The first time my son, Zack, died was just after his 18th birthday. The kind, funny, charming young man who never failed to light up a room, died slowly. Though his physical body remained, the person I knew and loved gradually slipped away while being replaced, piece-by-piece, by a burgeoning addict. It is like watching […]
The first time my son, Zack, died was just after his 18th birthday. The kind, funny, charming young man who never failed to light up a room, died slowly. Though his physical body remained, the person I knew and loved gradually slipped away while being replaced, piece-by-piece, by a burgeoning addict. Read More