Ramblings of an Inquisitive Mind

Missing Me

Seems like such a strange title, doesn’t it? But I really think that is what is wrong with me. As I was going to work today, I just felt like crying. And that’s when it hit me: I’m missing me!

The funny thing is, I don’t even know who “me” is anymore.

I think that after the battle with breast cancer last year, and all the ups and downs of this year, I have lost myself. I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize the woman with the curly hair staring back at me. What happened to that woman with the long blonde hair, the big smile, and the great laugh? I catch glimpses of her every now and then – but only glimpses. I miss her. It seems that a sadness has crept in and stolen her away. I want to find her again.

Crazy, right? I’m still walking around in the same body, but I feel totally disconnected from the person I used to be and even from the person that I am. I am constantly doing things for others, putting others first, and trying to make everyone and everything okay for everyone else. I am forgetting that taking care of myself is important – that if I don’t take care of me, my entire life will have been spent running in circles. And that is exactly how I feel. I’m constantly running but I never seem to get anywhere, accomplish anything, or feel good about me.

I am sure some of the craziness I feel can be attributed to menopause, taking Tamoxifen (my anti-breast cancer wonder drug), and the fact that I am not sleeping. I spend my days feeling like I’m going to either kill someone, go crazy, or drown in my own perspiration due to these damn hot flashes. I have started to think of myself as a new superhero: Perspiration Woman! Dressed in a superhero costume – a tie-dyed bodysuit covered in dog hair, with pink sweatbands on my wrists and a rainbow bandana on my head. I won’t need a golden lasso to stop criminals. I’ll just wipe my forehead with my hand and sling sweat on the ground to make the criminals slip and fall, and the world will be a safer place for all.

So the real question is, How do I find myself again? I am not sure. As I am writing this, I am wondering if I have ever really known who the hell I am. I have always been a person who can wear many masks. I can fit in almost anywhere I go. I am skilled at making others feel comfortable and listening to their problems. Johnny, my friend at work, tells me I should hang a sign over my desk like Lucy in the “Peanuts” cartoon: “Psychiatric Help – The Doctor is In.” I probably would have made a good therapist.

I don’t know if I have an answer to this question. I do miss that part of me that viewed the world through rose-colored glasses. It was a nice view. But as I grow older, I am realizing that life is hard. Everyone you meet is suffering in some way. My world has been turned upside down for a number of reasons: my own cancer, a dear friend with cancer, a mother with Alzheimer’s, worrying about my aging father trying to care of my mom, not living closer to my parents so I could help more with my mom, feeling guilty that my sister is carrying the weight of caring for our parents, struggling to get by each month on the money I make, and trying desperately to make sense out of this world that we live in.

I know people must think I’m crazy with all my dogs, cats, and goats, but my animals are the only thing that makes sense to me right now. A part of me thinks it would be nice to be an animal, not having to suffer the heartaches and heartbreaks of losing someone, and not having to worry about the way the world is going. But I also know that animals are much more aware than we give them credit for. So maybe they have their own struggles and heartaches. All I know is that at this point in my life they are just about the only thing that brings me comfort and joy. Yes, they need me, but I might need them even more. I supply them with food, but they nourish my soul.

For me, I think, the only way to find that person I miss so much is through my animals. Being near them, caring for them, makes me feel whole. I don’t know where I fit in this crazy world, but right here in Colbert, Georgia, I am needed and loved. Maybe – just maybe – that is enough.

Well, it is time for us to say goodbye to Solomon. He has been a wonderful dog and brought much joy and happiness to all of us. It is always so hard to make these decisions, knowing how much sorrow there will be once we say goodbye. But it is the best thing for Solomon. We will not allow him to suffer just so we can put off our suffering a little longer.

Early in my relationship with Sylvia, we decided to get another dog. We were living in the country and had just three Boston terriers at the time. It just felt like getting a big dog was the smart thing to do. We started looking at large breed dogs and Sylvia wanted something white and fluffy, so we decided on a Great Pyrenees. We located some puppies and off to Talmo, Georgia we went. We just went to look but fell in love with this gorgeous little fluff ball. He was in the barn with his brothers, sister, mom, dad and goats. We left him there but returned in a couple of days to pick him up.

I bought him for Sylvia and she held him all the way home. Now we just needed a name. It had to be a proper name, but we could not come up with anything. I looked at him and for some reason the name Solomon came to mind. It was and is the perfect name for him. He has very soulful dark brown eyes. When I look at him and he looks at me, I swear he can see deep into my soul. He is a comfort.

Now, I do not want you to get the wrong idea; Solomon was not a saint! I have cursed him and chased him and worried about him more than I care to remember. He was a jumper, and I could not keep him in a fence. He was always so proud of himself once he got over the fence. He would trot off and glance back at me – tongue hanging out one side of his mouth and that sparkle in his eyes – as if to say, “Screw you,” and he would be off on another adventure. I could swear I saw him wink a couple of times as he pranced off with that beautiful white tail held high, like a flag waving a sign of victory. I live in the country far off the main road, so he spent most of his time in the woods or trotting around to say hello to various neighbors. Everyone knew Solomon, and they always commented about what a nice dog he was.

He and his buddy, Patsy Cline, went on their last adventure together a couple of months ago. He has known Patsy since his puppyhood. I cannot say that she was the best of influences on him. She was pretty good at finding ways to escape and he was always right behind her. This last adventure was one for the ages. Patsy – or as I now call her, Houdini – chewed her way out of a soft crate, squeezed her overweight Boston terrier body through the cat door, and the adventure was on.

I came home from work expecting to find Patsy inside – but no. And no Solomon outside. I called and waited the usual time, expecting them to return after their foray, until concern turned to panic. I drove around asking people if anyone had seen them. Yes – a small black dog in the lead with a huge lumbering white dog following her. At one house, the woman told me she took a picture of them because it reminded her of the show Lost.

Solomon finally returned after a couple of days, but there was still no sign of Patsy. Hope was all but gone when we got a call about a small black dog. It was her – skinny, dirty and snake-bit – but it was her. Lorene picked her up and brought her to the house. The two escapees had their reunion and all seemed right with the world.

But we knew that in reality, all was not right with the world. Solomon had osteosarcoma and was getting worse. The cancer started in one leg and then it was in the other front leg. I stopped trying to fence him and let him spend his time in the shade in front of the pond. It felt good to drive in and see him sitting there – made the whole place seem safe.

I have often thought that our animals come into our lives for a reason. I have learned lessons from all of my animals. I listen to my animals and they speak to me. Solomon is no different from the others in this respect and he has taught me some wonderful lessons. What did Solomon teach me? I think more than anything, he taught me tolerance. He was always so tolerant of the little black-and-white monsters who shared his world. On more than one occasion, when Solomon was barking, I saw Patsy Cline jump up and grab him by the side of the face; no one was allowed to bark around here if Patsy did not approve. Sometimes he served as a couch or loveseat for the Bostons. I think he was their comfort also. Whatever came his way, he was always up for the task. He babysat more dogs and goats than I can even remember, and always with patience and tolerance. Solomon taught me that just because you could do harm to others does not mean you should. You should walk peacefully among the others who share your space and your life.

Sylvia and I went through many ups and downs during Solomon’s time here. When we eventually broke up, Sylvia was gracious enough to let Solomon stay here and take care of all of us. BUT – he was always Sylvia’s baby. He loved her like no other. It always made me smile to see how happy he was to see her. They shared a bond that was special because they both have such goodness and love. I think it was Solomon who picked Sylvia and I am so glad he did.

So today, we sat with him while he slipped into the next part of his soul’s journey. I know that I feel privileged to be present when such a magnificent creature closes his eyes for the final time. It was hard – always is. So Solomon – my man – thank you so much for letting me be a part of your journey. I feel so fortunate to have had you in my life for this long and even more fortunate to have been loved by you. You will come back here – we will spread your ashes along the pond and you will forever be the sentry of the pond and my heart.

Sleep well, my friend.

Yesterday, the past and the present almost collided at the intersection of Broad and Milledge in Athens, Georgia. I was heading back to work after dropping off a check at an office on Milledge Avenue. I had a green light and started to pull into the intersection when I heard a siren. I hesitated, waited, and looked both ways. Approaching the intersection was a fire truck, siren blaring, lights flashing. I looked across the intersection and there was a silver SUV that was not stopping. I begin screaming, “No, no, no!” At the last moment the SUV stopped and the fire truck drove safely through the intersection. My mind raced back to my senior year in high school.

I can still remember going to school that morning and finding out that Lisa had been killed in a car accident. As much as I can remember from that time, Lisa had been a passenger in someone else’s car. The car was hit by a fire truck, just a few blocks from where I sat yesterday watching everything unfold in slow motion. It was the first time in my life that I lost someone who was close to my age.

I made it to the pay phone in the hall outside the principal’s office and called my mom. I told her and we both started crying. Lisa was two years older than me; she had already graduated and was going to UGA. We played basketball together and shared a lot of sweat, tears, and laughter. Hearing that news shook us all to our core. We had a basketball game that night but our coach cancelled it. There was no way any of us could have made it through that game.

Lisa was a shining light. If our whole team was in a room together, I guarantee you she would be the one who stood out. She had an infectious smile, a beautiful laugh, and a twinkle in her eye that always hinted that she might be up to something – a personality that just made people love her. She was not the best player on our team, but I think what she gave us was swagger. She was tough, she did not back down, and she always gave her best.

I have always been a person who connects to others’ souls whether they are aware of it or not. It was the same with Lisa, even more so than with the other girls in her class. Through her beautiful smiles and laughter, I sensed a deep sadness and longing. Her dark brown eyes had a depth to them that was much older than the young body that contained them. She was an old soul and I felt drawn to her.

I have thought about Lisa many times over the years. It still brings tears to my eyes when I realize that she is gone. I remember being at the funeral home, trying to make sense of these events. I said to Lisa’s cousin something to the effect that, “God always takes the good ones.” Her cousin said something like, “Well, you didn’t go on our class trip with us, so you didn’t get to see how she acted.” The comment blew me away. How could anyone say something like that at someone’s funeral? To me the comment said far more about the person who made it than about the person it referred to. It’s funny how certain things stick in my mind; I think that comment will always be there.

Today I still struggle at times to understand. I do not feel like God always takes the good ones. I think horrible accidents happen and we lose people we love and care for. I don’t think God causes these accidents to happen or selects certain people to die during these types of horrible events. I think God just gives us the strength to live through these moments.

I also think my most embarrassing moment involves Lisa. After all these years, I am still embarrassed and still feel like an idiot. Since Lisa was older than me, I guess I Iooked up to all the girls in that class who were on our basketball team – but like I said, Lisa was our shining star. It was Christmas time, and I wanted to get her something. I told my mom and she went and bought these god-awful hair clips. Lisa was a senior at the time, and my mom bought her hair clips with ladybugs on them. I did not want to give her those things but my mom insisted. I wrote a note to Lisa and said that my mom had bought them. I handed her the gift in the locker room before practice and headed to the gym. She never mentioned it and neither did I.

I figured maybe she opened the gift in the locker room and had a good laugh with the other girls. You would not believe how embarrassed I am about the whole thing, even today. I was such a good kid – I did everything my folks told me to do. I wish I had just thrown the damn hair clips in the trash, but even at that age, I could not lie to my mom – still can’t.

So, my dear friend Lisa, you are missed. You are remembered and you are forever young. I am often angry when I think of the things that you have missed, but because I am a selfish human being, I am also angry that we got cheated out of knowing the beautiful woman you would have become. The laugh, the smile, the twinkle in your eye – they are all still here. I just close my eyes sometimes and I can still see you. I miss you, my dear friend.

It is here. It is surrounding me, pulling me downward toward the darkness. Some of you will have no idea what I am talking about, but others – you know. You have had it come in and pull you into that deep, dark hole. It seems to come out of nowhere at times. I am not talking about the down days that we all have; I am talking about something that goes over that line.

I have finally started to feel better physically. My body is repairing itself from the radiation and chemo. It is good to feel stronger and have more energy. But now the mind is searching – digging deeper into its own psyche. I am still on my medication. I have taken these antidepressants for years. Most of the time they are enough, but I have traveled down this “dark night of the soul” journey before when taking my meds. I think this is just who I am. I guess you could say depressive, but these times are more of a spiritual journey or awakening for me. They open me up to depths that I have never reached before. Painful – yes. Scary – yes. A trip I enjoy taking – no. A trip that I have to take – yes.

It is not that I see the world as doomed or that I think negatively of everything; it is really the opposite. Every time I have taken one of these journeys, when I reach the other side my life is different – better – for having taking this journey. It is never easy opening up the dark corners of my soul, but it is that part of myself that I need to know. It is a journey I must take alone, but a journey I will share with you. I will not pull you into the darkness with me, but I will try to open myself up so we can all learn from this experience. I think there is a reason why I have not written much lately: I have been avoiding this trip. But now – since I have no idea who I am anymore – it is time.

There is another side to this dark journey; I know it because I have seen it after walking this path on several occasions. Once on the other side, the world, the light, the air – they will all feel different. None of those things will really have changed, but I will change. I will be renewed and reborn. The light will once again twinkle in my eye and my heart will be filled to the brim with more love and understanding.

So please bear with me as I walk this path again. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers, and I will do the same for all of you.

If you’ve been following my blogs, you know that thinking about souls happens to be a favorite pastime of mine. I guess these kinds of questions are something we all deal with. What happens when we leave this earth? What happens to that truly unique thing that makes each one of us special?

As you’ve probably guessed, these thoughts have been rambling through my mind. Have you ever met someone–a person or animal–and felt an instant connection? It’s almost an inner knowing that seems impossible because you just met or passed someone on the street. I’ve had this experience many times in my life, not only with people but also with animals: a connection beyond explanation.

Two examples come to mind of experiences like this that occurred with animals. I have always been able to relate to animals; when I was little my parents would be amazed to find me lying in the pasture with a foal or crawling underneath a horse. The first experience happened with my dog Clipper. When I first saw Clipper, I thought he had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. The first time I tried walking him on a leash, he was so frightened he was shaking. But there was something between us–an unseen connection. When I first got to know him, he would not even take a treat out of anyone’s hand. But we were connected by a bond – an attachment – a love. Today this dog is amazing. He is loving, confident, and happy.

The second example is from my first set of bottle-fed goats. I got all three of these guys at the same time, and raised them together in exactly the same way. But from the very beginning, the connection between Honey Badger and me has been different from my connection with the other two. He wasn’t the smallest or the most handsome, but we connected. Last year, when my goats were attacked by dogs, we rushed them all to the vet. Honey Badger could not even stand, but he dragged himself across the floor to put his head in my lap. Connection? Love? I don’t know, but something.

I’m sure you’ve had similar experiences with connections, if not with animals then with people. Why do we have these connections with certain people and animals? I have no idea, but I had this crazy thought. What if when we die, our soul explodes into a million different pieces? What if those pieces are used to form new souls? So when a new soul is formed, it really is a collection of a lot of little pieces of different souls? In that case, when we meet a person or an animal and have that deep, inexplicable connection, maybe it is because we have part of the same soul.

I know–I’m weird. But I like to think that these kinds of things might be possible. So that when we die, it is not the end, but the beginning of beautiful connections.

I am sitting in Cancer Care with my friend today; we are here for her appointment. Again we are waiting, waiting, waiting. As I look around the waiting room, I am suddenly struck by the fragility of our bodies.

I look at so many faces, and I can see the life and strength hidden behind the smiles and stares. But then my eyes focus on the bodies – and the wheelchairs, walkers, oxygen, bent backs, and pale skin. One woman needs to be taken to the back because she is so nauseated. Damn – it is our bodies that let us down. It is so different now, seeing this world as the supporter instead of the patient. It is scarier.

I notice one beautiful older woman. She appears to be wealthy, and I’m guessing that is her husband pushing her wheelchair. Her hair is a very flattering gray, and she wears large sunglasses and lots of jewelry. She is searching for the perfect magazine and Sports Illustrated does not seem to be her preference, but it is all that I see. I notice that her husband is on oxygen as he pushes her past our seats. I say hello and ask if I can help; she says no, just looking for a good magazine. She finally finds one and they call her to the back. It is watching her that has brought up these feelings. So beautiful – spirit so full of life – yet her body is failing her.

I get home and continue to think about this. I look at my own body. Wow. My spirit still feels like I could be in high school, playing basketball, running track, and riding horses. Then I look at this body – not the body of an athletic high school student. I cannot stand up in the morning without hobbling to the bathroom. Chemo and tamoxifen have really done a number on my feet. If I need to pick something up off of the floor, it takes a lot of extra energy compared to just a few years ago.

So here we are with these souls, spirits, and energies trapped in a vessel that is aging, cracking, breaking. I remember my grandmother telling me when she was in her late 80’s, “Melissa, I am tired. I am ready.” Maybe her body was tired, but I do believe that her spirit was not. At this point in my life, I am not having difficulty aging, but I guess my difficulty comes from looking at the physical process that happens to our bodies as we age.

It is not only aging that so strongly points out the fragility of our bodies. There are lots of young people who I have seen going through Cancer Care. Disease, accidents, addictions, and other tragedies bring home just how vulnerable we are. At any moment, our life can be taken. What does that mean??? Does it just mean the body is no longer here but the spirit remains? Even though the body is gone, isn’t this the same air it breathed, the same earth it walked upon, the same sun and moon that shone on its skin?

Maybe I am weird, but I like to think of all the feet that have walked across the same soil I am walking on now – the feet of Native Americans or maybe early settlers. If I am walking along the same ground – touching the same earth – I believe the spirits and souls of those individuals touch me. I can feel their joy, their heartache, their sorrow, their happiness. It makes this crazy world make sense to me, even when nothing else really does.

I have to tell you what happened to me this weekend. I had breakfast at Little City Diner with Lorene, Sylvia, Kim, and Steve. We had a great time – I have really enjoyed making this a regular Sunday event. Not the same thing as going to church, I guess, but it’s good to spend the morning with people I truly love. After breakfast it was time to get on with the day – a quick trip to Goodwill, then a stop at Tractor Supply.

It was a beautiful morning and I was feeling good. I ran in to Tractor Supply and picked up hay for the goats and some food for the cats. As I was making my way to the checkout, I stopped in the area with the clothes. I always cruise through that area to look for sale items. As I was looking at the sales rack, I looked up and saw a rack with infant and toddler outfits.

The feeling that hit me was so unbelievable. I have never felt anything like it – a real emptiness. I could physically feel the emptiness in my arms, knowing that I will never hold my own child. My heart broke. I have never experienced anything close to that in the past. I have often thought that by not having children I missed something in life; I can never know what that bond between a mother and her child is like. So this sadness crept in and settled over me for most of the day.

Well, you know how my mind works; I started analyzing myself and trying to figure out if I have finally gone crazy. As a biologist I look at a lot of things through a biological framework, and I understand that there is a drive to pass your genes on to the next generation. I can remember an old genetics professor explaining that if you do not have children and pass your genes on, then as far as evolution is concerned, you are a failure.

An evolutionary failure – damn!!! That does not sound good. So is that the only thing we are here for – to pass on our genes? Is that truly the driving force in our world? When I look at other animals somehow that all makes sense. But it seems difficult to explain looking at our species. I wonder if we have thrown a huge curve ball at evolution and natural selection with all the advances we have made in travel, technology, and medicine.

As the day wore on and I continue to brood, my mind switched to thinking about what I could leave this world. Just think of all the music, art, and literature we’ve been blessed with. You can turn on the radio any time and hear Patsy Cline, Janis Joplin, and others who were gone far too soon but left us with their music. The same is true of the art that hangs in museums throughout the world, and of the great works of literature. Don’t those things add a richness to our lives – not actual genes passed down to us, but beautiful works that survive generation after generation?

Since I will not be passing down any genes, I guess I should figure out what I can pass on to the next generation. I don’t think you will hear me singing on the radio, see my artwork hung in a museum, or read a great work of literature written by me – so what??? I guess that is where all these crazy thoughts have led. To a question only I can answer.

When you were a kid, did you ever have one of those ant farms? The contraption had sand and ants in the middle and the sides were glass. You could sit there and watch the ants as they scrambled about getting on with the business at hand.

Have you ever wondered, What if we are living in someone else’s ant farm? Here we are, trying to go about the business of living, when that someone decides to turn the ant farm upside down, or maybe just tilt it a little bit. Then we go stumbling, falling out of control until we can get our feet back on the ground. We are no longer at the same place and it seems like we have to start living—start building our lives—all over again.

That is the way my life seems to me right now. Every time I think I have my feet back under me, someone tilts the goddamn ant farm again. I am tired, and wonder if all this living is worth it.

Don’t get me wrong: I love my life. I just hate that with this living comes so much pain. The pain of losing the people or animals I love. The pain that makes it feel like my heart and soul are being ripped right through my chest and I can’t do anything to stop it. That pain that makes it seem difficult even to catch my next breath.

You know, my mind starts thinking, “What goes around comes around.” But damn! Really? I’m trying to remember what I could have done that has karma biting my ass!

I know that life is hard. I know I should enjoy the goodness and beauty of each day, because I never know when that asshole might tilt the ant farm again.

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.

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.