I passed a house, on my early morning run, that has been taken down to the foundation, with the front porch stairs and fireplace all that remain standing. It is interesting how small a house looks when just the foundation remains - deceptive when I pause to imagine all the life in that space. The original home was likely built in the mid-1920's. Maybe the first residents were a young couple with a baby on the way, and eventually a few more kids. Over the years there were bloody noses and chickenpox, first dates and first shaves; high school graduations and college laundry and grandkids spending the night and then the house got to be too much and a new family moved in, which brought a new collection of bikes to the garage, skinned knees on the sidewalk, mom and dad arguing before he moved out. And now, just air where families, maybe three or four over the years, loved and lied and made jam and mourned their dead and held birthday parties. I'll keep an eye on what comes next, likely one of these fancy new abodes that look stunning, but terribly out of place in the old neighborhood until it fades into being just another house on the block with its own stories to tell.

I have been immersed in my own foundations with my de-clutter project, following my parents' individual childhoods, their early married years and forward to my own journey. And while the sheer volume of pictures has felt overwhelming, a friend pointed out how fortunate I am to have images to go along with my memories.

This week marks 40 years since my father died. Time does heal, sort of. Maybe it's more that time changes the relationship, from one of abject grief to acceptance to appreciation. What I do know is that 40 years is a long time, yet I can still hear his laughter. I hope I never forget the sound of him coming quietly up the creaking stairs to turn on the bathroom heater before waking my brother and I for school. I hope I never forget how he'd show me the goosebumps on his arms while listening to Benny Goodman play clarinet. I hope I never forget how much he loved our little family.

Mom "visited" me this week in the form of a crossword puzzle book I'd not seen since sticking it on a shelf seven years ago. She'd started just one of the puzzles, and judging by her scribbles and a few uncharacteristic mistakes, it was probably as she neared the end of her life. I finished it,  grateful for the gift of time that allowed me to do so without crying, nowhere near in danger of forgetting the smell of chocolate chip cookies after school, her investment in her TV soap operas, her enjoyment of a good party, her support of me, no matter what (and believe me, there were plenty of "no matter what's" over the years).

My first husband also visited this week, in the form of a sweetly poignant social media post I hadn't seen, written by an old classmate on the day he died. It was beautiful to read the tribute, evidence that my ex was more than his mental illness, more than his cancer, well connected to the neighborhood where he lived most of his life. Time, healing, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, and sometimes both at once. I need to remind myself that it's only been four months since he passed, though in this Covid time, it feels much longer.

Speaking of time, one of my closest friends, who was in treatment when I got there, celebrated his 35th sobriety anniversary on Monday. Friends and family in Montana, the Seattle area, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Spokane, and the Bay Area participated in an online meeting to mark the occasion - connections across the miles. I am so grateful for my friend's recovery and very seriously don't know where mine would've gone were it not for his commitment to the path. We were told, early on, to "stick with the winners." That applies today as much as it did all those years ago.

I'm somewhat discombobulated as I sit to write this week - there has been a lot going on in the emotional department, from all of the above, along with a history-laden visit with older cousins an hour to the north, the closure of the AA club that housed our homegroup, not to mention what's on the nightly news. I'm getting better at observing, then detaching from the peaks and valleys. They used to say, "Don't worry looking for your feelings - they'll find you!" Yes. And today, I'm ok with that. It took me a while to realize that I could get off the carnival ride whenever I wanted to, but sometimes I want to stay on the rollercoaster for a while, reveling in memory, in the energy of half-remembered spaces, digging into the foundations of family and friendship and love in all its forms while curious as to what comes next. 

Serenity can be as near as a breath. How do you ride out the peaks and valleys of memories, of current events, of your own emotional rollercoasters? How do you celebrate what and who have gone before without drifting into morbid reflection?  Thank you for being a part of my recovery today.

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.