March is a difficult month for my family. Years ago we lost three family members to the same disease I have. This wasn't the first time for my family at large, but it certainly was for my sisters and I.
To honor them, I want to finish March with honesty ... and let someone else say what can be found in my heart.
Months ago I met Joe at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. “Hi sweetheart, how ya doing,” is his line. Usually to my sponsor, not to me.
Before tonight I knew this about him:
1. He’s very handsome- in a boyish, charming way.
2. He got sober at 16 because he fell off a bike and scared his mom. He didn’t want to become his Dad, so he joined AA.
3. He recently celebrated 25 years.
… And the real old-timers, men and women with 30, 40 years, always tease him for being a wimp (playfully, of course, and with respect.)
Tonight he sat next to a woman, Doreen, who shared about her husband’s recent death. After a week of not being able to find him, she came home to a voice message: the coroner had called. Her husband had died the night before in a motel 6. She identified his body this morning – when she shared she was shaking, and sobbing, and screaming – she found him in the bathroom, splayed out among bottles, vomit, feces… he had been there for 20 hours before anyone discovered him. He had 4 years of sobriety, and relapsed a week before, because he wanted to “show them.” Resentments are our greatest foe, says the big book, and I believe this to be true.
After she spoke Joe raised his hand. As always he introduced himself: “Joe, alcoholic.” But this time he turned and stared at her. He said,
“Hi Doreen, I’m Joe. I want to tell you something. Last year, eleven months ago, a car hit my fiancée. She had just received twenty years of sobriety. She was rollerblading, on the sidewalk, and a car swerved off the road. It was a freak thing – game over. I’ll never forget that night – I went to the hospital, and she died, dead, she was there, dead. She still had my ring, her ring, the ring that promised forever – on her finger.” He was still staring at Doreen, looking her dead in the eye. “So I walked out of the hospital room – numb and shocked and confused – and there was my sponsee, standing against the wall. I don’t know why I said this, and I have no idea where it came from, but I said, ‘Now you watch me. Now you watch closely. Look at what alcoholics anonymous does. Look at what I do and what I am, and see how alcoholics anonymous works.”
He can’t remember much after that, everything was a blur. But he stayed sober through it - he maintained his grace, his dignity - and kept his head high through what could have been his demise. I know this because every share after him was from people who had been there. People who helped him, and held him, and supported him in every step.
All I could think was: what a privilege this is. What a fucking privilege. To be able to sit here, listening to these people- not only to listen to them but to watch them walk through the pain and the tragedy – so that I, my sponsor, my fellows – we can walk through it later.
And just as these words were going through my head, a young woman shared almost verbatim the same thing.
This is what it’s all about.
No matter the state of your garden, as long as you care for your garden yourself, it is never too late to claim that which has always been yours.
