These are a few of my favorite things..

Well, the verdict is in: I have an intestinal bug. It has kept me close to the restroom today. More than that, I will spare you.

But I will say that this knowledge has given me a sense of relief. My R.I.D. feelings of the past couple of days are partially because of this “bug”. When I’m feeling crappy, it tends to invade every nook and cranny of my existence. It affects me physically, mentally, and spiritually.

I hate being sick. I haven’t been sick much since I’ve been sober. So being able to say I’m sick without it being a lie or justification is kind of a blessing. And getting through the illness without the aid of simple medications that even other recovering alcoholics take for granted, is always an amazement to me…and it gives me a sense of accomplishment. No Thera-flu, no Sudafed, no cough medicine, no Tylenol PM, no Nyquil. The list is endless. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zoogies. Not even one.

Because of the wreckage of my past, there is a governing body that oversees my recovery. It can be a real PITA sometimes, and it is a very strict program, but…it’s part of my amends to my profession. And when push came to shove, it was the realization that the last thing I had that was evidence of what I had achieved in my life, what I once was, and hoped to be again, could also disappear like ashes in the wind that brought me to my knees. I’m not proud to admit that. I try not to think of why it was that and not losing my husband, my home, my family, but above all…my children, that provided me with the moment of clarity sufficient to change the direction in which I was headed. (I said I try not to. I didn’t say that I don’t or that I haven’t done a load of work with my sponsor surrounding this issue. She makes sure I think about it and put it in proper perspective.)

So I feel like doggie-doo. But I’ll get through it. I always do.

One thing that did help this afternoon was Firstborn. When I was taking a nap, fighting the cramping and cold sweats, she sent me a picture of the lilacs in her room. I saw it on my phone when I awoke. Immediately tears welled up to the brim. She too, was taking a nap and her room was filled with the aroma of lilacs. My favorite flower. I haven’t gotten lilacs from anyone in a very long time. They may have been virtual lilacs, but the fact that they came from her make them better than the real thing.

It’s stuff like this, that when it comes, gets me through some pretty rough self-talk. It does my heart good to know that she thinks of me in a loving way. That we are building our relationship instead of tearing it down, or more appropriately, that she’s letting the wall down. The wall she had to put there for protection against me and my disease.

So even though I’ve been sick and R.I.D., I’ve also been blessed today. And just being able to recognize that and appreciate it as God given makes it a good day.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

When God talks.

Peculiar mental twist. Mental obsession. Abnormal thinking. Bill W. had various ways of describing it. I will not argue. I was squarely in its grip this afternoon.

The day was uneventful. I slept fairly well last night. Fell into my morning routine with ease. Ran a few errands. Then came home.

I was sitting on the balcony, thoroughly enjoying relaxing in the sun when the thought occurred to me how wonderfully perfect it would be to enjoy a drink before heading to my evening support group. In my mind I pictured a Czech Crystal tumbler, half full of ice, with a sparkling, dark amber liquid lazily caressing the cubes. I even closed my eyes. I could smell the heady oak.

My eyes came open and I heard my sponsor’s voice urging me to think it through to the end.

I imagined which liquor store I would visit. Which bottle I would choose. The selection of glassware. The clink of the ice chunks as they hit the glass. The splitting sound of the seal. The crackling of the ice under the stream of scotch. How much…1 shot or 2? The sting against my tongue and throat. The warmth as it reached my blood stream. The feeling of relief.

I pushed thoughts any further than this out of my mind, always returning to the sparkling liquid and the floating feeling I was after. I tried for several minutes to conjure up the consequences. They seemed to noisily fly and twist through my brain. Unrecognizable, black, and ugly. I could not wrap my brain around a single one. The seduction of the drink kept interrupting me. The romance was much more powerful than the reality.

I felt myself rising from the chaise headed for my purse and car keys, no doubt to pursue the object of my desire, when I heard the phone ring.

Firstborn.

As I stared blankly at the caller ID, I turned my face to the blinding sun and whispered, “Thank You”. Then I closed my eyes to watch, in my mind’s eye, the glass fall from my hand and shatter against the floor. I heaved a sigh of relief. Better the glass and the illusion than me.

Now..."What's up Buttercup?"

She is as God-sent today as she was 21 years ago.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

It's on the shelf where I put it.

My firstborn child, a daughter, called this morning. What a joy! I was planning on calling her later in the day, after the race. While it’s not unusual for her to reach out, the fact that she was doing so on the very day I planned to call her, without pre-arranging via text, was a sign I should turn off the TV and turn my attention to her.

As usual, we talked about a variety of things. She’s a junior in college and not only well informed on many topics, but just plain fun. She is well read, and a gifted musician and writer. She’s also street wise and had to grow up very quickly when my disease put on its running shoes. Our conversations are always interesting. I do tread lightly at times because her pain over the hardships she suffered at my hand is often palpable. Lately she has let me see that she has comforting memories that affect her positively, even now. It touches me deeply that she can reveal these things to me. It didn’t used to be that way. She’s opening up and I couldn’t be more grateful.

When I suggested she make contact with her brother (to check his liberty schedule) when she travels to within driving distance of where he is stationed next month, it opened a wound. She and her brother haven’t spoken since a disagreement they had over the New Year’s holiday. I had no idea. (This is actually a triumph that indicates I’m fairly successful in keeping our chats focused on who I am talking to at the time.) I know only bits and pieces but did not pry. I wanted to…yes, I wanted to meddle. But this is between them.

My mother’s heart aches for time lost. Her pain is obvious when she talks about this rift between them. What I wanted to say is that this is silly. That life is too short. That no matter what, they are siblings and in the end, family is what matters. I wanted to say so much, but didn’t. What I did say was that as their mom, of course I would like them to reconcile, but that in the end, they needed to work through this themselves,and if she wanted to talk about it, I'd listen. When I think about it now, I think I may have meddled after all. I did tell her that he once told me that before he left for boot camp, they had become close, and it was her absence at his graduation that disappointed him the most. I wish I hadn’t done that. I now realize I was attempting to tug at her heart strings. Manipulating. (My nephews would recognize this and say to her: “Pack your bags, you’re goin’ on a guilt trip!”) And my motives are difficult to accept. I wanted to fix their relationship to feel good about me.

Enter: my own codependency issues. I guess it’s time to take a certain suggestion down from the shelf, dust it off, and step into another phase of my recovery. Why doesn’t this surprise me?

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.