If I Die Before I Wake (20 page)

“I always looked for the quick fix; the easier, softer way. It never worked for long, but I kept trying, moving from one disaster to the next, doing the same things and expecting different results. The question was: could I change that pattern? Was I willing to stop and make a real commitment?”

“
I BALANCED ON A TIGHTROPE
between the sober world and the oblivion I craved through alcohol and drugs, knowing that at any moment I could fall. I brought my body to the meetings, but my mind continued to live in the bars. Hell, I didn't think they could run those places without me.” I see some heads nodding in agreement.

“I'd been a con artist all my life, and that person still lived within. It remained in control of my brain, trying to fool me. I decided I was smart enough to figure out my way around this
step stuff, you know, and just pretend to work the steps to keep up appearances. Like a zombie, I stared into the faces of those who were trying to help me, nodded, and thought, ‘not me, baby. I don’t have to actually work any of those steps—I just have to appear to do so.' Like all the other cons in my life, doing this made me feel smarter, more in control. But the only person duped in that particular con was me.

“When they say half measures avail you nothing, they aren't shitting you. I staged my apartment to fool those AA people who stopped by occasionally.” In my mind, I picture the stupid things I did in an effort to make it look like I was working a program. “I taped three prayers to my bathroom mirror, made little signs that mimicked those sayings on the meeting room walls, and tacked them here and there. There was a partial list of people to whom I owed amends taped to the front of the refrigerator. When anyone mentioned God or a Higher Power, I told them I used the group as my Higher Power. I'd heard someone say that at a meeting. That worked for a while. What I didn't realize then was that was exactly what I had been doing.”

Before I start the next part of my story, I'm on the verge of tears. I've never been able to talk about Helen without blubbering all over myself. Maybe this time I can do it. “My job as a day-care worker for Helen, who had Parkinson's, hadn't turned out quite like I figured. As much as I'd told myself I'd never allow myself to really care that much for another person again, I loved her dearly. She helped me as much as the people in the program. There she was, crippled up, in pain, confined to a bed, but she had faith in some God that I could
not understand. And she knew peace. She was the beginning of my wondering.”

A sad laugh escapes to cover the sobs I've experienced before. “Her family paid me to look after her, but I needed her more than she needed me. Because of her, I started actually reading those prayers on the bathroom mirror. Because of her, I started thinking about those hurtful things I'd done to others. And because of her, my perception of God, of what faith was, began to slowly change. But Helen was going to die. I told myself I could deal with it, but my mind worked furiously, telling me I knew how to smother the pain.

“A priest in recovery once told me that anything that causes you that much pain, that you hang on to that hard, you're getting something out of it. For me, my sadness over Helen's condition was an excuse to return to the bottle, to my self-destructive behavior, and justify it. As Helen deteriorated physically, I deteriorated emotionally. Although I'd begun playing with the steps, even making some half-assed efforts, I'd never stopped thinking about drinking as an option. Another great loss in my life would be the perfect excuse to start up again.

“For over two and a half years I'd lived in limbo—or so I thought. My life consisted of working, going to meetings, hanging out with AA people, fighting the urge to see Tom and the urge to drink and drug on a daily basis. When Helen ended up in the hospital, my world turned upside down. Forced to accept the reality of her inevitable demise, a plan formed in my mind. One morning, I got out of bed and knew that that was the day I would drink again. I went to work and took care of Helen,
knowing all day that as soon as I got home and cleaned up, I'd go uptown and hit the bars.

“The plan worked pretty good until I stepped into the doorway on my way out of the garage. A voice came into my mind. Oh, it wasn't some big booming voice of God, but the words of a man—a man who I didn't like, because I felt he could see right through my bullshit. He'd looked straight into my face one day at a meeting and told me that the day would come when I would either get on my knees or get drunk. I had a two-word thought for him, I can tell you. But that day, I dropped to my knees. I begged for help. I didn't see a burning bush, or a white light, or even an angel, but such a feeling came over me—a feeling like nothing I'd ever known. It was as if someone wrapped me in a warm embrace and whispered in my ear, ‘everything will be okay.’”

That familiar bubble of happiness fills me as it does every time I think of that day. “It was that one moment in time, that single action, that allowed me to enjoy the life I have today. I'd been told that if I do something today that works for me, it will work tomorrow. I know some of you won't believe this, but from that day to this, I still get on my knees each morning. That way, I get to have a spiritual awakening every day.

“I didn't know what God's will for me was, but I sure knew what it wasn't. Finally able to work the steps, I began the process of building the steps that led me out of the basement, one at a time. I discovered there is a reason the steps are numbered and set up the way they are. It's because each step prepares you for the next. This business of using the group as my Higher Power worked for me in the beginning, but what would I do
when it was just me and the bottle, and there was no one else around? How would I have the courage to take responsibility for my past—and put it out there—without truly believing that there is a plan, and I'm part of it? For me, and I'm only speaking from my personal experience, there was no way to go forward without working steps 2 and 3, without a God of my understanding to lean upon when things got tough.

“My sponsor used to tell me that if I wanted it all, I needed to do it all. All my life, I protected myself by saying I didn't need anyone. The truth was that it wasn't that I didn't need them, but that I didn't think I could have them. I carried that person into the program, coming across like the typical macho broad, totally self-sufficient. But through my spiritual awakening, understanding I didn't have to walk through it alone, I became willing to do whatever it took for recovery.”

I smile as one particular day comes to mind. It happened right around Easter. I watched
The Ten Commandments
at Helen's house. As I watched Moses wander through the desert and struggle toward total surrender, I thought, Jesus Christ, even Moses only had to wander for forty days and forty nights. I'd been wandering for over thirty-five years. I'm tempted to share the story, but it smacks of religion and I don't want to offend anyone. “The hardest part of total surrender is turning over control of the outcome. However, considering my best efforts had me sitting in meetings, angry, sick, and scared, maybe it was time to let someone else give it a shot.

“One problem with this total surrender business is that you don't get to do it once and you're good to go. Just as sobriety is
one day at a time, so is spirituality. I've heard many people say they'd gotten a second chance at life. For me, I looked at this as my only chance. If I screwed this up, my life was over.”

I've got a ways to go, and time is running out. I say, “I will try to wrap this up in the time allowed, but if I go over, and anyone needs to leave, feel free.” No one gets up to go. “I went after those steps like a dog with a bone, but soon realized it had taken half my life to get to them, and they wouldn't be worked quickly. It was more important to do them thoroughly. It was agonizing, writing down all the stuff I'd done, people I'd hurt, saying out loud those shameful, disgusting secrets. The thought of forgiving and making amends to those who'd done some terrible things to me was overwhelming but necessary, according to my sponsor, if I was to ever know peace.”

I remember having thoughts of giving it half measures. However, the big book says half measures will avail us nothing. It doesn't say we get a little peace. “I prayed for forgiveness from those who'd died, stood over graves talking to others, wrote letters and burned them, even tried writing messages, stuffing them into balloons, and releasing them to float into the heavens. As difficult as those things were, they were easier than looking a person in the eyes. I had a hell of a time making amends to Tom. Every time I saw him, I ended up getting angry and saying something else I'd have to make amends for. After speaking with a woman from the meetings about it, I knew what I'd have to do—not only admit to what I'd done, but to how I'd felt about him all those years.

“I did it. For the first time since I met him, I felt resolved, like I could put my feelings to rest, accept that I loved him but that we couldn't be together. I'd chosen a sober life, and he continued his drinking lifestyle. At home that night, I gave him to my Higher Power. He stopped calling me, so I figured I'd gotten my answer. Months passed as I pursued my steps with honesty and vigor. My situation hadn't changed, but I'd changed. I knew happiness, peace of mind, had attained a feeling of self-respect, and no longer had to fight the urge to drink or drug.

“I lived in a state of gratitude for every little thing in my life.

“As this God of mine had a way of doing, he threw me a curveball now and again just to shake things up. Tom called. He'd been sober for months, and wanted to know if I'd have a cup of coffee with him. Unsure what to do, I prayed about it, asking my Higher Power to let me know what direction to take. At the coffee shop, Tom pulled out his billfold to pay. It was the one Jon made for him when he was in Cub Scouts. At that moment, I knew Tom truly loved me. We were married a few months later, after Helen passed away, and have been happily married for over twenty years now. Talk about a miracle.”

Like always, the great love I feel for Tom swells my heart until it's nearly bursting. I raise my arm. “It was like my life had been waiting for me all along, just out of reach, until I became willing to surrender. I know there are people in the meetings who think I'm so happy because of the life I share with Tom, the things I've accomplished over the years, but that's not true.
I found peace and happiness while living hand to mouth in that garage. I don't believe I could have ever been happy with another human being until I found it within myself first.

“Don't kid yourself that it will all be peaches and cream because you're sober. Life keeps happening. There will always be illness, death, financial problems, problems with family members, and God only knows what else. The difference is that with a program and a Higher Power, there will be solutions, if you are willing to use the tools. I have faltered many times, in particular when I went through a life-threatening illness. I wallowed in my self-pity for a short while, fell back into anger and resentment, but thank God and this program, I didn't drink, and found the willingness to get into action.

In sobriety, I had the opportunity to become a professional costumer. I opened my own rental shop, which thrived, and I was living the dream. My illness took all of that away. I was pissed. However, through that experience, I discovered the writer in me. Sometimes the gifts we receive come wrapped in strange packages. Tom and I moved to our small mountain community in Arizona as a place for me to heal and write. And, I might add, I finally got the opportunity to write that exposé about Alcoholics Anonymous, exposing it for what it really is.” Laughter explodes through the room.

“To sum it up, I joined a program I thought was the height of stupidity, found a Higher Power I didn't think existed, worked steps I saw as ridiculous and impossible, ended up in the last place on earth I thought I would ever go again, married the one man I thought was out of my reach, and have lived long enough,
stayed sober long enough, to see all the promises come true in my life—which still blows my mind. You just can't get here from where I started—without divine intervention. There was the life I thought I would live and the one my Higher Power had planned for me when I was ready to accept it. I like His better.

“I stand in awe of my life on a daily basis. Years ago, my sponsor told me that one day I would get to be the voice of joy. Well, here I am. I know joy, and I know if it is possible for someone like me, it can happen for you. So, when you wonder if it's worth the effort, I hope you'll think of me, and others like me, who worked those steps that allowed us to emerge from that dark place to a life beyond our wildest drunken dreams. Thank you for being here for me because without you, and others who have passed through my life, this program, and my Higher Power, I would not be the person I am. All that I am, all that I've accomplished, is a direct result of AA, the people in the program, and a God of my understanding. I will be forever grateful.”

THE QUIET IS ASTOUNDING
. Eyes closed, I listen to the whoosh of a raven's wings as he flies overhead and the water falling over the boulder behind the house as it rushes down the creek at the bottom of the hill. I feel the cool breeze ruffling my hair. I am taken back to another place, another time.

My therapist had hypnotized me. He asked me to return to the last time in my life that I felt safe. Images of myself down on the river with Grampa the summer before school started began to take shape. I loved being there with him. Others may
have seen him as just another old man, but not me. He was my hero. He knew things, special things, like how to glean leaves, bark, and berries from the woods to use them for healing. He had the gift of removing warts through his touch. People used to come from all over to have their warts removed. He didn't say much, but somehow I always knew he would protect me no matter what.

Grampa tied a rope around my waist and threw me in the river to teach me to swim. He was of a mind that like in animals, swimming would be a natural instinct for me. I can't remember ever not knowing how to swim. When he made his secret fish bait, he allowed Bill and me to roll it into balls to be put on the trout lines. At dusk, in a rowboat, he'd glide through the muddy Kaskaskia River, sticking the smelly bait on each hook. As hard as it was to drag myself out from under the patchwork quilt on the feather bed Bill and I shared with Grampa and Alma before sunrise, I couldn't wait to see what we'd caught. Sometimes there would be a turtle or a big old salamander, instead of the typical catfish, carp, or buffalo fish dangling on the line.