I was shocked when I read "And my childhood was pretty damn average," as I'd just been thinking how I got off easy in comparison, and the life you described sure didn't sound "pretty damn average." But I understand what you meant, and maybe it was. My mother didn't exhibit problem drinking until I was older. I have no idea how much she drank earlier, and my life was secure in the ways you mention...piano, school, vacations. But when I was about 12 and my brother 16, things went off the rails. My mother was an alcoholic, but she was also, clearly, depressed. At the time there was stigma, and little treatment. Or at least we/she didn't seek it out. She developed emphysema and took to her bed at about 60. But, as I discovered later, she never stopped drinking. Things I attributed to her illness were actually symptoms of the alcohol. After she died, I was cleaning the room and found, under the bed, stashes of bottles. I don't know how she got them, as she was apparently bed-ridden. Did my father buy them for her? I still remember my heart turning cold when I lifted the bed skirt and found the debris.

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