My Moment of Surrender
“Mrs. Naman, we need you to come to the high school—immediately.”
The phone call was from the secretary at my 15-year-old daughter Natalie’s school.
I have three children, one older than Natalie, one younger. I had never been summoned to a school office before. And certainly not for anything like this. It just wasn’t possible!
I called my husband, Peter, a surgeon at the hospital in our Pittsburgh suburb. “Meet me at Natalie’s school,” I said. “They said she was caught with substances. What does that mean?”
“Not good,” said Peter. “I’ll be there.”
Natalie was in the principal’s office, surrounded by school officials and three police officers.
I couldn’t process everything they were saying. “Possession…heroin… backpack…zero tolerance…suspension… charges.”
On the principal’s desk were small packets of white powder, a spoon and syringes.
This couldn’t be happening. There had to have been some mistake. We were a loving, happy family from a nice neighborhood. Peter was a respected doctor. I had dreamed of becoming a mom my whole life, and I had worked hard at it.
