Chapter 6: A Mother’s Son
Katherine Williams-Boxford, my mother, drank herself to death. At age sixty-five she had found a way of ruining her liver and the once-sturdy relationships she had with her two children, Cissy and me. Mother failed to seek help for her addiction, took on the role of skin and bones, and never believed for once that she had had a real problem, which were all typical in an alcoholic’s short life.
How many times had I insisted she go to AA meetings or seek out other conventional methods of help in her life? Too many to count. Never had she listened to me, which had ended up killing our relationship and dissolving any form of communication between us in her later years. And never had she listened to Cissy’s prying, unable to comprehend her daughter’s methodic remedy
