Man-oh-man,
First, I guess so you'll get the drift of it, I need to fill you in. I come from a very dysfunctional family (yup...I know...who doesn't?)

My father died when I was a little girl and it was right around the Haight-Ashbury days. My brothers (three older) were young teenagers. When my dad died my family sort of fell apart and life as we knew it was over.
My brothers were heavily into drugs and crime went along with it so they could support their heroin addictions. Mom worked nights, and our house became a crash pad. I was basically raised by drug addicts.

My job was to make sure the cigarettes they all had between their fingers were put out so the house didn't burn down, be a look out for the cops or any other member of "the establishment" or to make sure they were all breathing. When junkies "nod" it can be frightening for a ten year old who lost her father and now is afraid the dozen hippies in the house will all die too.

There were many cases of the ambulance coming to whisk them away. There were times when they were in fact DOA. The sound of slapping and begging people to wake up, was a common occurrence at my house.
Life went on like this for eight years until my mother and I moved away.

The boys (I speak of two out of three brothers here) tried to clean up their act and were successful to some degree. On and off rehab. In and out of jail. Overdosing here and there. For the most part they survived. I thought if they made it to age 30, they would live. I was wrong.

One, who'd been clean for about eight years (or so we thought) fell off the wagon. Hard.
The other one, announced to the family he had tested positive for HIV.
They died within five years of each other. One overdosed and one from AIDS.

Nine years later, here I am. My husband goes in for shoulder surgery. I am doing well at the hospital, a few heart palpitations, some worry, but I was in control. He came out of it okay, I got the car and drove it around to the front to pick him up, but a nurse flagged me down and told me to park. He passed out and they were keeping him a little longer. When they finally let him go, he passed out on me in the car on the way home. I get him home and he's not feeling well and wants "the bucket." He begins to retch...and passes out. This time he bites down on his tongue so hard I cannot open his mouth and I am beginning to panic...this is how my brother who OD'd died. He choked on his vomit. I was slapping and begging hubby to wake up.

Needless to say, I absolutely fell apart. My hub is fine, it turned out to be a blood pressure problem. But I am still reeling from this. Even typing this my eyes are filling up. Here I was thinking I was doing so good! And BAM! back I fall. Not only do all the old feelings come back, but I feel stupid.

Does it ever go away?

Thanks for listening,

Petunia