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 – …
Jacob was right. I just didn’t understand it at the time. It was eight years ago and one year into his sobriety. We were seated at an outdoor breakfast café in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida where his recovery had taken him. How clearly I recall his words, and the calm, quiet way he delivered them. “Ma, …
Last Saturday I stumbled across a small gathering of people clustered in a circle at a street-end park. They were seated on lawn chairs and beach blankets on a patch of green under a cobalt blue sky. As I walked by with Charlie, our two-year-old greyhound, I overheard one of the group who looked like …