Recovery of the Spirit
I’m very happy to be a Finalist this year in the New Mexico/Arizona Book Awards for Nonfiction. http://nmbookcoop.com/2015-Finalists-List.doc Woot-Woot!
I am so happy to be part of the growing recovery movement in addiction. My story is one of many stories out there testifying to the power of spiritual transformation. As our numbers grow, so does our strength. Blessings to all this Thanksgiving and always!
“We are all broken—that’s how the light gets in.” Ernest Hemingway
As I’ve watched Angie slipping away all these years, I’ve learned to view my life through a different lens. The tools of recovery have taught me how to be grateful for what I have, how to let go of people and situations that I can’t change, and to have faith in something greater, wiser, and more powerful than I am. Losing my child to addiction did break me a few years ago, and in my brokenness I turned toward the light that had never left. I’m so grateful that I still had the eyes to see it.
From Courage to Change, August 30:
“Normally my sponsor would recommend a gratitude list when I felt low, but one day, when I complained about a family situation, he suggested that I list all the things I was unhappy about. Several days later my depression had passed, and when I told my sponsor about the terrific day I was having, he suggested a gratitude list. He thought it might help me to refer to it the next time I felt blue. That made sense to me, so I complied.
When I went to put this new list in the drawer where I keep my papers, I noticed the earlier list and read it once more. To my surprise, my list of grievances was almost identical to my gratitude list—the same people, same house, same life. Nothing about my circumstances had changed except the way I felt about them. For the first time I truly understood how much my attitude dictates the way I experience the world.
Today’s Reminder:
Today I recognize how powerful my mind can be. I can’t always feel good, and I have no interest in whitewashing my difficulties by pasting a smile on my face. But I recognize that I am constantly making choices about how how I perceive my world. With the help of Al-Anon and my friends in the fellowship, I can make these choices more consciously and more actively than ever before.”
‘Change your thoughts and you change your world.’ Norman Vincent Peale
I can make an effort to be grateful instead of sad. It’s a conscious choice—because I want to be happy.
When I joined Al-Anon thirteen years ago, I just wanted to save my daughter in the grips of addiction. I went back but kept wondering, “Where was the magic bullet?” God kept me going to those fellowship meetings, even after I realized that there was none. Many newcomers leave at this point, but I’m glad I kept going back. And so I started to listen better and put the focus on myself. Now, many meetings, readings, and roller coaster rides later, happiness is a gift I give myself every day that I work my spiritual program. And “it’s an inside job.” Blessings to all!
“What Gorgeous Thing” by Mary Oliver
I do not know what gorgeous thing
the bluebird keeps saying,
his voice easing out of his throat,
beak, body into the pink air
of the early morning. I like it
whatever it is. Sometimes
it seems the only thing in the world
that is without dark thoughts.
Sometimes it seems the only thing
in the world that is without
questions that can’t and probably
never will be answered, the
only thing that is entirely content
with the pink, then clear white
morning and, gratefully, says so.
Memoir Excerpt:
“When Angie came out of that first rehab, she made me the most beautiful gift.
“Mom, I’m not quite finished with it. I just have a few more flowers to cut. You’ll need to find a 17-by-22-inch frame to mount it on. Sorry it’s such an odd size. Guess I wasn’t thinking. I copied it from one of my Chinese art books. I hope you like it!”
Right now it’s hanging in my room for me to see. Over the years I’ve taken it on and off the wall, hidden it in a closet, too painful for me to look at. Maybe it’s a sign of my recovery. Now I can leave it on the wall, look at it, and appreciate all the work she put into it. This was her way, I believe, of telling me she loved me and she was sorry, not for getting sick, but for what that sickness drove her to do to me. She never, ever, was able to express her feelings easily with words. So she showed me, in countless ways, as she did once in December 1993:
“Where the hell is that $300 I put away for safekeeping? If you kids want any Christmas presents, you’d better help me find it now,” I shouted, panicking at the thought of losing my hard-earned cash. I was so scattered sometimes. I was perfectly capable of misplacing it.
“Found it, Mom! Don’t you remember when you hid it in this book? Well, here it is. Aren’t you glad I’m as honest as I am?”
“Yes, Angie, my darlin girl, I am. And thank you!”
Years are passing by, and sometimes it’s hard to remember her as she was. But when I look at the tapestry she made, I remember:
Angie had a fascination for all things Asian—Chinese, Japanese, it didn’t matter. She loved the grace and flow of much of the artwork. She copied a simple series of flowers. But she did it not with paint or pencil or pen; she cut out every pistil, not completely detailed, a few sepals in place, the rest scattered, all the ovaries in different colors for contrast, every leaf, in varying sizes and colors, every stem, and glued it all together on a piece of gold cloth. It looked just like the picture in her book.
I treasure this gift she made. The tapestry is twelve years old, and sometimes a petal comes unglued and I have to put it back on. I should put it under glass to preserve it. I wish we could put our children under glass—to keep them safe.
I would soon discover, though, that no matter what I did for Angie it would never be enough to protect her from the illness that was consuming her.”
Dear Friends,
It’s that time of year again—that challenging time of year—when holidays and all they symbolize beckon us into that place of remembrance. This is the time of year when I really step up my program. A spirit of gratitude has been the one tool that has always worked to elevate me from my despair around my daughter. So I hope that we can bring that spirit into our lives during this season of thanksgiving and count our blessings. We’ve all lost loved ones one way or another to the cruel disease of addiction. But the sun still comes up every day and sets every night. Life goes on—and we with it. Let’s keep hope alive and live our lives as best we can. Blessings to you all!
