When my brother was drinking himself to death, he was alone. He didn’t die in the shabby Tulsa house he rented. That came a few days later in the hospital as his organs shut down, one by one. But I suspect there was a moment earlier on, it could have been months or years, where he saw two paths for his life. The first involved asking for help, treatment, backsliding numerous times, and the possibility of something approximating a fresh start. The second path involved cheap vodka, dim rooms with beige walls, and a tragic death. That’s one of the troublesome aspects of addiction, the idea that... Read More