By Glenny Rosario
I was a little girl staying at my cousin’s house when my aunt came into the room to wake us up. I can still remember the bunk beds: I was on the top one. All she said was, “Get ready, we are going to church.”
My fifteen-year-old sister had been hit by a drunk driver and killed instantly. I remember standing at the coffin, confused and afraid, with no explanation from the adults around me. That moment left an imprint on me, though I couldn’t understand it at the time. I was only seven years old, and I had already experienced the fragility of life.
Years later, as a single mother for my two boys, Brian and Brendon, I poured my entire life into them. I worked full-time in customer service for over 35 years, structured my days around their needs and managed everything from school drop-offs to dinner, homework and bedtime. I was proud of being their rock, but I was also struggling. I was trapped in a cycle of anxiety, panic attacks and unhealthy coping mechanisms like drinking. My heart was in the right place. I thought I was putting my family first, but I didn’t realize that by neglecting my well-being, I was not setting the right example for them.
