This is the fourth in a series of columns of how the author located and then brought home her adopted special needs daughter, aged 22, who had met someone through the internet and joined him in Florida.

Marie and the dogs frolicked for a good 24 hours, with her falling asleep on the couch, all three dogs curled up beside her, snuggled in a blue velvety blanket. It was a revelation to me that it is possible for a person to sleep all night with a smile on her face! The brief doggy visit at my friend’s house was enough to give us a respite from the stress to invigorate our long trip back to Rhode Island.

Because Marie’s ID had been stolen, we made a proper stop at the police station to file a report that she had been “found” and to get a copy of the Missing Endangered Person proof, with which she would be able to get on a Greyhound bus without a proper ID. It was a six-hour journey back to Jacksonville where the car needed to be returned. Driving that amount of time was a challenge for me as napping during long drives was my favored mode of transportation. While Marie, still smiling, slept on the seat beside me, the stress began to envelope me again. All pretense that this had been a happy vacation vanquished and was replaced with the realization how vulnerable my daughter was. The drive down at night had been more carefree with the success of prying her away from her “friends,” but the drive back up seemed relentless.

Hunched over the steering wheel, gripping it so hard my hands became numb and my teeth were clenched so tight that a headache plagued my jaws and temple, I likened myself to a determined gorilla with a hunched back, eyes staring straight ahead. It was now daytime, and the miles we had so easily covered at night somehow seemed murkier. The tree branches were bare with the exception of the dark gray, stringy moss, evidence of the presence of gypsy moths that had heartily feasted on any greenery in sight. Everything seemed to be in black and white, resembling scenery in a Tim Burton movie. The fields that had looked so inviting were now dotted with barns that had seen better days. (Marie pointed to one that reminded her of a scary movie we had seen, something about a guy with a chainsaw…) Small bodies of water dotted the side of the road, reminding us that alligators could be lurking anywhere. The ominous, tedious drive was excruciating, and it was with relief that we arrived at the bus station for our thirty-nine hour bus ride back to Rhode Island.

In preparation for the long ride, and with extremely limited funds, a soft-sided beach cooler was used to hoard away food that would last us for the journey. Water bottles, a bag of Cuties, string cheese, a big box of Cheerios and a six-pack of Atkins diet drinks that could be used as a meal replacement completed our stash. With our sleeping bags and pillows, Marie and I made our way onto the crowded bus and managed to sleep cozily most of the way home, with the exception of the stops where it was mandatory that we get off the bus for it to get a thorough cleaning. As aggravating as it was to have to get off during mid-nap, at least it was confirmation that the bus was clean of any spills, litter, liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia. Waiting to get back on the bus at 12 am in a strange bus station was unsettling, but we would use this time to snack on our goodies.

We did have one incident during a five-hour layover in New York City at 2 a.m. Marie was crabby with fatigue from what seemed like an inordinate amount of travel. Plopped comfortably in a seat, she bent over to get an orange from the food bag, lifting her butt two to three inches off the seat. During that brief amount of time, a woman pushed her over and took the seat. Marie, abhorred that she had been pushed, let out a screech that scared everyone in the waiting room with the exception of the woman who was now firmly planted in her seat. Marie started to “yell” at her in sign language, but the woman with the wild red hair and paisley scarf stood her ground, pointing out to everyone that Marie “gave” up her seat. The woman began to scream for the police, accusing Marie of “assaulting” her (even though the only thing she was attacked with was the sign language assailing the air space in front of her). After what seemed like an eternity, the woman finally got up and joined the queue to get on her bus. Marie, self-satisfied, sat back down while I shook like a leaf with my lack of control over the situation. The whole job of being a parent is much harder than imagined, and our arrival back in Providence could not happen soon enough.