Good Morning Niall,

Your story reminded me of two things--The morning I crawled out of bed very late, and my son was gone (he was around 7) along with my 3 month old baby. I went crazy. I finally called my mother in law, who lived on the same 80 acres that we did, across the drive a bit. I guess the baby woke my son up, who got her out of her crib, changed and fed her, and when he couldn't wake me up, he wrapped her up and took her to the in law's house because he didn't know what else to do. I've made amends to him, of course, but I know that picture, the fear it evoked, will be in my head forever.

The other is waiting for a dear dear friend of mine to come over. We'd been close for several years, and he lived up the road. When he was late, I finally went to his place to get him. He was still in bed. I shook him, and couldn't wake him up. Another friend was with me. Then I realized Charlie wasn't breathing. We called an ambulance, while I tried to give him CPR, which wasn't easy considering I was blasted out of my head. When we got to the hospital, the doctor finally came out and told me that Charlie had died. He'd vomited in his sleep while laying on his back, and had asphyxiated. Even that wasn't enough to shock me into action.

Those are just two of so many things, and probably of many things I don't remember. And even that didn't slow me down. I ended up placing my children with family members before child services took them from me. Not only was I at the height of neglect, but I was running with people that were so dangerous, my children could have ended up raped, or murdered. I chose to continue my life style over being a mother to my children. I could not stop and there was nothing left for me to lose. Nothing. I woke up in a phone booth in a horrible city, hours from home one day. I picked up the phone after looking at the phone book to see where I was. Someone came and got me, and I went into a detox. To this day, I have no idea of "why". I was content with dying, knew I was dying, and could not have cared less. I thought. But something inside must have cared, because even with nothing left to lose, I went into treatment in that same nasty town, and sobered up. Talk about something greater than myself! But I had to be somewhere safe. By that time I had been diagnosed as chronic, and my whole family was just waiting for the time my body would finally give up. I think they would have been relieved just to get it over with, instead of the constant vigil. For reasons I will never know nor understand, I stayed sober. It was not my will, but Someone elses. It was a miracle, it still is a miracle. Every single day that I wake up it's a miracle. All this was over twenty years ago.

A meeting every single day, even after leaving treatment. Small steps, simple life, one day at a time. I kept it that way for a long time. It took me years to get so sick, I knew it would take years to recover, a life time to recover. It did, it does, and although life is far from perfect, I begin each day with the thought that I am alive today, by the power of my HP, and unless I choose differently, this is another day to be experienced and blessed. Just this day, for it may be all I have. My prayers are with you, Niall. Wren