There is No Situation too Difficult to be Bettered.....

I went to my first Al Anon candlelight meeting this year.  It was really lovely. Someone read a special opening and then expressed gratitude for what Al Anon had done to enrich her life.  Then we went around the room taking turns sharing what we had to be grateful for. 

We all shared how our lives had changed since living the program.  One person spoke about how hearing the phrase, "no situation is too difficult to be bettered" which is read in our closing, had been a gift of hope for them early on. 

Others had learned to live a life without constant fear and anxiety in the midst of a loved one's addiction.  A few were shocked at a life that had so radically turned itself around after losing hope just a year before. 

I love Al Anon.  I love my Catholic faith.  Each has sustained me through the battles of addiction.  Al Anon helped me to learn practical ways of living my faith.  It gave me a tremendous support network and taught me a lot about humility. 

Just wanted to share my experience, hope and strength before the year's end.

Three Steps in Three Years

A couple of days ago, the Dad and I received a call from the Son's work.  It was 6pm and the Son was supposed to be at work at 4pm.  He was a no show and they were worried about him.  He had been late for the last two days.  This is the kind of call we all worry about receiving. 

The Dad called one of his friends to see if he knew how to get in touch with him (his phone had run out of minutes).  He hadn't heard from him.  So the Dad decided to drive to the city to try to roust him in his apartment.  Of course our first thought, as many of you can easily guess was, "will we find him alive?"

I didn't go with the Dad.  I calmly said that I just didn't think I could go not knowing what we'd find.  He agreed.  He thought that I should stay home.  Five minutes later the Dad came through the door and said, "he's alive."  His friend managed to find him and he called....... drunk, but he called.

The snowball is starting to roll downhill fast.  And yet, it is sadness that I feel, instead of panic.  All day yesterday I started thinking about the way that I was feeling.  I started to wonder if my heart had grown hard.  The feelings are so different than they were before.  Yes, I am worried.  I know where this is headed.  I know that things will get radically worse before than have any chance of getting better.  But, still I'm not a nervous wreck.  I'm not pasting on a fake smile.  I am a little sad.  I am tired from the ups and downs of this disease.  But anxiety has mostly left the building.

Last night I was to choose the topic for our Al Anon meeting.  I wanted to talk about this most recent experience and so I was trying to get to the root of what had changed.  What had happened to make this frightening experience bearable?  And then I realized that for the first time, I had actually 'made the decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of God as I understand Him.'

Finally, I knew that this madness was out of my control.  Finally, I accepted that God was the only thing that could restore my sanity and finally I decided to allow God to handle this because He knows far better than me.  And, there is peace in this madness.  The anxiety is gone. 

I've been in Al Anon for three years.  There have been a number of times where I've thought that I "had" the first three steps.  But, really it took three years to really get it.  I realize that if I am not careful, I can go right back to insanity.  But for today I am grateful for a loving God who is at the helm.  I am grateful for rest while in His care.  I am grateful for my Al Anon family group. 

Praying always for you and your loved ones.

 

May Be Good, May Be Bad....

There is this Chinese Proverb that I've heard many times.  The first time that I heard it was in a family intensive out patient session.  The story is an important one for families of addicts and alcoholics to understand and more importantly, to accept.  I find myself stressing less and instead looking to each thing that happens with curiosity.  "I wonder what I am to learn from that?"

The Son lost another person he knew from his first rehab.  It was the second person to die in three weeks.  The Dad has a coffee drinking buddy who lost his son to cirrhosis of the liver this week.  We went to the visitation last night and as this older Dad sat and received each of us his soft touch extended beyond taking our hands as he tried to encourage us that our son still had such great hope. 

I misplaced a couple of things of value right after the Son's last visit.  My mind instantly went "there".  I tore apart my closet and other places trying to find the items that I had misplaced.  I was sick.  Even though I knew in my heart that our last visit was the most real of any visit we'd had in a long time, I knew that I had to acknowledge that items were missing and he had been here at the same time. 

So, I accused him and he denied.  I told him that I didn't believe him.  He told me to keep looking for them.  Nothing new.  I was so conflicted, this time.  Our visit seemed so genuine.  And then, I found one item and then the next.  Did I blow it?  Will he open up to me again after what I did?  What am I to learn from all of this? 

Have I mentioned how much I hate this disease?  I'm giving it to God.  I don't know how to restore what I have broken.  I promptly admitted and apologized. But, I hurt his feelings at a time where he was showing vulnerability......exactly what I didn't want to do. 

Time will tell but in the mean time, I praying for Henry and all of you.



 

Without Condition

Within the last three weeks, the Son has lost two people that he knew from his first rehab experience.  It has been a very sobering experience for all of us.  The Son is very hurt.  Addicts have a really hard time dealing with pain.  He came to visit and things weren't going all that well between us.  The Dad wisely reminded me how difficult it is for an addict to handle pain.  "Pray for him and love him" he said. 

It was the message that I needed.  Fear had me panicking about the way he was behaving.  I was reacting.  But when I was reminded to pray and love, I started to see the Son as someone who was heart broken and afraid.  Instead of looking for what I considered as "right" behavior, I could see him.  I could see his hurt. 

I shut my mouth.  I just loved him.  I prayed for him to have the desire and courage to work towards his own health.  Then out of the blue he started reading one of the many books on recovery that are on our shelves.  He asked if he could take it home. 

Today, he opened up to me more than I EVER remember.  He shared his concerns and let go of some of the toxic feelings that he's so good at carrying around.  It was truly a miracle.  It was an unexpected gift.  And I believe that it all happened because this family is attempting to love the right way.

My mom died 15 years ago today.  I think she's praying for us.  Feeling thankful and praying for Henry and all of you.

Perpetual Worry

My mama sent two boys to Vietnam.  I 've always had a hard time imagining how terrifying that must have been.  One brother was in the Army.  He had a one year tour.  He came home skinny but okay.  The other brother was a Marine.  He was shot by sniper fire in the knee because he was carrying the radio.  He came home within a couple of months of leaving but the scars extended beyond his leg wound.

I have always heard one story in particular that is fascinating to me.  I was only four at the time and because I don't have a memory of it, I rely on the memories of others.  My mother saw an official car drive down the driveway.  She mistakenly thought that if  an official came to your door, there was a death.  She must have gone into a blind panic because as these men got out of the car, she took off her shoes and started throwing them at them and yelled at them to get off of her property. 

Last week the third young man that I knew, in six months, was buried due to overdose.  This young man went to the same high school with the Son.  He was at the same rehab with the Son when he went the first time.  He also attended the second program that the Son attended and they spoke by phone to each other often.  All of those facts caused me to feel that "take off my shoes and throw them" type of reaction.

I guess things never change.  Maybe the impetus of worry is different.  But worry and suffering remain.  It is out of my control.  Those first three of the twelve steps are really the hardest to swallow.  They have layers and layers for me to understand. 

The Son struggles.  And, I struggle to accept.  But, today I do.  I guess that is all that I can ask for.  I am praying for an increase in faith, for your Henry and mine.

 

Southern Festival of Books

  I spent a couple of days at the Southern Festival of Books this weekend.  I'd always wanted to go but had never made time for it or really knew what all it offered.  Now that I know how it works, I'm afraid that I will be there every year buying too many books, as usual. 

Yesterday, I heard only one author speak, Rick Bragg.  He was such an entertaining feller, as my Dad would have said.  He writes a monthly essay which can be found in the back of Southern Living magazine.  It is usually an observation of some aspect of a life lived while growing up in the south.  He is a Pulitzer prize winning journalist for the NY Times and the author of six books, all non fiction.  His memoir, All Over but the Shoutin'  is the story of his mother's sacrifice to raise three boys alone after their abusive, alcoholic husband and father  abandoned them. 

I got there a little early and saw him as I was heading in to listen to him speak in a fair sized auditorium.  He spoke to me and looked me in the eye as if maybe I was someone that he knew and couldn't remember. 

Afterwards he signed books.  I got in a very long line and waited while he took time to listen to each person who came up with a book to be signed, who shared a bit of themselves with him, telling him why his book meant so much to each of them.  Many asked for writing advice and most wanted their picture made with him.  When I got up there I wasn't sure what to say but I said, "my grandfather was an alcoholic and it deeply affected my dad and my son suffers with drug and alcohol addiction...."  "Well, then you know these people,"he said while tapping his finger on the pages of his book.  "Yes, I do."  I said. 

And, I thought that maybe I know him too.  And, it occurred to me that he looked me in the eye, not because I was someone that he thought he knew, but that when you know the faces of those in the margins, you make it a point to make sure that you really look at them and others.  When you've loved a person that society discounts, whether you've been angry with them or not, whether they've made their amends or not, you still realize that they are a person. You are careful to look at others knowing that they have a story too.

Maybe I read too much into it.  Maybe not.  His book is really an interesting story.  It is a picture of addiction and poverty which often walk hand in hand. It is an account of a Mama feeling guilty for the way things turned out....  a portrait of the south in all of it's good and bad parts.  It did sound familiar.

Today is one of the last days in the eighties, at least this week.  It seems like summer never ends and then winter just hits.  I did buy books as Christmas gifts.  It was a lot of fun.  I'm learning to enjoy myself....Praying today for all of our loved ones. 

That Ah-Ha Moment

In the Homeward Bound class at the jail, we talk about awareness a lot.  Many times as I sit and listen to them talk, I am surprised by how unaware they are of themselves.  I guess, foolishly,  I feel very (quite prideful) aware of who I am.  But then something happens to knock me off my self built pedestal which just shocks the socks off of me.

The Son had visited with the Dad and I and we both felt that things weren't going well.  Since I had a few other family crisis to deal with, it was easy to set it aside.  I took him back to his apartment on Tuesday as usual, my mind raced to all of the things that I typically  say to him and each time a thought would come, I would chant this little mantra in my head: " You will just be wasting breath".

It was a pretty quiet ride back.  But, when I dropped him off, I was pretty proud of myself.  It's quite a feat for me to keep my mouth shut.  I had accepted that nothing I could say would change anything.  But then I got home and the other crisis of the day seemed to reach a resolution and so what did I do?  I know all of you fellow Al Anon friends can guess.  I started to worry.  I started stewing and replaying all of the things that he did and said.

I had worked myself up into a big frenzy.  If you saw me in my home, I'm sure you'd ask, " does she have a history of mental illness?"  Somewhere amidst the begging, God, in his annoyance mercy gave me an understanding.  That's the best way for me to describe it.  But, I had maybe a better understanding and awareness of our situation.  It was almost instantly given and it brought peace.

This is the idea that came to mind.  I remembered when we started the process of selling our home, looking for a new one and going to the bank to get a loan.  Asking my ADD brain to do the work needed to complete those tasks was like asking me to climb Kilimanjaro.  Overwhelming can't even adequately describe my feelings during that time.  The Dad is a details machine.  He is in his element with lists and fine print.  Early in the process I told him that I couldn't do those tasks.  I would organize emptying a home that we had occupied for almost twenty years.  I would have yard sales, make trips to Goodwill, organize all those mementos in the attic, pack and move, but please don't make me deal with banks and relators. 

It was the perfect division of labor.  I still had hard work to do, but, the worry left me because I knew that he would handle it perfectly.  All of the sudden, it occurred to me that this was the same.  I couldn't fix my son.  It was too big for me.  If I could trust my husband to handle a move, why couldn't I trust God with the Son.  Suddenly, I was able to understand the relationship that I needed to have with my higher power.  Comparing it to the relationship with the Dad helped me to see that help is there if only I will take it. 

It's a beautiful Saturday here in Tennessee.  Tomorrow our temperatures will drop to the low seventies.  I'm ready for the air to get cooler.  I'm going to clean my house, finish a little laundry, start a new crafty project, walk the dogs and maybe go watch the Dad ride his horse.  That's all possible because I've handed that over ( at least for now) Ha! 

Feeling grateful but still praying.....