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September 1984

Little Things Mean a Lot

EVEN AFTER I stopped drinking, it took me some time to awake from my alcoholic stupor. When my mind began to function, the promise of the Big Book that my feelings of uselessness and self-pity would slip away offered great hope. Both of my children were away from home. My daughter had finished nursing school and moved out of state, and my son was off to college, also in another state. It took me a year to discover I was at home alone in an empty nest. I was still a married housewife, on my feet but with some physical problems, and ill-equipped at middle age to launch another career. The feeling of uselessness was with me much of the time.


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