It was on a night of a torrential, record breaking rainfall in California, that I found my answer to the problem of addiction.  Not my addiction but that of my husband of 17 years, I was 20 when I married in 1947, a very naive 20.  Coming from a sheltered background of European born parents, I was amused by his family's Saturday Night Parties.  The beer flowed and the music loudly played.  The laughter grew louder and more raucous, as the supply of beer diminished.  By contrast my home was a quiet and sober one.  And, I fancied myself, deeply in love!  Three months of dating this gregarious, funny man, was followed by a quick wedding and what was to become a 28 year term in a self created prison.

There were too many other women to name or list.  There were too many times that my four children and I, ate dinner without him. The kids grew up, automatically assuming he wouldn't be with us when we picked out the Christmas tree and decorated it.

So it became our own ritual, just the five of us. On Christmas morning, to his credit, he'd waken and join us all in the gift opening session.  (We had become accustomed to his puffy face, red eyes and the stale smell of alcohol.)  There were too many nights without sleep, waiting to see if he'd return home alive, expecting the phone to ring with awful news from a hospital or the local jail.

And worse of all, I had become a prize winning victim, eager to whine to my closest relatives, eager to share my misery and pain with friends, waving my unhappiness like a flag of success.  It had become my identify.  I was the consummate, long suffering wife of a drunk.  But the story I told got old and hackneyed.  People didn't want to hear it.  Even close relatives became uneasy as I'd start once again, listing the ways he had hurt me.

Then came the rainy night, the call to 411 information and the quest for an AA number. I dialed and a kind voice told me what I needed was an Al-Aanon meeting. She told me what Al-Anon was, it's purpose and function.  The address she gave was a local church and I hesitated for a few moments, ashamed to think someone might recognize me.  But, I decided some action was necessary and better than no action at all.

The meeting was in progress as I walked into the room, but within minutes, I felt the warmth and camaraderie of those who were there.  I felt I was home again. It was the first day of the rest of my life.  It was the beginning of a ten year, healing process. And every Tuesday night, I was with my family in that little church, where I listened to wisdom and absorbed every word spoken by those who had preceded me on this path leading to rebirth.  I discovered what was missing.  My own identity. There never had been one!  I was drowning in a pool of self pity and my new friends in Al-Anon had become an island of safety and sanity.

It was on a summer night, sitting in my usual place, on Tuesday night, that Agnes (not her real name), spoke up, asking, "Have any of you ever made a decision having to do with yourselves, that is, a decision designed to improve your own lives or become a person you like a lot more than the one you are now?"