Carrying the Message

I cringe when I recall my reactions to my husband's drinking. It became an obsession with me to hide his shameful acts. I resented any friends my children invited to our home. If a group of youngsters were in the living room I waited at the kitchen window, chewing my nails, agonizing over what condition my husband would be in when he arrived. If his hat was at a certain angle I knew! Oh! how well I knew! I would rush to the door, guide his faltering footsteps and hurry him upstairs, all the while carrying on an animated conversation. He was my living skeleton that I had to hide in the closet!