By Kayla E. Kressler, For the Inquirer
One evening during the blizzard of 1993, my biological mother surrendered me to the lifelong care of my maternal grandmother. I was 5 years old. She packed a bag, bundled me in layers, and walked me out the front door — instructing me to wait until someone came to pick me up. As an adult, I vividly recall the event and now grasp its reality: My mother was engaged in an insidious crack cocaine addiction. Left to her own devices, this was the best she was capable of doing for me.
Stories like mine were common during the crack epidemic in the 1980s and ’90s. News footage showed SWAT teams charging homes, incarcerated parents, soaring drug-related fatalities, children placed in kinship or foster care. Undeniable stigma flooded communities.