Ramblings of an Inquisitive Mind

The Little Man’s Soul

Well, my adventures continue!

Lately I have been thinking a lot about being where my body is. That is a hard thing to do 24 hours a day. In fact, it can be exhausting. Trying to train my mind to notice the small things, the everyday things I pass by a million times, seems impossible when I have such a tendency to live in my head, thinking. About what? Everything.

So I am headed home after work last night and I decide to call and talk to Kim. See how good I am at being where my body is? Not! I am driving down Cedar Shoals talking to Kim when I see him. I say to Kim, “Damn, there is a cat that has been hit and he’s still alive. I have to go back and get him.” She says, “Pick him up and take him to the vet and have him put down.” We hang up and I start looking for a place to turn around.

The traffic on Cedar Shoals is horrible at this time of day. I am finally able to pull over, turn around, and head back to my newfound friend. I am sure someone will have hit him again before I get back. I see him and pull into the next drive, then jump out of the truck and run to where he is. He is just sitting there, head up but not moving.

Now, how am I going to get an injured cat out of the middle of the road without either being mauled by the cat or being run over myself? I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to help an injured animal, but they can hurt you, not out of meanness but out of pain. Dogs are bad but cats are another story. They are like tiny ninja warriors, teeth and claws flying. I don’t have anything other than my coat to throw over him. It is a new coat so I am not thrilled with this idea, but I will do it if need be.

I approach the cat and just talk to him. He seems dazed, still laying down with his head up but not moving. I notice a little blood under him but it doesn’t look too bad. Okay, so here goes. I reach for him, still talking to him. Touch him – scruff him – pick him up. He purrs. I head back to the truck, trying to keep myself and him calm. Get in the truck and Sylvia calls – she is on Cedar Shoals and will follow me to the vet. Good – always best to have a friend.

I call Kim back and ask her to call Dr. Smith and tell him I am on my way. I put the cat in the seat next to me and he doesn’t move for the whole trip. I begin thinking that maybe he died; I notice a little more blood on the seat. I get to the vet’s office a little before 6 – they close at 6. I reach over and scruff the little guy and he growls a little, but I pick him up and we head inside. He growls again once we are inside and the tech grabs a couple of towels and makes a kitty burrito, with him secured inside.

The vet has already left for the day but after a few calls he heads back to the clinic. We sit with the cat and talk about him. He is beautiful – intact and it appears that he only has an injury to the side of his face. He is very calm and just sits on the table as the tech tries to clean the wound. The vet comes in and takes a look at him. Then he looks at me. “What do you want to do? Do you want to save him or put him down?” I look at Sylvia, then back at the cat. I cannot do it. “See what you can do for him,” I say.

First he checks for feline leukemia and feline AIDS – that will give us a little info. He is negative, so now we work on getting him healthy.

He spends the night at the vet and I will check on him tomorrow. I am concerned about the cost because I am still trying to pay off hospital and chemo bills, but I just could not euthanize him. When I looked at him and realized that he was not injured beyond repair, the only thing I could see was his little man soul. I know some of you will think I’m crazy and you’re probably right. But I swear that is what I saw. Even though his eyes were shut and he was in rough shape, I just knew it wasn’t his time.

After I found Freddie, my friend Beth told me, “You are a poet, a playwright, an author, an artist, a rescuer of animals . . . You choose.”  Yes. Yes I am. I don’t know that I am choosing these things as much as they are choosing me. Because of fear, my creativity has been buried deep inside for many years, but now it cannot be contained. I am becoming the true me – the me I am meant to be. I think the animals also choose me. I have learned so much from each of them that my life becomes richer with each one. Each one is a beautiful living being who puts its trust in me – a being who is willing to love unconditionally. In the end, I guess that should be my goal also: to love unconditionally.

Living Sober

I am always so amazed at how my life works. On Friday, I started my day remembering that it has been 26 years since I began my journey as a recovering alcoholic. I was full of gratitude and truly humbled when I thought of the many people I have met during this journey who are no longer here on this earth. My life has been blessed and I have met some of the most wonderful people in the world while on this journey. It turned out to be a day rich in insights for me.

After getting to work and settling in, I got a text from my wonderful friend Marge. It just said, “Happy 26th.” She always remembers and is one of only a few people who do remember my sobriety date. Marge and I started recovery together and we have both weathered the storms. She is a heart friend – always has been and always will be. We made it through the first few years of sobriety by going to meetings, sitting together, laughing together, and making lots of coffee. Those  were not always my best days, but they are days I will cherish for the rest of my life.

I was brought to my first meeting by my friend Barbara. She is the one who told me, “They say if you are experiencing blackouts, you might be an alcoholic.” She never knew how much those words stuck in my head. Barbara passed away a few years ago, and even though she struggled with sobriety, she made a huge difference in my life. I didn’t stick on my first try at sobriety and it was Barbara who was there to push me in the back (literally) to pick up a white chip and start again.

I had been experiencing blackouts for a few years, so Barbara’s words scared the shit out of me. I didn’t run to a meeting immediately, but every time I came to from a blackout the words were there. One of the things I think opened my eyes more than anything else was when one of the biggest dopeheads I knew told me, “If you can’t remember what you said or did last night, you are pitiful.” Wow – I am sure she never knew how much those words changed my life. It is so strange when I think of some of the people who are put in our paths for certain reasons. At that time, I don’t think this woman ever thought about getting clean and sober and I have no idea what ever happened to her.

At my first meeting, a woman talked about what it meant to be sober and she also said, “Make sure you get plenty of sleep, eat right, and go to meetings.” With those words, I had found a place where people really did care. I asked her to be my sponsor, and she was for a short time. She was beautiful but tortured by demons. She experienced brief periods of sobriety but would go back out and return in much worse shape. The last time I saw her I did not even recognize her; drugs and alcohol had destroyed all her beauty. I got a call last month from a friend in Augusta telling me that this woman had died. Disowned by her family, living in a personal care home, and not clean and sober. It is hard to believe this woman helped me so much but was unable to help herself. Life is hard.

I am thinking about all these things while I am at work, feeling grateful and sad at the same time. I stop by a coworker’s office and we begin talking. First about work, but then things turn more personal. You know me – I love to ask questions, and for some reason most people seem happy to share their stories with me. This coworker tells me they have been sober for five years. I am floored – I cannot believe that this person shared this with me on this particular day. We exchange stories and now have a bond that has grown even stronger. I feel totally blessed and all feels so right in my world.

At the end of a hard day at work, I look at my friend Johnny and say, “I know it’s bad, but I’m stopping and getting a Coke on the way home.” He looks at me in disbelief because I have been trying to get off sugar and have been drinking only unsweet tea at work. Then one of the young men in our office pipes up and says, “What you really need is some alcohol.” I reply, “No, that is definitely not what I need.”

He then begins to tell me that I cannot be a recovering alcoholic all my life. That at some point I have to be recovered – and then I can drink. He goes into the whole spiel about the difference between “recovering” and “recovered,” and says recovery programs just brainwash people into believing they are recovering instead of recovered.

I could not believe it. I just looked at him and shook my head; I’ve heard all these arguments so many times that I’ve grown tired of hearing them. All I know is that I have not had a drink in 26 years, something I’ve accomplished by not picking up a drink one day at a time. I hate to think what would have happened to me if Barbara had not taken me to my first meeting. Where would I be today? The one thing I’m sure of is that I would not be who I am today. I have struggled at times with being sober, but at least I have had the opportunity for growth.

Sometimes life just makes me laugh. Who could have imagined that I would have these two experiences on this particular day of my life? I believe someone, somewhere, has a great sense of humor. I am grateful for both of these interactions because they reassure me that I am on the right path and that I should keep walking this path one day at a time . . . sober.