According to Aristotle, nature abhors a vacuum. When I asked my radiation doc about the on-going swelling around my surgical site, he pulled up computer images that showed the empty space where my tumor had been, telling me that part of healing is my body filling in the empty space, and that it takes time. Time - the final frontier! Oh me of little patience, of "now, please." Waiting is an action, or so I'm told.
I've also observed the truth of "nature abhors a vacuum" in my program. My six-month co-secretary position for an online group, which involved selecting a reading and chairing every other week, came to an end, and within days, a woman asked if I'd sponsor her through the Steps. I appreciate the opportunities to put my program into action, especially the ones that seemingly appear out of nowhere.
I have a handful of sponsees, all of them with time. Speaker Lila R addresses this - that when we get decades under our belts, we might best serve by working with others who are in the same vicinity. I do remember what it was like, but don't feel I have much more than encouragement to offer the newcomer. My sponsees, like myself, have years of experience staying sober, benefiting from the occasional check in or Step work. That being said, I also have a small handful of trusted others I go to - over time, these friends know me, know my history, and are willing to give honest feedback. All these years in and it is still the fellowship that keeps me coming back and keeps me on track.
So, I can trumpet "nature abhors a vacuum," trusting the process that what is mine to do will present itself, and, sometimes I need to hang out in the vacuum, the in-between, the "I'm not sure," or the "I wonder what's next." Be still and know, as a friend likes to say. If I'm too busy trying to figure it out, I'm not making space for the still small voice, the internal knowing that comes to me quietly. Sometimes the voice whispers the big stuff, like "It's time to go," or "Do not open your mouth right now!" but more often the voice simply says, "Clean the kitchen," or maybe "Give so-an-so a call." "Keep it simple" is always a good reminder.
And something I very much need to remember as my sister-in-law progresses into a diagnosis of dementia. I feel badly for her, of course - what a scary thing, to be aware that your cognition is slipping away - and, I have deep sadness for my brother, a good man who is doing what needs to be done (like replacing small appliances with those having an automatic-off feature). When I shared my concern with him, saying I don't imagine he expected his retirement years to play out this way, he pointed out that he hadn't really had any expectations, no grand plans to sail the Nile or walk the Camino. I don't know which makes me sadder - that this is happening in their lives, or that he never really expected to be happy anyway. A bit of a curmudgeon, my little brother - very smart and very funny, and, where I inherited the family disease of alcoholism, he got the genetic lottery of depression that comes and goes.
So what's a sister to do? Love him, offer my support, which might mean sitting with his wife while he's at an appointment, and continue to take care of myself in the Alanon manner of releasing my ideas of what their life should look like. That being said, I do understand that it is very ok to be sad, to grieve the slow slipping away that is dementia. And, one more time, I'm reminded that aging is no joke, and that one never knows what is next, for any of us.
A group of women gathered this week who hadn't, in this configuration, for about five years. Our shares centered on all that's gone on in those years, the massive and tiny bits of life on life's terms. Five years is a relatively small window of time, a mere blink, but a lot has gone on in my own life, not to mention the global pandemic. What I'm left thinking about is taking a step back to ask, "How has program carried me through?" Like the pitiful, incomprensible demoralization that brought us to the rooms, the details of the last five years (or three weeks, or 20 years) are different for each of us, but it is the internalized principles of the program that help me navigate my personal ups and downs and in-betweens.
So many of my friends' lives are in flux right now - some with happy changes, some not so much. If you are in-between, how is it you are able to seek or maintain balance as you wait for the earth beneath your feet to stop moving?
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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th
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