Much needed downtime.

I still feel so disjointed. For the first time ever, since I have been flying non-revenue with SC’s buddy passes, I did not make the flight which I originally selected. It’s no big deal. I’m in no rush to get home. I’m just grateful I have a sister who loves and supports me, and shares her buddy passes freely. And I’m grateful Navy son is tech savvy enough to have set up my laptop to get an internet connection via my phone so that I have something to do while I wait here, and possibly again in Tucson. Again, that would be no big deal. The trip out here was a whirlwind and I didn’t have time to just “be”. Maybe this is HP’s way of slowin’ it (me) down. Though I am in the middle of a crowded airport terminal, I get the chance to be “alone” with my thoughts and feelings for the first time since I landed on Wednesday.

I’m not sure the realization of this whole nightmare has hit me yet. It is much more real for FW’s wife and children, and for the family and friends who had him physically present in their daily lives. I know that when the reality hits, that I have a support group in the fellowship to help me every step of the way. For that I am truly blessed.

So as I sit here and try to pass the time, I also try to process the interpersonal dynamics of the past several days. It’s amazing to have been sober and clear headed through this. And there is a lot to discuss and process with sponsor and friends. I’m not certain how quickly I will be able to do that. I may need just a day or so to lock myself up and cry. Or I might not.

Guess I’ll just take it one day at a time and see what happens.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Exhausted

It has been a very long day. I am physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.

It amazes me how many conflicting emotions can co-exist. What amazes me more is that I am able to experience these emotions without the aid of alcohol. I am fully present in mind, body and spirit to support my loved ones and honor FW.

I thank those of you that have kept my family and me in your prayers, and those of you who have sent me private messages. Though I have not had time to read your posts or respond to your words of encouragement, please know that they comfort me beyond that which words can convey. You are an important part of my recovery and I am grateful to have you "with" me as I trudge this road.

Tomorrow (actually today, as it is well after midnight CST as I type,) will again be a long day as we lay FW's earthly form to rest. When the day winds down, I will no doubt put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. There is much of this sober experience that is waiting patiently inside of me to be brought out into the light of hope. I wish to share that with you.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

At rest.

God saw you getting tired,
And a cure was not to be.
So he put his arms around you,
And whispered “Come to me”.

With tearful eyes we watched you,
And saw you pass away.
Although we loved you dearly,
We could not make you stay.

A golden heart stopped beating,
Hard working hands to rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us,
He only takes the best.

By Therese Pearman

Kilroy Was Here

BP meds and side effects are stabilizing as much as they can under the current circumstances. I flew home to Chicago yesterday for a family emergency that I learned of late Tuesday evening.

I am grateful that I can be fully present for my family, even in my grief. We were mutually supportive and loving as we said goodbye last night to my oldest brother, FW.

The gathering at the hospital yesterday was surreal. I don’t think the reality of it all has truly set in, at least for me. And I have those feelings of having to be strong for those around me that make me wonder about how safe I feel with expression of true emotion. It will take time, I know. I must remember to nurture myself first through this.

Dinner at Kilroy's last night was weird. Everyone was drinking. I never thought about it once. This restaurant/bar was a favorite hangout for the family and a place where my brother once “bounced”. It seemed appropriate. And for the first time, I had the opportunity to be DD. That felt strange. Driving BB (Baby Brother) to safety in his newly “amped” pickup. Not only did he trust me (only one of two people who have experienced this privilege) with his truck, he trusted me with his life.

Organ procurement takes place today. The Gift of Hope. Even in death, FW is a good man.

My children will arrive soon. My son, today or tomorrow, and my girls on Friday. I think having them together for the first time since my Father’s funeral in October of 2008 may be emotional, but I’m trying not to worry about it too much. I have seen Son several times since then; I have not been as blessed concerning the girls. I’m still processing these feelings. It’s heart wrenching to think I may only see them under sad circumstances. But, alas, I cannot predict the future. I can only deal with what’s in front of me and try to just “be” instead of make up for lost time or undo the past.

Right now, it’s time for coffee and conversation at the Ponderosa with BB, SC (older sister), and BILM (her husband). Enjoying each other’s company and taking it just one step at a time.

Goodbye FW. You are a good man. I love you.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Surrender to a rainbow.

As I sit here wrapped in an afghan that my mother made (thanks to my sister for insisting that I bring it home with me this past Christmas), I am at peace.

The morning meeting on the beach was exactly what I needed today. The white flag that marks the meeting spot was a welcome sight. Though I did not participate in my usual round of joyful hugs and kisses before or after the meeting, the benefit of just being there was evident as I noticed a feeling of peace enter me.

The speaker, ironically, spoke of the death of his own mother (who succumbed to our disease) which he experienced in sobriety. He related the blessings to all that resulted from her passing. I have always viewed my own mother’s passing as a blessing for her. She was one day shy of her 71st birthday (yes, tomorrow is her birthday). She was relying on a wheelchair for mobility as well as losing her sight due to her diabetes. She was a very stoic, self-sufficient woman before her diabetes robbed her of the things we all take for granted. I remember sitting with her on her bed one day as she cried. She talked about how one plans for their “golden years” only to be sentenced to life as an “invalid”. Oh how I cringed when she used that word! To me that word, broken down meant “not valid”. It indicated the hopelessness that had settled over her. Little did I know then how I would become an invalid of a very different sort.

I never thought of her passing as a blessing of my life…until today. March 21, 2003, I believe, was the day I gave up feeling. I drank myself into oblivion that night. I no longer wanted to feel anything, ever. The denial of those feelings, and many more since then, set off a chain of events that brought me to the gates of insanity in just 4 ½ years. In classic alcoholic fashion, I had “lost” everything worthwhile in life. (I use quotes because many things that I “lost” were in actuality, pushed or given away. I say “lost” to simplify.) That gift of loss and desperation led me to surrender my will and my life over to whatever was bigger and more powerful than me: my Higher Power.

Though my life does not even remotely resemble the plans I had as a younger woman, I believe that my spiral to oblivion and beyond was necessary for me and for those I can help as a result. I still sometimes wonder “what if” and wish things were different, but I no longer want to check-out. I believe I am more whole. I trust there is a reason for everything. I love and I forgive. I laugh and I cry. I still make mistakes, but I now care and make amends promptly when I am wrong.

I saw a rainbow on the way to the hospital that afternoon. I used to cry whenever I saw rainbows after that day because they served as a reminder of my loss. I hoped to see one today in celebration of how far I have come since Mom died. It was overcast and foggy at the beach so there was no chance of that, so I’ll settle for the rainbow of emotions I can feel today without taking a drink. And the next time I do see a rainbow, I will smile and know that my mom is smiling down on me, proud that I am alive, again.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.