You'll Drive, Honey

By April, 1991, I had had enough, and so had my family. They were ready to release me to the disease that had been sweeping through our family for generations. By that time, I was a thirty-six-year-old widow. My parents and my drug-addicted husband of only two years had passed away within a decade. Each loss became an excuse for me to sink myself deeper in the bottle. My nine siblings were finished with the rescue missions, and I knew it. I had to try sobriety or disengage myself from the family that I relied on for my identity. I believed I was nobody without them.