Identifying as an adult child of alcoholics for the first time at 39

Not forgiveness, but maybe acceptance of my dead alcoholic parents

My mother’s ring and my father’s coin.

I sit on the fluffy carpet, my legs pulled up, my back against the couch, my milk-drunk, sleepy newborn facing me, resting against my thighs. Eyes closed, mouth partially open with a little milk dribble trickling down her chin. I feel warm and relaxed, even though my nipples are…