In early February, I finished reading Elizabeth Vargas’s book: Between Breaths: A Memoir of Panic and Addiction. Like so many other good books I have read, approaching the last pages, I wonder how in the world of words can the writer conclude their story in so few pages? Then, POW! Because all books have to stop on a page, (even though life stories continue to unfold), Elizabeth’s wrap-up punched a hole in this reader’s armor. Bodily reaction to the pain she so poignantly described included tightness in my chest, shallow breathing, leaking eyes, and an audible gasp as this book made me think about my mom. My mom was a…