My mom got sober in the early 80's.  I "grew up" in AA.   Honey, as everyone knew her, was everyone's sponsor. She was a sought-after speaker at anniversaries, opened her home to those with nowhere to go on the holidays, and threw the best sober parties. She was generous, funny, kind, vivacious, and absolutely stunning. People gravitated toward her. Everyone wanted to be around Honey.  She ran a home daycare business and shaped the lives of many of the children she cared for - beyond her support of people in sobriety - her impact on people, in general, was larger than life. 

Fast forward to the mid-2000s - after a divorce, she fell victim to the opioid epidemic. It started like it did for so many: a prescription for oxy, then a higher dose, then the downward spiral. Alcohol crept back in, and eventually, crack.

I was her primary support. I remember driving through rough neighborhoods, pulling her off the streets, checking her pockets so there weren’t crack pipes in the car with my kids.  My husband supported me as I supported her, never questioning why I kept trying. Because addiction doesn’t just take the addict. It ripples out, pulling in everyone.

She lost the battle in 2017. A fentanyl overdose.

Supporting an addict isn’t glamorous. There are no galas, no meal trains, no community fundraisers.

Honey ran her marathon for a long time. And for much of it, she won. Her sober years shaped me, gave me the best years of my life, and made me who I am today.

My dad ran the NYC Marathon at 50, and my sister did it when she got back from Afghanistan. I turn 40 this year and couldn't think of a better way to celebrate the life my mom gave me by supporting a cause that, at her highest points, gave my mom the best years of her life.