As far as I know, my mom was okay before the death of a child who was named Charlie. He was my brother and I was named after him. That has had lifelong implications. But anyway, my mom apparently gave the other Charlie, Strep throat and he died of that, so her guilt and the feeling of loss were unsurmountable. I know how she felt because I checked on my kids until they were in their teens to make sure they didn't have crib death. Not that they slept in cribs by that time :).

There were no grief counselors at the time of Charlie's death, and my mother didn't have a lot of support from my dad who was also devastated. So she was in the worst place a parent could be. Her pain was so severe, she basically went crazy. She was diagnosed paranoid/schizophrenic and our family (had 4 siblings) was destroyed. In my latest book, I'll Get right Back to You and Other Annoyances, I describe how she was convinced that my dad was in contact with little green men on the moon who controlled her every thought and action.

My mothers outbursts were like air raids...you never knew when she would erupt, day or night. So my childhood was riddled with these nervewracking incidents. Mom was hospitalized at Creedmore, an insane asylum in NY when I was 10. My kid brother and I went to live with my older sister, Irene (15 yrs older) and had a wonderful, normal time. When my mom came out of the hospital, she was happy and enthusiastic, but slowly her malady returned and she was hospitalized twice more. Eventually, she responded to medicine and was stable for the last 20 yrs of her life.

So my family had it very tough, and my sister Irene, in particular, because she was a witness to our mom getting shock treatments on the kitchen table. How I escaped being afflicted with mental problems, I don't know. My sibs certainly have shown signs of emotional distress. One beloved sister had mental problems, and my older brother acts manic at times.

No one was to blame for this family tragedy--but it happened. I tried to avoid my own kids from having a painful life, I indulged them too much and the results were negative--hence my book "Don't Let Your Kids Kill You."

I'm happy to say that my mom had a joyous last five years. She was in a nursing home and was on every committee and seemed to be making up for a lost childhood (she was married at 15). She also had the most incredible sense of humor and when she died at 72, the doctors and the nurses all cried.