Health & Wellness

This Way to Pumpkin Pie

admin — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 11:30:48 -0600

One thing we agreed on that crisp fall Sunday was that our supper had to be topped off with fresh, homemade pumpkin pie. It would be the only proper ending for the day we had in mind.

"Pumpkin pie is nonnegotiable," I said, laughing as we drove along a winding country road in the car we had rented back in New York City. We had come upstate to see the brilliant colors of the changing foliage, and we had not been disappointed.

Coming Clean

admin — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 08:46:00 -0600

It was probably the most un-Christmas-like question I could imagine. I sat outside the house one evening just after the holiday with my older son, Michael—my 22-year-old overgrown kid, his rail-thin body slumped next to mine, a cross-shaped silver pendant hanging from his neck. I'd given him the necklace for Christmas. Now it seemed like the most useless gesture in the world. "Michael," I said, my voice shaking, "are you doing drugs?"

Mrs. Bill W.

admin — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 12:45:00 -0600

I nudged my car up a narrow drive through trees. Sunlight on the leaves made a riot of shadows. It was beautiful, but I was impatient. I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be at home, working on a new screenplay I was writing. Instead, my wife, Bernadette, had dragged me to a picnic at her friend Lois Wilson's house. Lois was the widow of Bill Wilson, cofounder of Alcoholics Anonymous.

The Last Straw

admin — Thu, 01 Sep 2005 09:30:00 -0500

A secret is a powerful thing. It can protect or it can destroy.

And the energy it takes to hide that secret will starve a marriage of the openness it needs to grow or even survive. I know. For a long time I hid what I thought was a terrible secret, and it nearly cost my husband, Dan, and me everything.

If you live in a small town, as I have my whole life, you know how hard it is to keep anything quiet. The girls working at the mini-mart are your kids' classmates. You go to the same church as your parents and in-laws. Everybody knows everybody else's business.

My Mother's First Step

admin — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 11:17:00 -0600

April 1, 1978. the desert sun blazed through the living-room windows of my parents' house in Rancho Mirage, California. We sat in a circle—me, my three brothers and several medical professionals. My dad had his arm around Mom on the couch. She was still in her robe and looked tiny amid the sofa cushions, fragile almost. The doctors called what we were about to do an intervention. To me it was a chance—maybe our last chance—to help Mom, Betty Ford, be herself again.

How Can I Love Him?

admin — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 15:57:45 -0600

Stop making excuses for him, Mom," I said. "I'm tired of Jerry never making good on his word."

"But maybe he—" she began.

"Maybe nothing," I interrupted. My husband, Vernon, and I had planned a special evening and my brother had promised to stay with Mom. I had been taking care of her since her health began to decline and this would be the first time in a year that Vernon and I had a night out together.

For more than an hour we waited for Jerry. There was no sign of him. No call. Nothing. Once again my brother had let us down.

Expert Advice: Secrets No More

admin — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 08:09:00 -0600

If your spouse is suffering from an addiction, you're suffering from it too. Think of the toll it takes.

Relinquishment

admin — Sun, 01 Oct 2006 06:02:00 -0500

On a warm May evening some years ago, my son Jon brought over some juicy steaks from the butcher shop where he worked. He tossed them onto the grill, smiling and laughing as though he didn't have a care in the world. I knew better. Off and on for 17 years now, Jon had been abusing alcohol and drugs. He hadn't admitted he had a problem. My own struggle had been a silent one to relinquish him. I'd done everything I could think of-fought with him, prayed for him, begged him to stop, loved him, tough-loved him. Nothing worked. He'd grown up going to church, but rarely went anymore.

Sober Setting

admin — Sat, 01 Jul 2006 13:44:00 -0500

Q: I'm having people over for dinner and I happen to know some of them are recovering alcoholics. What are the rules about serving drinks?

Not My Kid

admin — Mon, 01 May 2006 13:17:00 -0500

I came home from work that day and could barely recognize my own daughter. She was right in front of me, slouching down the stairs. There was no missing those piercing blue eyes, those strong hands for shooting baskets. But something was different, something was wrong. My 17-year-old had changed so quickly these last few months.