Finding My Way Home

Epilogue

Diane

Today is the two-year anniversary of the accident, and while I try not to think about it, it's hard not to as I watch Ethan help Kellie get ready for school. I've thought a lot about that day. Part of my therapy is to accept and move on, and I've done that, but occasionally my mind flashes back to the accident. Today is one of those days. Ethan and Kellie continue to bicker about her eggs. It's funny when I think about it. Two years later, and Kellie still does not like how I cook her eggs. Talk about déjà vu!

My beautiful son finally moved out of the house and into his own apartment, which his father and I subsidize. It's difficult for him to concentrate with all the noise in the house. Fluffy is a terror, and between the baby, the dog, and Kellie, I think my son was about to jump off the roof. Kellie misses her brother, but her primary focus is on Olivia. She no longer plays with her friends after school. She comes home from school and plays with her sister. It is so sweet seeing how they bond with each other.

"Let's go, Kellie. You will be late for school."

"Okay, Dad, I just want to kiss Olivia goodbye."

It doesn't escape me that Ethan is now Dad and not Daddy. My baby is growing up. Once the house is quiet, I feed Olivia and clean up the kitchen. I am about to give Olivia her bath when I hear the doorbell. It surprises me when I see a registered letter from Ethan's cousin, Brian Williams. When I open the envelope, there is a letter and another envelope inside it.

Dear Diane,

I know this comes out of left field, and I am sorry if this upsets you. Last week I received a call from Michael Dougherty. He has completed his sentence early, and the judge released him from home monitoring. He called me and asked if he could speak to you. I told him that is not possible, and instead, he wrote you the enclosed letter. It is up to you whether you want to read what he has to say. I have an obligation to deliver the letter to you. I hope you, Ethan, and the children are well. Give my best to your family, and Carol and I will visit soon.

Take care,

Brian

What could he possibly have to say to me? I don't want to read the letter. It's been two years, and I've put this behind me. The last thing I need is to re-open old wounds. I pick up my daughter and go into the living room, where I place her in her crib and sit in the chair next to her. I don't know what to do. Maybe I need to hear what he has to say, and once I do, this will be the end of it for me. I take a deep breath and open the letter.

Dear Mrs. Miller,

I have thought about you for the past two years, and now that my sentence is over, I felt it was time to say a few things to you. First, I'll never know if you have read this letter, and that's okay. Part of my therapy is to atone for past mistakes. It is part of the AA twelve-step program. I had a lot of time to think about my life and figure out where I went off the rails. I never thought I had a problem with alcohol until that awful day. This was not my first arrest for driving while intoxicated, but it certainly is my last. The memory of that day will never leave me. When I saw how you were injured, I wanted to die because it was my fault. I knew I was tired when I got into my car. I should never have stopped for a few beers with my friends.

After the verdict, my parents made me attend AA meetings, and at first, I wanted nothing to do with them. I was in denial, and my parents physically dragged me out of the house once they got permission from the court that it was okay for me to leave the house. If I refused, they would contact the judge and have me remanded to the custody of the court. I was angry with them, angry with myself, and angry at the world. My friends took the high road because I was no longer their drinking friend. It took a long time for me to not only realize but also accept that I have a problem. I will always be an alcoholic, and it has taken me two years to find the courage to say these things to you.