I was easy to fool. His friends and even his family members that we associated with never breathed a word to me about it. Here I was, planning a wedding, and there he was, never even filing for divorce when all along I thought he already was.

One night, he didn’t come home. I was worried and called his sister. She told me he was probably with his wife. What? He said he was divorced! She said that yes, that was how it was with the two of them. One or the other would meet someone and then the other would get involved with someone, making each other jealous. It was a game they had played for nearly twenty years.

I was numb. I remember drinking an entire bottle of wine that night and eventually changing to Jack Daniels. I didn’t go out with friends, I didn’t socialize after work. I was an idiot and I was broken-hearted. Till the day one of my ex-fiance’s own family members helped me.

His wife’s cousin came to see me. She told me she knew what I was going through because her husband’s best friend had fallen for the guy’s wife and been played as well. But my problems could not be solved in the bottom of a glass. She knew because she herself had once been an alcoholic. She knew about my trips to the local liquor store, that’s right, still another of his family members worked there, the cousin’s son.

With the help of a person related to the one who broke my heart, I began going to meetings and have been sober for four years now. I am also dating a really nice guy who is serving in the military and last week, he surprised me with two bits of news: he received orders to transfer three states away and he proposed.

Today, as I once again plan a wedding, I look back and can not think anything but relief and gratitude that, instead of being married to a man who cheats, I am preparing for a life with a man who is sincere, strong, caring and loving. He knows about my time as an alcoholic and he accepts me for who I am.

I had urges to drink for a long time but honestly? I haven’t had them in over a year. I’m volunteering with my local chapter of AA and plan to do so when we move as well. I hope my life’s turnaround will help someone else just as it has me…just as a woman who owed me no favors did a huge one for me the night she helped me seek help.

My best friend and my husband tried to talk to me about my addiction but I shrugged them off. What really got me to change was the evening I fainted at my daughter’s junior high play. I caused quite a commotion but seeing the fear in my daughter’s eyes was more than enough for me to finally admit that my addiction was not only a problem, but that it was affecting those I love the most.

I was quite active at her school and in our church. Some people seemed really surprised when I disappeared for a couple of months. It’s ironic but true: some people really do not know the face of addiction unless they are close to it, such as best friends and family members.

My daughter was terrified that I was having a heart attack or dying. It was simply the fact that I was over-taking my prescription pain medicine. It was simply my addiction coming first in my life.

I was in rehab for nearly two months. When I returned home, I had the best support system. When I returned to being active, I had support, but I also had surprised expressions at my confession of where I had really been, as well as some raised eyebrows. But one night with my daughter made all of that worth it.

She and I were watching a movie and when it went to commercial, she looked at me. “Mom? When you fell at my school that night, I was so scared you were going to die like Grandma did.” We had lost my mother the year before.

I hugged her close to me. She was twelve and knew the truth about where I had been and about my addiction to the prescription pain medication. I told her I was okay, that in fact, that “fall” when I passed out had been a life saver because I was clean for the first time in four years. I told her to learn from my mistake and to always know she could come to her father and me with anything, that we could handle it together, just as we were handling my rehab.

Then I hugged her again and told her that the look in her eyes that night saved me more than anything. She hugged me back tightly and we snuggled in together to watch the movie when it came back on.

My father was deeply enmeshed in cocaine, marijuana, heroin, whatever he could get when he could get it. My mother admitted that both of them had been on drugs in high school and during the early years of their marriage, but a wake up call when Child Protective Services took me and my older brother away from them did just that. It woke her up, she got clean and has been the greatest mom ever since.

My father couldn’t let go and my mom finally told him that he had to choose. Unfortunately, his choice was not us. Still, before he disappeared out of our lives, he did one thing right that my mother made sure me and my brother knew about.

My father was an only child and his parents’ home was left to him. He signed it over to my brother and me in trust so that we would always have a home.

Now, I sat there with tears running down my face. Before me, two parents who had each made opposite decisions. My mother chose me and my brother. My father chose a life of drugs even though he did do a wonderful thing for us by leaving us the family home. Still, there were times when I would have gladly lived in an apartment if I could only have my dad.

My mother has always been honest with me and my brother. She tells us that being addicted to drugs is hard to get over. Even now, she occasionally has to go to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting when life gets stressful. I knew she would be going over the next few weeks for sure. My brother and I also went from time to time to the support group for family members of those addicted to drugs or alcohol.

The doctor came in and told us that there really wasn’t any hope. Everything had shut down and my father was breathing only with the help of life support. The three of us had discussed this and agreed to let my father go in peace. We all hugged and kissed him one last time.

I have learned that drugs affect everyone, not just the person doing them. As I hug my own four year old daughter, I have wished many times that my father could see her and my niece and nephew. I have learned from both of my parents and, while we learned that kids can often follow in their parents’ path, my brother and I made a pact with others in our support group to not fall into that pattern.

In the end, my father gave me two lessons, one in love and one in life. He gave us a home but he took himself away.

Summer was always beautiful. She was vivacious, well-liked, enthusiastic and loved life to no end. She was a sports fanatic and always the first to sign up for a team. She had a big heart and was always the first to sign up to help with a volunteer project.

Then came that early summer day when our small town was hit by a tornado. Summer’s best friend and her family were killed. My little sister was devastated. She seemed to lose her will to live and over that summer we noticed other changes. At first, we thought it was still depression over her friend’s death, but eventually we realized that Summer was on drugs.

When our parents confronted her, she denied it at first. She turned it around on them, asking how they could even think such a thing. They apologized.

But as summer ended and fall approached, bringing with it the beginning of Summer’s senior year, her mood swings escalated. One day, I came over with my little girl who was three at the time and I went into Summer’s room and did a search. I found some pills and some white powder. My little sister was indeed, on drugs.

That afternoon, we confronted her again, this time as a family with our pastor and a drug counselor in the room as well. Again Summer denied it till we showed her the evidence. Then she broke down. We were all crying when she said she felt guilty about being able to go on with the plans that she and her best friend had made, going to college, sharing a dorm room, going after their dreams.

“It’s not fair! I can’t do this without Shari, it’s not fair to her!” Summer cried.

The drug rehab counselor spoke up then. “Summer, the best thing you can do for Shari is make sure that you DO follow those dreams and fulfill your goals. If you give up, it makes Shari’s life seem meaningless and you know that isn’t so. Do this for you and for her.”

Then Summer told us something that shocked us. She said that she was planning to commit suicide on the six-month anniversary of Shari’s death. We all cried again as she agreed to get treatment.

That was ten years ago. Summer got into rehab, then finished school a semester late. We didn’t care, we were just grateful she was still with us. She went on to college, here at home instead of off somewhere else though, because she wanted and needed our support as she was still grieving. Then she got a job in the big city a hundred miles away and today she is living her dreams.

In the morning I am leaving to go spend a month with her. Every year I am there with her for a month as she gets through the anniversary of Shari’s death. I go to her meetings with her and we bond as sisters. She’s doing good and I am making sure she knows she has me. When Summer falls, her big sister and her support group are there for her. I sometimes think Shari’s above, watching over her and being there for her, too.

One day, I ran into Jamie. He grabbed me and said “Cousin! I’ve missed you!” I barely recognized him. The drugs had made him seem older than he was. Still, he was my cousin and I loved him and was happy to see him.

As time went by, I noticed that Jamie’s perception of things was vastly different than that of most people. He insisted events happened that never did or didn’t that everyone else clearly remembered. He even became adamant that he knew things more experienced people didn’t, such as the night we were in a restaurant and a person had a heart attack. Fortunately, a doctor was there with his family and was able to aid the person until the paramedics arrived but Jamie began yelling that the doctor didn’t know what he was doing. Jamie said he was certified in CPR and he was, in high school during a class that we were all taught nearly 20 years earlier. But that was no match for a doctor’s skills and here was my cousin, starting a ruckus as my husband and I steered him out of the restaurant.

We began inviting him to church. He went for three weeks and then one morning, as I called to let him know we were on our way, a stranger answered the phone. He identified himself as a police officer. My cousin Jamie had overdosed and his roommate had called it in. The paramedics had been unable to revive him.

My heart broke at the news. Jamie had needed help. I had talked him into going to church but he had refused rehab and was trying to stop on his own. With friends and a roommate in that lifestyle, overcoming addiction had turned out to be impossible.

That was two years ago. To this day I miss the Jamie I grew up. I just wanted to share this because I want others to know that if they hooked on drugs, rehab really is the way to go. So please, do it for yourselves, for your families and for those who no longer have that opportunity…like my cousin, Jamie.

Mom was always out partying and doing drugs. I was raising my little brother and sister. My older brother was bringing in what money he could to keep us from getting utilities shut off. He was only 17 and I was 15.

I knew back then I never wanted to have kids. To this day I still don’t have any only now I regret it. But still, in a way I feel like I raised my younger siblings so I do sort of know what it feels like to be a mom.

Our mom went partying one night and never came home. A few days later, she was found dead, along with some guy. They both had been shot. The police said it was a murder/suicide. Both were found to have drugs in their bodies.

My older brother took care of us. As soon as I was 18, he joined the military and sent us money. As soon as my younger brother and sister got out on their own, I felt sort of empty. People said my brother and I did a good job but everyone had moved on to their own lives. Me, I moved on to repeat my mom’s mission in life, getting stoned.

I hid it well for awhile, but eventually it took over and I lost a couple of jobs over it. Then one day my brothers and my sister confronted me. They said it was time to do for me. They helped me get into a rehab program. My siblings saved my life.

I ultimately decided to help others the way I had been helped. I began to feel needed again just as I had when raising my younger brother and sister. By then I had found out that I could not have children of my own anyway, even if I had wanted them, but this feeling of being needed restored me. Sure, sometimes the urge for a joint or some coke gets really strong, but I head to a meeting and it passes. Not as easy as it sounds in this email, but anyone who has been there knows what I mean.

I hope you can print my email. I want to tell others who might feel like there are no second chances and that there is nothing to live when you are addicted to drugs to take heart. I now have a full life and I have been married over a year to a wonderful man I met through wonderful friends. I enjoy every day of my life and when things get hard and those urges for a fix get to me, I go to a meeting. When I help someone else who seeks help through my work at the local center, I feel that second chance all over again. It is out there for you, too.

That may be why it was so easy to just go along with my friends a year ago when they talked me into going to the party and why I accepted the powder that cute guy gave me. The chance to forget for a few hours what perhaps no one in the room had been through? I was all for that!

But that night started a spiral of addiction to cocaine. My family soon noticed the difference but were unsure if it was related to my service or what. I didn’t have the heart to tell them it was a little of both. I couldn’t sleep without seeing my friends’ faces, the ones that died in Iraq. I couldn’t sleep without being back over there. Now, the craving for forgetfulness was marred by the craving for cocaine.

Eventually, my family figured it out and my parents approached me. My dad had never been in the military because of his back and both my parents were only children. With three daughters, I was the oldest and the one who went into the Army and then to war. Still, my heroes are most assuredly my parents as both had a discussion with me one night with my sisters, some friends, an uncle of my mom’s who had served in the military and an intervention counselor.

This Memorial Day is one I can now look upon with strength because I know that my survivor’s guilt is a common feeling. I know that having others to talk to who have been there, even if it means a 3 hour drive for my family, is worth it in order, as they say, to “get the old me back”.

It still kind of makes me nervous when someone who knows I was in the Army says thank you to me. I still think the real heroes died over there. But I am learning to deal with the nightmares without turning to cocaine. I am learning to pause and take a breath without worrying that I don’t have time to think because a bomb could go off. I am learning to see children here and realize that they are innocent and lucky just as I am lucky to live in this country. And every now and then, when I am able to get to a meeting and stop the urge for cocaine, I can almost hear my combat buddies who died whispering “Good Soldier” to me as I get through another day.