As a boy, while in bed late at night, I would hear my mother go downstairs to the kitchen. She would pull open the freezer door and drop ice cubes clinking into a glass and go back to bed, drink in hand, to watch TV. In the mornings, I would find her glass in the sink and catch a whiff of an odor I then found strange and strong.  

Night after night, year after year, my mother secretly repeated this ritual. One night, without a word to anyone, she left the house in her car. My father had no idea where she had gone and got on the phone to try to track her down.

My sister and I waited for the next few hours with a growing sense of dread. Our mother had disappeared into the night. Then we saw lights in our driveway flashing blue and red from a police car. Next, we heard our mother come up the steps from our den laughing. 

Later, we asked our father what had happened and he told us. My mother had stopped in a bar and drank until drunk. She had driven onto the George Washington Bridge, about 11 miles from our home, and parked in the middle. Then she got out of her car and approached the railing.

That’s where the police found her. My mother was standing there, staring down at the Hudson River 200 feet below. 

Only........

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