On the Right Path

"Not these bills again," I thought as I thumbed through the fistful of mail I held. I was a little over two months dry as I stood there at the mailbox. I paused over two notices for medical treatment I had gotten following one of my last drunks. They were old news, but still sad reminders of what had been. I sifted out a couple of pieces of junk mail, and then I saw it--the return address that told me I had an answer, a very important answer.