A Beer with My Dad a Lesson for Me....

There are certain concepts that I, as a recovering addict, have to keep at the forefront of my thinking if I am to maintain my sobriety. The most important one is to remember at all times that I am just one drink or drug away from the hell I went through for nearly 28 years. When I wake up in the morning I ask God to get into my head before I do because if I get in first it can be a very long and difficult day.

It doesn't mean that I am going to drink or take a drug. It does mean that addiction is a thinking problem. More specifically it is an over thinking problem. At least for me it is. If I wake up and get my melon into overdrive before my first tinkle, the day is likely to be filled with worry, anxiety, frustration, fear, anger, resentment and all the negative emotions that drove my addiction and depression for years.

I used to escape me, not you. Although I don't use any longer I still find myself following me wherever I go. I have had to forge a new relationship with me based on the things I have learned in recovery. My life is for the most part exactly what I want it to be. I am grateful to be alive and thriving in the acting and comedy world, something that was impossible while using. More importantly, I am a trusted friend, husband, father and son. I also try to help others find their way to the gift of sobriety that I have been given so freely.

That being said, I love days when I am just about to crawl under my Scooby Doo sheets and I realize that I went the whole day NOT realizing I was an addict, alcoholic or depression sufferer. In other words, I made it through the day like an earthling! How cool is that?! It doesn't mean that I take my disease for granted. It means I am getting stronger in my sobriety. I spent 28 years using. It will take the rest of my life untwisting the mess inside my head and those I tried to rewire along the way.

Yesterday was the paradox of that feeling. If you watched the video I posted above, Squeaky and I went to Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery yesterday to "have a beer with my Dad." I stopped at the liquor store and was thrilled that the one I visited allowed for the purchase of just one. It has been two and a half years since I have purchased alcohol and it really had no effect on me. I was on a mission to get my dad a beer. My family knows I am McGyver-like in my focus when there is a mission at hand.

The funny side note to that was I stopped at the local corner store to try to get a can earlier in the morning, having forgotten the Sunday selling restrictions, and the store owner looked at me cockeyed when I asked what time they were open for liquor sales. I quickly said it was for my Dad. I am surprised they stayed in business after I quit the stuff. I know their profits went way down for sure!

The memorial was beautiful. It stopped raining long enough for us to toast Pops. The birds were singing and he has a great view of the forest and a pavilion where they honor the latest Vet to be interred there. In an ironic twist he is right next to a soldier named Jones, my wife's maiden name. That soldier was only 46 years old.

As I spilled the frothy beer into the gravel, the earth seemed to gulp it down with vigor. The soldiers all had a sip along with my dad. As I said my goodbyes I could smell the beer on my hands and it brought memories flooding into my mind; some good, many bad. The good ones were of the many laughs I had with my dad over a few cold ones at many a Bear game and when I worked for him. The bad was for the months, and at one time years, I missed in my alcoholic fog that we didn't speak because he couldn't bare to see me self-destruct.

There was no sadness in the time with him. I spent many hours with him at the end of his life making up for those lost years. I am at peace with my past mainly because I can not change it. I have learned from it and know what not to do so I don't have to live it again. I always like to point out in my blog that I am not anti-alcohol or anti-anything. It's just not for me because I can't stop once I get rolling. One is too many and a thousand isn't enough.

Squeaky chuckled as I wiped my hands in the grass to get the smell off my hands. It was like I was trying to wipe bird poop off my hands. My few moments of discomfort were worth the symbolic enjoyment I am sure my dad got out of that beer. He was probably laughing at me with his unit in heaven while I squished my nose at my skunky, beer soaked hands.

I know how he must have felt during those lost years when he didn't know where I was but knew I was hurting and slowly destroying myself. My middle daughter hasn't been around in a week. She dropped our son off today and didn't even stop in to say hi. She had a hangover. She is lost, but she's an adult. There is little I can do. I can be grateful for my sobriety, pray and have the confidence and faith that I will be of clear mind to help her when she's ready for it. My dad was there when I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'll be there for her too.