In a work meeting this afternoon where I was the lone contractor, it was mentioned almost in passing that my farewell party couldn’t happen after all. This is after I was told I should buy my own cake, then informed that I couldn’t bring in cake, but individually wrapped treats were ok, and after I saw people eating a homemade cake in another department. What gives? Behind my mask, I had to force back the tears, feeling like a six year old who’s balloon had just been popped. I followed the big boss out of the room later, saying that I felt like I was getting mixed messages, so what is the actual deal, which turns out to be no “formal gatherings.” I get it. I truly do. No one knows what’s next with this covid stuff - the roller coaster isn’t personal. And… my feelings were hurt, and I was embarrassed that my feelings were hurt, thinking I should be more mature about the whole thing. It’s only a party.  

As I left for the day, I chatted up a few line workers, telling them I’m leaving,  realizing as we joked around that this is what matters – connecting with people I’ve worked with over the past 10 years, talking about our local basketball team, one person's experiences as a child in the killing fields of Cambodia, another's recipes from his home in Guam, another about our shared high school alma mater. We don’t talk politics at my workplace – too diverse a spectrum – but we do talk about sports and health and fitness and once, a man asked me how he could help his daughter sober up.

On my short bike ride home, I had to pass a caravan of ratty trailers and RV’s, parked along the side of the road for weeks. I went by one woman just as she was preparing to pull out, driving a dilapidated sedan with an overflowing and filthy trailer attached. As I rolled by, I glanced at the driver and realized, “Oh my god, that could be me” – similar facial structure, minus the teeth, similar hair color, looking like three years of tweak rolled into an afternoon. This time, I nearly cried with gratitude. Instead of chewing on my tongue while trying to figure out where to park my beater car with the expired tags, I was riding my bicycle home from a job I’ve enjoyed, doing work I’ve loved. You really don’t get here from there, not without the smidgen of willingness that said “ok” when my ex said I needed help, and the example of 100’s of people who were in the rooms of recovery when I got there.

As I kept riding, thinking of what might’ve been and the shift in perspective seeing that poor soul gave me, the section on “acceptance” came to mind. “And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place think, or situation – some fact of my life – unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this  moment.” (p.449 or 417).  I don’t even know if things are “supposed” to be the way they are, but the fact is they ARE the way they are. End of story. Because of the corona virus, I and countless others are missing out on the rites of passage that mark the move from one way of being to another – proms and high school graduations, college commencements, mourning rituals, and yes, retirement parties. In the grand scheme of things, my loss isn’t that big a deal (I tell myself) and rituals do matter. It is important to acknowledge both what is, and the loss associated with what isn't.

I will say, I’ve been all over the emotional map lately. On Saturday, listening to an oldies album (Burt Bacharach, if you must know), I found myself literally weeping with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. A friend let me know he’d been crying too, dubbing it “quarantine melancholy.” A couple of sponsees have also shared that they had rough weekends – maybe the pandemic is catching up to us. I tend to pooh-pooh my feelings because my situation “isn’t that bad.” True, and, feelings are feelings and the magnitude of loss, my own and our world’s, can be overwhelming. 

In the meantime, my immediate co-workers will make cupcakes and we'll have a tailgate non-party in the parking lot. I will send emails to those who've impacted my career, and will walk through the facility seeking out my pals (with or without individually wrapped treats). I will smudge, and schedule a Tarot reading, along with a massage when those are allowed. And later in the summer, friends and I will dance to old Motown and disco in the local park, insuring 6 feet of distance between. 

Thinking of this limbo we're in, are there occasions or rites of passage you've had to forego? Even the ritual of attending a meeting, where so-and-so always sits in that chair and you could recite the opening by heart, can create an emotional vacuum. What is missing in your life today? How are you both acknowledging that, and looking at ways to comfort the broken places? When I look at loss, I also balance it out with gratitude - what are you grateful for today, because of or in spite of current circumstances?

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