If I Die Before I Wake by Barb Rogers

grass and flowers frozen in mid-growth, the car completely covered with a layer of ice. I won't be going anywhere today … and what about my rabbit? Although I feel bad for the kids who won't be at the park for the Easter egg hunt, I'm glad I already got paid for the costume.
    Between the money I made for the costume and money I made at Christmas for creating handmade piñatas, I have enoughstuck away in a can in the kitchen cabinet to purchase the air conditioner. Things are looking better.
    Spring comes slowly, but with the bright sunshine emerges a feeling of hope. I don't mind the cold, or the snow and ice, but I hate the gray days that seem to last forever in Illinois. One more week, and I'll be going to the store to buy a small air conditioner for my bedroom. It will be like heaven after last year. I'm proud that for the first time in my life, I'm doing things right: working, paying my own bills, making my way in life without the help of a man, without lying or cheating anyone. It feels good.
    ——

    Something is wrong with Angel. I fall to the floor next to her jerking body. She goes limp in my arms. NO! Not my Angel. God, please don't take her from me. I can't breathe. I can't think. I've got to do something. Laying her gently on the bed, I dial Jack's number. He comes quickly. By the time he arrives, Angel is up, but disoriented and walking in circles. Carefully, I wrap her in a blanket and hold her close as Jack drives us to the vet.
    “It sounds like a seizure,” the vet says. “I'll have to run some tests.”
    An hour later, I'm home alone. I didn't want to leave her, but had no choice. I pace. I want to pray, but the words won't come. When I asked God to take care of my son, he died. I can't lose Angel. She's all I have. Startled by the ring of the phone, Irun to grab the receiver and answer. It's the vet. He wants to see me. “Is she okay?,” I say, unsure if I want to hear the answer. He assures me she will be all right, but he needs to talk to me about her condition. She has epilepsy.
    On the drive to the vet's office, I consider what I know about epilepsy. One of Dad's wives had it. Once, she fell on the floor against a heat vent, and it left terrible burns on her body. I look at the can on the seat next to me. I wonder if I'll have enough money to pay for the tests. I can live without the air conditioner, but I'm not sure I can make it without Angel.
    Inside, I can't believe she looks so good. She seems like her old self, licking, wagging her tail, so happy to see me. I'm relieved. The vet says, “You've got some decisions to make. She's going to have this for the rest of her life. There is medication you can give her to control the seizures, but at her age… .” He gives me a look. I know what he's talking about. It's not going to happen. I'll do whatever I have to, but he's not killing my dog.
    Back home, lying across the bed with Angel next to me, I look into her large, brown, trusting eyes and say, “No matter what, I'll always take care of you. No one will ever hurt you.” I can't hold back the tears. Helen's going to die. Angel's going to die. Life is never going to get any better. I need a drink. I need a lot of drinks. I can't do this anymore. I'm tired, my heart hurts all the time, memories of the awful things I've done continue to flood my mind, I can't stop thinking about drinking, and no matter what those people in AA say, it's not working for me. Sleep comes, but with it the ever-present nightmares that plague me. I wake up screaming.
    It's nearly meeting time. While combing my hair and dabbing on makeup, I wonder why I bother. It's true, I feel better physically, look better, but I live in constant turmoil and fear. If the fears don't come out in my waking hours, they invade my dreams. Recently, many of my dreams involve drinking. They're so real I can almost taste the whiskey in my mouth, and I experience the feelings of guilt and remorse upon awakening. I shake my head. I've got