He always loved his gin in the morning, noon, and night; it came to him like water and it was impossible for him to leave home without it. No one could ever sway him from his essential life fluid. It wouldn't matter whether you cried, pleaded, or begged on your two knees, he would not stop. He only started to drink this much when he was 35 and I was about 9 at the time, no one could explain this drastic change in him. Before, he used to drink often but now, it's just crazy how much he drinks. Also, when he did this he stayed more to himself than usual.
             His routine was mapped the same way day after day- go to work, come home, drink, eat, and sleep. Talking became alien to us because my mom and I was angry at him for not wanting to take care of himself better and he was angry with us for putting so much pressure on him to find out what's wrong. Anyone was lucky if they see a smile on our faces at any point because there were barely any happy moments and there was constant fighting. Arguments took over any type of talking we had to have with each other. After a while, it didn't matter if we tried to talk because it seemed as if we all fixed our schedules so we only had to spend as little time as possible with one another with the exception of having someone in the house in case of an emergency when he became sick.
             I could see the pain my mom was going through around this time. She was such a cheerful woman who always used to come home with a smile no matter how hard her day was. Now, all you saw was sadness as if someone just killed her soul. She seemed like she wanted to cry each time she stepped into the house. Her mind seemed to drift when she came home like she was in a coma. I knew she didn't want to live this life anymore by the way she dragged herself into the house, by the way she talks with dreariness and by her glassy eyes whenever she loked at me.
             For almost a year before we found out about his ...