Had my brother lived he would have been 70 years old yesterday. However, he could never get the sobriety thing right and eventually succumbed in 2001 from years of drinking, smoking and drug abuse.

Robert made a few feeble attempts at recovery. However, he couldn’t relate to the people in the 12-step rooms. He used to say, “I’m not like those other guys.” And then he would go on to talk about what he used to have before life forced him into a recovery program. However, he had a selective memory, one that recalled what life was like prior to the last few years of his drinking. He was remembering when he had a home in the desert outside Palm Springs, California and a source of income from the odd jobs he held from time-to-time. By the time he finally entered a TLC recovery program in Las Vegas, Nevada, he’d wrecked the truck in which he’d been living and was homeless. He remained at the recovery program for several months, but abruptly left one day in a fit of anger. As he left the program he told the manager, "fuck you, and fuck TLC." He was dead six months later.

In spite of my differences with my brother I loved him and wish today that he’d been as blessed as I have been in finding recovery.