When addiction first crept into our household 11 years ago, I started keeping a journal. Retreating to clean white paper became my refuge. The blank pages stared back, non-judgmental and welcoming. On their unvarnished surface I poured out my anguish, fear, confusion and shame. It was the only place – until many years later – …
The day after I couldn’t stop smiling – until I saw him. The man was all black. His shirt, pants, the cigar he held to his lips, even his skin was black-brown. He was seated alone outside the small Italian café. It’s a place I often walk to when we visit Jacob. I’d seen him …
Each year’s end – like an anniversary – stirs reflection. The new year marks ten years since since my son moved to Florida, ten years since our lives changed forever. Obviously, I don’t know what it is like to have an addiction. But I do know what it’s like to love someone who does. Ten …