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“On September tenth, after a busy day at the parish, and without any forethought, I stopped at a liquor store before I headed upstate to the Villa. I wouldn’t allow myself to recognize the insanity of drinking a bottle of wine as I drove to a rehab facility. I flashbacked to my father’s beer cans, in paper bags, between his legs as he drove. I was sure God was tapping on my shoulder, but I wasn’t responding. I coasted comfortably on autopilot, one of the most dangerous modes a human being can find themselves.” — Stephen H. Donnelly
On September tenth, after a busy day at the parish, and without any forethought, I stopped at a liquor store before I headed upstate to the Villa. I wouldn’t allow myself to recognize the insanity of drinking a bottle of wine as I drove to a rehab facility.
I flashbacked to my father’s beer cans, in paper bags, between his legs as he drove. I was sure God was tapping on my shoulder, but I wasn’t responding. I coasted comfortably on autopilot, one of the most dangerous modes a human being can find themselves.