An old friend died this past week. An old drinking buddy, more accurately. We partied HARD during our early 20's, dancing in the living room, gossiping or singing along to the Motown oldies, with much laughter. At the time I considered her a confidante, a co-conspirator. When I left my first husband, she stayed in his camp - understandable, since our friendship sprang from the connection of our two spouses. But she was funny, and beautiful and full of life, and leaves many memories. 

At the time, I didn't really question the choosing of sides until a dear friend, and the only one who migrated from those days, said to me, "Romance will come and go, but your true friends will be with you forever." Some friendships are for a season, or a reason (as the corny poem says), but it has been true that my real, true, Velveteen Rabbit friendships have lasted a lifetime. So I nod "farewell" to the woman I once knew, so very grateful that my path ended up in the rooms of recovery. 

Thinking about those days, those decisions made about people (as in, give me a couple of drinks and I'll tell you anything), the errors in judgement and outright mistakes, I've realized the importance of not holding my 22year old self accountable to my current standards. As my first sponsor used to say, "If you knew better, you'd have done better." Obviously, I cannot change the past, whether 30 minutes or 30 years ago. What I have done is learn from all that came before, and now see where my "experience can benefit others."  As my step-daughter realizes the importance of committing to herself before a serious relationship, when my pre-step-daughter talks with me about self-care, or a fellow member is grieving the loss of a parent, I can share my experience - not as a "do what I did, or didn't do," but as relating. I never asked when I was younger. It can still be hard. Hard, but so reassuring to learn that others have had similar experiences (and lived to tell the tales).

A few people in recent meetings have shared their struggles and/or acceptance of serious health issues, as in nearing the end of life. In another group, someone shared about a person they knew who chose five people to accompany them on that final walk. What an amazing concept - an active decision rather than waiting to see who shows up. I was so honored to be that person for my mother, with my own supports holding me, and a few years later, was at the bedside of a friend with several others, helping the physician make the call for comfort-measures only. I've never attended a birth, but I can tell you that attending death is a sacred experience. Who would I choose as support on the ending path?

The first thing we do in this life is inhale, while the last thing we do is exhale (paraphrased from Ravi Shankar). And, for most of us, there are many breaths in-between - gasps of pleasure and pain, yawns of boredom, huffing and puffing with exertion, sighs of relief, the inhale of anticipation... Am I truly present for each breath? Am I paying attention to the beautiful simplicity of each moment? I struggle with that, as I imagine do the great sages - that's why it's called a practice - but death and illness prompt those existential questions about what matters (do I matter??) and if I'm spending this precious time consciously or watching it pass in a blur of "to-do's." 

I can say with a fair amount of certainty that I wasn't really present for much of my life. I have a treasure chest of memories, snippets of events and conversations, but have so often thought, "I wish I'd paid more attention." I completely trip on this whole passage of time thing. 17years in my house? Really? 25 years that you've lived in Portland? Are you sure? She's how old? No...

A good friend, when he hears of someone dying, says, "I hope they feel like they've had a good life." Until I got into recovery, dying scared me, mainly because I knew I hadn't had a good life, that I was squandering my time. I'm not necessarily ready to go just yet, but I could answer in the affirmative at this point. Yes, it has been a fulfilling journey, one I hope to continue with awareness and attention. 

How do you define friendship? Who might you choose to be with you at the end, or who would you step up for if called? Are there experiences, accomplishments or lessons you hope to include before your last exhale? How can you practice presence, in the here and now?

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