I am dealing with a seriously depressed son. First, his sister’s ex-husband who was his friend, died. Then the guy’s mother whom my son met at his niece’s wedding, died of an aneurism on Sunday. Several days later, he received a text that his dad was dead.

Because of his grief for his friend, as well as another argument in a long history of fights with the Not-Wife, he kept calling into his job. Since he was a recent hire, they let him go. The friend’s mother’s death was a surprise to everyone.

The text instead of a phone call, from his snobby Aunt, to let him know his dad died was the final blow. He has been upset. His ex has been helping him deal with some of the loss. They are still close friends who will stop fighting and help each other out, and then resume arguing later.

Later….

I got a text from the Boomerang Child. He had a trip to the ER. He’s trying to stop drinking, but without his gut being numbed by alcohol, his throat and stomach rebelled. I wish him luck, but alcoholism flows through his genetic makeup.

I came close once, but made a conscious decision to control my drinking. Of course, if you look in the wardrobe in my bedroom, you’d find a nice selection of labels. But they’re hidden, but not from me but from my son. Alcohol interferes with my meds so I’d rather use it as flavoring and as a base for tinctures and extracts. I’ll probably toss most of it, including the wine stashed in the basement. I don’t think it’s aged well. I’m not certain I even want to open the bottles.

My son brought me a Mike’s Harder Lemonade as a birthday drink. I sipped about an ounce before my head went funny. It took me 20 minutes to drink that much. The rest got spilled on the floor when my dizzy self tried to stand up. It took at least 10 of my shop rags to blot it all up off the floor. He thought I drank it all because I poured a bottle of lemon water into a glass with ice. It looked the same.

More paintings coming soon.