourteen, our family had lost Caleb, our seventeen-year-old son, to a tragic car accident. Our grief was unspeakable. I imagined Danielle coped with the loss by drinking. I got that.

When Laura and I hung up the phone, we just stared at each other. As tears welled up in her eyes, I stepped in close, and we hugged. And then we did what we had done a thousand times—we grabbed hands and prayed. What sobered us was that Danielle herself, not us, had decided she needed to come home. Because of that, we knew she was in a really bad place.

So my wife and I made the decision to get our daughter the help she needed, and the next day I was on a plane to pull her out of college and bring her home. Over the course of the first few days at home, Danielle made some startling confessions. She had not only been drinking but was also using marijuana and Adderall on occasion. In our talks, Danielle wasn’t defiant. She wasn’t rebellious or defensive. She was honest and willing to get help. To me, at least, that was a positive sign.

After getting a range of feedback from some counselors—one or two of whom suggested the more hardcore approach of going to rehab immediately—Laura and I took the advice of those professionals who thought going to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), getting a sponsor, and working the Twelve Steps was best. It didn’t take long for us to make a plan to get Danielle the help she needed, and we took comfort that we had a map for the road ahead. We were catching the problem early and getting Danielle help right away. She’d be fine and back to her normal self before we knew it.

Looking back, I know I was naive. But at the time, I didn’t think my daughter was a candidate for something as serious as inpatient rehab. I didn’t think she had been exposed to drugs and alcohol long enough for her to be struggling with addiction. Maybe she was being a bit irresponsible, maybe she was developing unhealthy coping mechanisms, but she wasn’t an addict. The bottom line was we loved her and were willing to support her in getting the help she needed.

Danielle

I was attending Oral Roberts University at the time, and just like all students at this Christian university, I had to sign an honor code. My signature cemented my promise to represent the school with good character. No lying. No stealing. No plagiarizing. Among other things, I also had to attend regular chapel services, keep my room clean, and not drink or do drugs. I’m pretty sure they created the pledge just for me.

Okay, so I drank at school. Not to...

Table of contents

• Contents
• 1. Reckless Deception
• 2. Hitting Rock Bottom
• 3. Going All In
• 4. Rehab
• 5. Dealing with Tragedy
• 6. Family Week
• 7. Sober Living
• 8. Who Am I?
• 9. The Danger Zone
• 10. Who Is Your Crew?
• 11. I’m Sorry
• 12. Pay It Forward
• 13. Living Free
• 14. The Serenity Prayer
• Afterword: In the Crucible
• Acknowledgments