My friend died yesterday - anticipated, but not so quickly, though I'm not sure what I mean by that. He'd been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer that had metastasized to his brain several months ago. Radiation was supposed to help. Chemo was supposed to help, and when it was his time, it was his time. I am so sad that in this season of Covid, he was alone at the hospital, and I am grateful that we'd reconnected over the years.

So here is the back story: I met him when I was 15, just weeks after he'd graduated from high school, and his dear mother had passed. Together for 3 years, we got married a few weeks before my 19th birthday, much to the chagrin of my mother and his father, who rightly counseled that we were too young. We may not have known what we were doing (I could barely boil water), but we gave it our best-at-the-time effort. I acted like I thought grown-ups were supposed to act. I worked all day, and came home to a few drinks - in my case, a bottle of cheap wine. On weekends, where my parents would've rolled up the rug and jitterbugged to Dixieland Jazz, we danced with our friends to disco on our shag green carpet, drinking and carrying on, sometimes until the sun came up.

Whatever else he may have been, he was not an alcoholic. One of my first lessons of recovery was to stop one relationship before starting another, and I hadn't learned that yet, so left my young husband for a friend of ours, someone who drank just like I did. We'd been a tight knit group of high school friends, cousins and others, and the break up was hard and complicated. But we survived. I carried on with my new boyfriend until my addiction eventually got in the way, and my now-ex remarried and had a daughter. Life went on.

But life took some turns. I've only been able to piece together what happened next, but my ex had a psychotic break a couple of years later. His new wife and daughter left, for their safety, and he ended up on the streets, living mostly in the park near my high school.

There was serendipity in our relationship going forward. A year or so after I got out of treatment, he happened to pass by my house with his shopping cart, and with Step 9 zeal, I invited him in for soup. He lived in my garage that winter, coming in for showers, raising the eyebrows of my recovery roommates. We lost touch, but 15 or 20 years later, I discovered he'd been recently living in an apartment nearby, taking smoke breaks on the lawn with a good friend of mine. And then, I learned he was back living in the family home with his sister. Not being sure of his state of mind, I phoned her to ask if it was ok to stop by. Of course, she said.  Less than a week later, I was at the grocery store. I will tell you that I shop with a list, and never back track - I know where stuff is and proceed accordingly. Well, this particular day I had to circle back for something, and there, out of the blue was my ex. We laughed hello as if we'd seen each other yesterday, embraced and embarked on what I'd call the third installment of our relationship - friends. Over the last few years, he joined family and school reunions, music in the parks, many Chinese food dinners (old school Cantonese), and this year had Thanksgiving and Super Bowl Sunday with me and my dear, welcoming husband. Friendship also meant doctor's visits and trips to the pharmacy, tough conversations and tougher decisions. I've gotten to know his daughter, who lives out of state, and tried my best to be a calming presence towards the end of his life.

I give you his story, our story, because I need to tell it in this time of Covid, which means no gathering, no memorial, no coming together in tears and laughter. I also give you the story as a living, breathing example of recovery, of active amends, of relationships healed over time. When I met my husband, I half jokingly told him, "If I didn't have ex's, I wouldn't have friends." Not entirely true, but in my frame of reference, once the hard feelings from a break-up have passed, family is still family.

When I first got into recovery, I was rightly focused on my physical healing - no more puking, hangovers, or abscesses from the needle. As the days turned in to months and years, the healing deepened to include childhood wounds, and the emotional wounds I'd inflicted on others as I personified the tornado described in the Big Book. The ultimate gift of working a program is the healing that took place in my relationships with people who've since passed - my mother, an important ex (the man I left my marriage for), and now my first husband. I grieve today, but like with my mom, not because there was anything left unsaid.

When the tidal wave of mourning hits, I find myself thinking of other losses. I also find myself asking if there are any other people or situations calling for an amends. I don't think so, but then again, a 50 year old misdeed surfaced last year that required attention. I get into trouble in my recovery when I think I have all the answers, that the onion is completely peeled. I also get into trouble when I try to tell myself that a loss should be lessened because I was expecting it. On the contrary. Feelings are feelings, and I'm learning, one day at a time, to be gentle with myself and others. I've been comforted by good conversations with his family, and my good friends (one of whom drove over for a virtual driveway hug) as well as learning about his final, peaceful hours.

Where have you experienced great healing in your relationships? My first sponsor, guiding me in my 4th step inventory, suggested that I write about anyone I'd cross the street to avoid. Do you have any of those left after your years of recovery?

* I was reminded that, during this time of worldwide slow-down, some feel like they are on a not-so-unpleasant timeout while others are struggling greatly. Depending where you are on that continuum, how can you reach out, to either offer support, or seek it?

Thank you for reading and your ongoing support of these weekly posts. Take good care.

NOTE: “I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information