In which my trip is delayed

Plans were made. I decided to go with Toby to Northern California to visit my family on Monday January 31. On the Thursday before that I received a devastating phone call from the son of one of my closest friends. He told me that his brother had committed suicide. I had spent the first days of his life, helping my friend, his mother, my friend learn to care for him. He was the apple of his father's eye, his mothers pride and joy. My background as a nurse and mother myself was just what was needed to get them all off on the right foot. 'Mary'(not her real name) and I shared the joys and trial of motherhood over the years. As time went by it became apparent that both of our sons had serious problem with mental illness. drug abuse and alcoholism. We both struggled to understand and to cope. Our lives were dotted with good times and bad. There were hospitalizations, and rehab. We went to alanon meetings and read books on codependency. We did our best to not be part of the problem. But it wasnt easy. When do you stop being a mother, stop trying to help your son find his way and look to yourself and your needs? Neither of us knew the answer. Mary's son married twice. The second marriage was to an alcoholic. My son was never able to keep a relationship going long enough to get married. Mary's son had a son. He was 2 1/2 when his father put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
The next week was spent supporting my friend through the nightmare of funeral plans, and custody hearings for her grandson. My sister who is also close to Mary flew down to spend the weekend with her after the funeral.
On Monday my sister and I drove to Northern California with Toby in the back seat. Our thoughts were with Mary and what she was going through. I told Shirley that it could be me next, sitting beside the body of my son. He was killing himself just as surely as Bob did. He was taking the slow route with alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.