Life Sux, and then...

So, I’m a month and a few days shy of completing my first year of sobriety. A few days ago we suffered the first death of someone I knew in my AA group, although I know there will be many more to come. Actually, we’ve had several die recently – most of them, thankfully, of old age or natural causes. At least as natural as the ravaged body of an alcoholic will allow. Not this one, though. Only forty years old, good looking and healthy in appearance, and with a young daughter he loved dearly. Too soon. Too young. Too sad…

I’m no stranger to death – have been intimate with it for most of my life - perhaps more so than many of similar age and background. Since my teen years I’ve buried many – strangers and relatives and old friends and new, from natural causes and murders and accidents and suicides and sickness. I really don’t fear death – haven’t for some time. But, as one of the women at tonight’s meeting said, a sober death can be beautiful. A drunk death cannot…

I didn’t know this young man well. Our group is large and it takes a good while to get established and come to know everyone, but being one of the younger group, he was more open. He generally had a smile on his face, was well liked by all, loved by many. I knew him by name, and we talked a bit on occasion. Although I’m a relative “newcomer,” I came into the program with a sponsor from day one, and never went to a single newcomers’ meeting until about a month ago. It happened to be on the day after this fellow had come back in from “out there.” He was angry at himself, and sad, and confused, and embarrassed. And obviously in deepest spiritual and mental agony…

Almost everyone in the program slips in the early going, and I know he had a few times. He wasn’t forgiving himself this night, though. Not even close, despite all our condolences, best wishes and support. He and I did the man-hug thing, and I told him I was pulling for him and knew he could make it. He tried to smile when we broke, but the eyes that looked back at me were those of a broken spirit. I didn’t know then and don’t know now that I had anything to offer him – he’d been around a lot longer than I. I wish now, though, that I’d tried…

The program allows for forgiveness – in fact demands it. Nobody sits in judgment of anyone else, because we all know that the prodigal returning to our room can so easily be a foreshadowing of ourselves, or the faded image of those who are now decades sober, but who had their own missteps before finally finding the true path. We are directed to “turn it over to God.” I’m not a big God guy, but know we have to get outside of ourselves if we are to survive. This disease is all about being inside ourselves, hating ourselves, hiding from ourselves, killing ourselves. It’s a very dangerous place to stay for any length of time. A drunk alone with himself is locked in the death grip of his own worst enemy, and it is a battle too many don’t survive. Most of the victims go to their grave never having admitted they were alcoholics or addicts. He knew exactly what he was, but couldn’t get away from his boogeyman…

Years ago, when considering a career choice, I’d thought about going into counseling. My mother advised me that I didn’t have the patience for it – wouldn’t tolerate the patient or client who refused to recognize the wisdom of my prescribed treatment and adhere to it. While she was wrong concerning so many things about me through the years, on this one I’m afraid she was right, at least then. My ego was totally unwhupped at that point, and remains pretty stubborn even today...

I’ve found myself wondering lately how much I’ve really changed, being only an infant to sobriety and introspection and spirituality and such. I know I’ve grown over the years – well remember being violently angry at my first friend who committed suicide before I was even out of my teens. Over time I’ve come to realize these are troubled souls. All of them. Some actually do perform the act out of malice, trying to hurt some in the worst possible way for actual or supposed transgressions. Most, however, are just desperately sad and lonely and hopeless, and dealing with things the best way they know how…

I’ve not yet learned the details of my fellow alcoholic’s death, and may not. They don’t really matter, to me at least. I am told he died drunk. For an alcoholic who knows he’s an alcoholic, that’s suicide, whether fast or slow. Some fights are just tougher than we are...

Rest in peace, young friend.