There are four children in my family of origin. I am the youngest of the four. My eldest brother turned out to be a “normie” but not for a lack of effort…he at one time was no angel. However, it turns out the three remaining siblings are the addicts and alcoholics in the family. I’ll put my own addiction and subsequent recovery aside today because it is my siblings, the middle children, who weigh heavily on my mind these days. Most recently, I’m sick about my sister-the last of us to reach the chronic stages of this disease.

     I can’t continue without mention of the second eldest brother in my family, who died of his disease five years ago in July. His was a struggle of lengthy and torturous proportions that culminated with his death sitting on the mausoleum steps in the cemetery near my parent’s home. He was an alcoholic from childhood and his entire adult life was spent as an alcoholic. For him, it seems there were no periods of young/harmless drinking and using before the bottom fell out. I do not remember a time where his using was not frightening to watch. Even as a little girl, six years his junior, I saw his eyes become hooded and glassy and his behavior erratic and disjointed as a teenager. The awful reality that follows these memories is that I wanted to do exactly what he was doing-despite my fear for him and knowing none of it was safe or ok.

     When my family lost one of the four children it was devastating enough. I got clean almost two years before my brother’s death. Although not invisible, my addiction was not blatantly apparent to the family. It was not until I came to Minnesota for my second treatment that anyone knew I had a drug problem. How I managed that act is a story to be told another time. All I can say is that I was not observed in my addiction by my family for years before I got clean. That being said, my recovery provided some reassurance, comfort and plenty for everyone to be proud of.  

     However, this year everyone had someone new to worry about. My sister’s addiction exploded onto the scene and into our lives with such turmoil that we could barely hold on to our seats. We all said, “Here we go again”. Today, after her third treatment facility since October 2007 she has again relapsed and our family collectively holds’s its breath. Will she find her way as I did or will tragedy strike again? How do I use my knowledge of the miracles of recovery to provide hope and comfort to myself and my family? In the end, as we all suffer, I hold on to the hope that my sister becomes one of us; grateful to have made it out alive and living a life in recovery. Until that happens, I will pray...and hold my breath.