In my regular Wednesday meeting, on Thanksgiving eve, I found myself misty as I thought about Thanksgiving, 1985 sitting across from my mother at the holiday table. At that point, I'd recently signed myself out of a hospital treatment program, and my brother had ratted me out to Mom, i.e. the true extent of what I'd been doing to myself. With tears in her eyes, she looked at me and said, "I just don't understand."
Forward to Thanksgiving, 1986 and I sat at the same table, this time with nearly 11 months sobriety, a new friend from treatment there, as well as "Boxcar Leonard," the old-timer who was such an inspiration with his "Will power will not keep you sober, but want power will" refrain. What an amazingly huge difference in such a short period of time. I am one of the fortunate ones who took to this thing, and connected with others who felt the same.
I was in a good Alanon meeting this week on the topic of choices. In the moment, I don't always recognize that I have a choice to respond (or not) rather than react. I am beyond grateful that we don't have active alcoholism in our lives today, and there can be a fair amount of "ism's" floating around, especially in this busy time of year when something as simple as going to the grocery store takes on a frenzy with increased traffic on the roads and people in the aisles. Always, always my HALTs come in to play. I had a boss once who said that when someone was on her last nerve, she pretended she was watching a TV show - a bad comedy perhaps - to help her detach from her reaction. "How important is it?" is my current favorite slogan.
My sister-in-law passed this weekend, with my brother breathing a sigh of relief, aware that a new chapter begins. I'm feeling sad, and a bit weepy. We really were not close, and she was part of the family for 40-plus years, my brother's wife. I cry for his loss. I cry for the loss of another family member. I cry for all those who are no longer here, those who are my history, the seeming-stability of those around the holiday table, the laughter shared, good meals (she was an excellent cook). Each new loss tends to connect to all previous losses, even if just for a minute. And, I know what grief feels like. I know about the business end of death, with forms and phone calls to be made. And I know about that quiet place that now feels both empty and full.
I'm sure my brother will be fine. He's a loner, though acknowledges he does need people - not too many and not too often, but social interaction is a good thing. I can be a good sister, even when, or especially when he doesn't want to talk about loss. I learned that with my mom - I'm a good 12 Step emotional processor. She was born in 1926 and kept many of her feelings to herself.
The day after my sister-in-law passed, my dear friend's father died, again, not unexpected, while a seismic shift for the family. These recent losses, including my eldest cousin a few months ago, and a longtime AA member in recent weeks, cause me to feel the earth shift just a bit, moving me and my generation a wee bit closer to the edge where it will be our turn. Getting older is certainly not all doom and gloom, and there is a gravity to loss, a recognition of the inevitable that was below the surface even a few years ago.
And, this is the season of memories - some good, some not so good, but definitely a time of remembering. Listening to one of my playlists the other day, I found myself literally weeping to an old Glen Miller song that my mother loved. This is the time of year that my ancestors, old and newer, feel closest. I don't need to succumb to maudlin, but I can acknowledge what my heart is telling me. As we hear, "Don't bother looking for your feelings - they'll find you." It's when I try to ignore, out run, or talk myself out of it that I wind up in knots. So, I will say, "Hello Mom and Dad. I miss you, and Dad, the conversations we never got to have." I can hold my people close, never skipping an opportunity to say, "I love you," because the time will come, on their end or mine, that won't be possible - in this realm anyway.
I'm sounding more blue than I actually feel. I have noticed over the years that feelings ebb and flow, especially during holidays or the changing of seasons. Noticing, sticking close to program (never a bad idea), striving for gentleness with myself and others, as well as reminding newer folks of the Bermuda Triangle we're in the midst of, I know that this too shall pass with joy and laughter, and yes, a few tears.
How do the seasons hit you? How can you practice compassion, with yourself and others, this time of year and always? Where will you create quite moments in order to hear and honor your feelings?
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It's nearing the time of year you may want to undertake an inventory... The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or who prefer it, or hard copy mailed to you).
Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. A reminder that the workbook is available at Portland Area Intergroup, 825 NE 20th. for local folks. And Jackie, of TMar, has a supply as well, if you're at a conference where they have a booth
