By Susan B. RaphaelOriginal Source: thefix.comReminiscent of a playful kaleidoscope, the sparkling booze-filled bottles that lined the wall tempted my youthful will.There was something magical about that glass wall at Bemelman’s – a former Toronto hotspot – where I once lunched with my father after visiting my mom in palliative care. Maybe it seemed magical because it’s one of my last good memories before everything changed. Or maybe it’s because that wall was foretelling, reminding me of a certain fragility that with one swift move, life could easily shatter.What I knew for sure is the bar was like a mirror that reflected an inner thirst.
The moment the bitter-sweet sting of alcohol touched my tongue, I felt a tinge of weakness by the power it afforded me.I knew I wanted more.I didn’t have ...click here to continue reading
