Ten years ago, in a telephone conversation, my brother’s wife, a woman whom I loved like my own sister, confided in me that he was drinking very heavily and that he had taken to hiding his bottles and she feared he was out of control. She then swore me to secrecy, making it impossible for me to say anything to him or do anything to help.
Time passed, and I confess I probably should have tried harder to think of something, but as it happens I was going through a severe health crisis of my own; my long-dormant HIV had become full-blown AIDS and I was, as the doctors would have it, “presenting” with symptoms all over the place. I had to stop working and apply for SSD, an appalling process that I will save for another post.
Fast forward three years to 2003. My health was reasonably under control…
View original post 681 more words
A Few Figs From Thistles 