Being prepared...

When I first got sober, there was a fellow who used to say, "Always be on guard against the unguarded moment." Not to say that I had to be on high alert at all times (as an adult child of an alcoholic, I certainly know about hyper-vigilance), but it was a good reminder that what I do need to be vigilant about is remembering that I am allergic to alcohol, or anything else that affects me from the neck up. I hear people say that they forgot. Yes, at one time they did "fully concede to" their "innermost selves" that they were alcoholic, but, they forgot over time. Over time and hanging out with normal drinkers, over time and thinking "this time it won't get me," over time and forgetting that "just one" is rarely just one.

So, being prepared has been a helpful tool of recovery: planning my meetings for the week, talking with someone if I'm prescribed something for pain (very rarely, thank God), calling a friend if I'm headed into an emotional sinkhole, looking up meetings when I travel...

But sometimes, life throws out a curve-ball. I just spent a long weekend visiting a friend on the east coast who's recently been diagnosed with ALS, out of the blue, no warning, boom. (see her new blog at: https://thisismylifewithals.blogspot.com ) How do you prepare for something like that, or any of the myriad medical diagnoses that can come our way? You don't. What you do is cope, deal with it, put one foot in front of the other, however that may look on any given day.

There was a medical emergency on the flight home - an older man needed the assistance of the doctor and two nurses who were on board. We made an unscheduled stop mid-way to get him to a hospital. You don't prepare for that.You get on the plane with your spouse, excited to be headed home or to visit the kids, planning for dinner when you land. And then, boom, you're throwing up and passing out and a stranger is standing over you with an oxygen mask.

My mom was a planner - back in the 1970's my folks prepaid their funeral arrangements: $80 for dad's cremation and $300 for mom's cremation + service (the introvert and extroverts of the family). We didn't know then that dad's would be used too soon, in 1980. When mom died, in 2012, her advance planning meant that everything was taken care of, save a few hundred dollars for incidentals. What a blessing, both financially, and that we didn't have to make a bunch of decisions in the midst of mourning. My brother and I followed her lead in the following year, making wills and prepaying for our own arrangements. Hopefully, it won't be needed for decades yet, but we never know.

That seems to be my awareness lately - I can plan and prepare (for my work day, for vacation, for tomorrow's dinner), but we truly don't know what's going to happen next. Like many of us, I can get lulled by familiarity - going to work, hitting my regular meetings, running my usual routes. What I want to do is increase my attention to not just the big things, but the little daily occurrences that I would miss dearly were they to end - our two cats jumping on the bed when the alarm sounds, laughing with my spouse as we come together at the end of the day, getting a hug from the particular clerk at Fred Meyer's. But, nothing stays the same. Nothing. Relaxing into the moment is a lot more realistic than trying to force my will onto next week, which is impossible anyway. And when life on life's terms happens, I can breathe into right here, right now. What do I need in this moment? How can I be of service? Who can I talk with about my feelings and fears?

This is all over the map, as are my emotions this week. I ache for my friend in Maine. I'm nervous, yet relieved, about another friend's surgery on Friday. I'm praying that the man from the plane is OK. My friend and I had a conversation about being brave, or courageous, or all the other well-meaning things that people say to those who are ill. As she said, it's not about being brave, it's about doing the next thing, taking the next step, making the follow-up appointment. Or writing the next blog post.

My first post was a year ago - 5/13/16. I've found this process to be soothing, this journaling out loud. I appreciate all your comments, posted and otherwise, and am grateful for the conversations that help me further explore living in recovery over time.