WORKING TO ERADICATE METH

EDITOR'S NOTE: This story is the first in a series of monthly
features on methamphetamine addicts' attempts at recovery. The
remainder of the series will appear the first Sunday of each month in
the Local section.

In her struggle to rout methamphetamine addiction, Dawn Jackson has
had an angel by her side.

But this angel doesn't always live up to her name.

Jackson's daughter, Angelique "Angel" Risley, has been tainted by her
mother's demons. The 12-year-old suffers mental and behavioral
disorders likely caused by exposure to meth in the womb. For four
years, Angel was a ward of the state, living in foster care and
treatment centers for children diagnosed with acute mental illness.

An addict for 15 years who underwent treatment seven times, Jackson,
33, completed a unique court program last year in hopes of regaining
custody of Angel. Now, a year later, Jackson has stayed clean, found
employment outside the local network of social services and is
learning how to be a mom again.

"I fought for four years to bring her home," Jackson said.

But Jackson realized in March the fight wasn't over.

"As hard as she works, it just seems like it never ends," said Fred
Petty, program specialist for Southern Oregon Goodwill, which honored
Jackson in March for her outstanding achievement in its program.

"She gets something fixed, and something else breaks," Petty said.

Craving her mom's time and attention, Angel resented Jackson's post
at a local paging service, her first job in the private sector since
she'd been clean. Angel would fly into a rage when she knew Jackson
was leaving her.

"The outbursts got so bad that it was actually interfering with me
getting ready for work," Jackson said.

The swing shift kept Jackson from having dinner with her daughter,
helping her with homework or tucking her into bed. Jackson's mother,
father and fiance took turns staying with Angel.

"She lived at work more than she lived at home," Angel said.

Determined to jump-start a true career, Jackson applied and was
accepted to a construction apprenticeship program. To learn how to
operate heavy machinery, Jackson anticipated spending about a month
in classes at the Northwest Laborers' Corvallis training site. She
would spend weekends at home with Angel.

But Angel's anger derailed the plan.

Told to do the dishes one day in March, Angel responded with
violence, hurling bowls, coffee cups and coasters out the front door
of the family's Eagle Point apartment. An 8-inch fillet knife went
sailing after Jackson, her fiance and a friend.

Convinced she couldn't rein in Angel -- nearly as big as her mother
- -- Jackson called the police. The girl was charged with unlawful use
of a weapon and taken to the county's juvenile detention center.

"The day they took her, I wanted to go get loaded," Jackson said.

Instead, Jackson picked up the phone and called anyone she could
think of for support, including social service workers, who know
Jackson's situation is not unique.

"Many times their addicts' children have been impacted physically,"
said Karla Carlson, intake supervisor for the Oregon Department of
Human Services' local child welfare office.

"So then you have these parents who are really fragile and are now
parenting really difficult kids."

The emotions Jackson kept locked down tight whenever she landed in
jail during her years of addiction came pouring out when her daughter
hobbled into juvenile court in leg shackles. Jackson spent the rest
of the day in tears, and Angel spent more than two weeks in
detention. She came home sobered.

"She told me, 'Mom, I don't want to go back. I don't belong there,'"
Jackson said.

After sorting through a lifetime of her mother's meth-induced lies,
Angel was prone to disregarding parental warnings, Jackson said. The
girl now realizes the consequences of crime are real, Jackson said.

Suspended from school and sentenced to house arrest until the end of
the month, Angel spends every minute of every day with Jackson, who
quit her job and abruptly canceled plans to participate in the
Corvallis apprenticeship program.

"She calls it 'mom arrest,'" Jackson said.

The two now spend their time cuddling the family's litter of puppies,
going for walks, playing at the park, cleaning house, doing arts and
crafts and just getting to know each other again, Jackson said.

"I think she's doing good," said Angel.

But almost two and a half years since her last relapse, Jackson said
she still has to make the conscious decision on some mornings to
resist the drug's lure for Angel's sake. So far, the call to care for
her daughter has been stronger.

"It's a day to figure out how do I fight for my child today," she said.