A Miracle Happened That Day

SEVENTEEN YEARS ago, I was a patient in a state mental hospital, committed there by my mother, who had been given no hope at all for my recovery. I didn't even know who she was during the commitment proceedings, much less who I was. I had no memory of the past, no thought of the future. The road to this hell had taken three years. Prior to taking the road to insanity, I had been a housewife, mother, and church worker. Sang in the choir, played golf on Tuesdays, flew my own plane, and raised my children. In less than three years, I had become a lush, working as a truck driver for a winery to keep me in wine.