Two years… My mom died two years ago — June 23, 2023. It happened fast. She went into the hospital on June 14 and never came home. Liver failure. Alcoholism. That’s what took her.

My mom was a functioning alcoholic.

So let’s talk about it.

She went to work. She took care of her kids. She crossed her t’s and dotted her i’s. She liked to have a good time. And most people didn’t see a problem.

When I called to share the news, so many people said the same thing: “I always remember her with a drink in her hand.”
“She was the life of the party.”

It’s strange hearing people say that with fondness, when that’s also what killed her.

But here’s the thing: she was still a good mom.
That might be hard for some people to understand.

Addiction is complicated. It’s messy. It doesn’t always look like chaos. Sometimes it looks like your mom making dinner, getting up early, teaching a classroom full of kids, calling to check on you, and holding the whole damn family together — while still slowly disappearing behind the scenes.

I didn’t know how bad it was.
She drank when I was a kid, sure, but I don’t remember her ever being fucked up. I remember her being there. I remember her showing up.

As I got older, I noticed more. Maybe she was drinking more. Maybe I was just paying better attention. I was an adult, seeing her not just as Mom, but as a full person.

I loved my mom fiercely. We were close. I talked to her every single day. The kind of mom you call when something funny happens, or when everything feels heavy and you need to hear, “You’re doing okay.” She was one of my best friends.

She gave me more than I think she ever gave herself.

Grief is strange. It doesn’t unfold in a straight line.
I miss my mom so much.

And I have so many questions for her.

But the loudest one is:
Why didn’t you get help?

Addiction is real.
Help is out there.
Please, if you’re struggling, reach for it.