Yesterday, when Mickey was here, my mom was talking about my dad’s unrelenting stubbornness. Mickey commented, “I keep finding out things about dad that I’m not sure I want to know.”

As I write this, my mother is sitting next to me in the living room. It’s Sunday morning and the RV is off and we’re just sitting here and she’s over-sharing again. My heart is so heavy thinking about you . . and us. She’s talking about all those years when my dad was drinking a lot. Those were unhappy times for her. I’m tearing up thinking about you.

I tell her that I regret that I made the same mistake dad did and I say that my wife wasn’t as forgiving as she was. She points out that you’re situation is different. You can support yourself. She would’ve done the same thing if she could have. The statement kind of blows me away because the period she is talking about perfectly coincides with my childhood. It’s almost like being able to see the forest for the trees for the first time. I’m the adult child of an alcoholic.

I’m starting to agree with Mickey.