Triggered by yet another go-round in Mom's boxes of photos and papers, I've been thinking about what would happen to this stuff were I to get hit by a truck tomorrow - the mess I'd be leaving for my spouse and my brother. I knew all along that having someone to pass on my grandmother's desk to wasn't reason enough to have children, but sometimes I do think, wistfully, of the fact that my particular family line ends here (my brother didn't reproduce either). When I mentioned that to said brother a few years ago, he pointed out that, after a generation or two, all of us are reduced to an old photo, and someone's, "Oh yeah, that was Aunt So & So. She died before I was born." I know that, yet the human desire to be remembered, to have made a difference, remains on some level, to varying degrees. A friend, also child-free, (or childless, depending on your perspective) recently asked if I regretted not having children. Sometimes, and more so after Mom died with the untethered sensation of no one ahead of me and no one behind. 

I wrestled with actually making that decision, however, and as part of my process, checked a couple of books out of the library (yet again, I'm not the only one with a particular issue). One author suggested journaling in one color of ink when I felt the baby urge, and another color when I was in neutral or "no" mode. That was telling, and a strategy I've used for other decisions. I also "heard" the statement that I would have regrets whichever I chose. Of course I would. Having kids would've brought blessings and amazing experiences that I'll never know, while if I'd had a family, I likely would've missed out on many of the events that have made my life rich and full. And, here I am, with twists of fate that brought me an awesome step-daughter, and now my "pre-step daughter" from my first husband. Life turns out the way it turns out. Today, after mailing off yet another packet of letters and photos to a cousin, I relax into memories (my mother's and my own) and can be realistic about the remaining boxes of historical flotsam, a little more fearless and thorough each time through. 

I've been on a mission to pick up discarded covid masks on my daily walks - one day, five in a two block radius. I clean the cloth masks with boiling water, then launder, and donate. The paper ones have the ear straps cut (to save wildlife from getting caught) before discarding. I've just joined Adopt One Block, making a commitment to clean up my block once a week - I'll be the crazy old lady with the pincher claw, wandering up and down the avenue! This practice is a good reminder that I can't clean up the neighborhood in one sweep, nor a lifetime of mementos in an afternoon. One box at a time, one day at a time, one block at a time (I'll take my analogies where I can find them!)

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This week marks my 35th anniversary in Alanon. I went to that first meeting to save my heroin addicted boyfriend's life. That didn't happen, and I came to the harsh realization that I can't have someone else's "ah-ha" moment for them. Then, the decades-long journey to understand how growing up with alcoholism impacted my understanding of myself, especially in regards to romantic relationships. As it says in Courage to Change, I can now "look at the past without staring,"  appreciating my dad's love for me, and who he was as an individual. The last 10+ years in Alanon have been about being married - navigating those tough first years of acclimating to a different way of being in the world (and in the kitchen!), as well as now relaxing into the sweetness and comfort of a long-term relationship (while keeping an eye on my isms!). I am so very thankful for the way that AA and Alanon have intersected over my years in recovery. I used to wonder which came first -the chicken or the egg? It doesn't really matter. I have been impacted by alcoholism - other people's and my own. And, thanks to Bill and Bob, Lois and Ann and all the rest, I have a program for living, a program for healing.

I've been writing about regrets lately, real or transitory. Maybe it's the stirring of spring in the air, or covid and weather-related claustrophobia. In any event, I was once told that it was ok to talk about something until I didn't need to talk about it anymore. What does that mean to you? How do you process the emotions that have begun to feel like an old, irritating friend?  What might it feel like if you gave yourself permission to simply muddle through the hard stuff, whether boxes of memories or a persistent troublesome characteristic? 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery”  -  a 78 page spiral bound workbook, 8 ½ x11, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view, processing questions, and space for writing.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample) 

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, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). ( I offer a price break for locals who can pick up their copy - $15)