"Listen To What The Man Said" - McCartney

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. I extend those well wishes to the mothers, who have to wear both hats, due to circumstance or happenstance. This past Father's Day was one filled with mixed emotions for me. If the tone of this entry seems rife with self pity, it is not. I am grateful for where I am at on my journey.

Over the last few years, Squeaky and I have made it a tradition to visit Montana Charlie's on Father's Day. Charlie's could be called a flea market. It is different than most, because there are more new items for sale, than used.

Steamy weather has made our visits a tradition as well. Over the last couple of years it has been scorching hot as we walk the aisles of the fair grounds. We search out our favorite spots, haggle over a few items all the while wilting away. Soon after, one of us calls it quits. Then we high tail it to the car for the chilled  breeze of  the air conditioned car.

I started the day burdened by a melancholy that hung around my neck like an albatross. It is the second Father's Day without my Pop. It wasn't easier than last year. My feelings of loss and longing for his company sets itself deeper within me on each passing day.

I was taken back to Father's Day 2010. It was 6 weeks before his death. On that day, as we visited, I knew it was going to be our last together. He would enter hospice just a few weeks later. I don't know if the sudden loss of someone you care about hurts worse than knowing that the end is imminent. It was my  second sober holiday, and the clarity of the situation was hard to process. I was, and am, grateful that I felt all of it. Going to any length to avoid feelings was my M.O. for years.

While we scanned the aisles of Charlie's for spices and jewelry I had another moment of clarity. A couple of years earlier we ran into my Dad, and my Second Mom. He was decked out in a Bears shirt with goofy shorts, and white tube socks that went halfway up to his knees. My Pop was not a fashionista. I guess I'm not either.

On that particular day we weren't talking on a regular basis. We had a disagreement a few months earlier and he had put the freeze on me. My dad was always right, even when he wasn't. He never let the facts get in the way of his opinions. We made small talk, for a moment or two, and went our separate ways. I remember vividly looking down the aisles for him as we worked our way through the maze of people.

I had forgotten about that until yesterday. It fell on me like bricks. The heat of the sun mixed with the flashback sent me reeling with anxiety. Squeaky looked at me as if she was reading my mind. She held me as tears dripped from my burning eyes.

When I sprinkled part of his ashes at Soldier Field shortly after his death, I bought a Bears hat from the 1963 Championship Team. I told Squeaky it was to be my last Bears hat. I never wanted her to buy another one for me again. It sits in my office next to the two Bears hats my dad wore the most.

Squeaky knows me like no one else ever has. I suppose it's because I let her in to my heart. She can read me like flashcards for a third grader. We are connected. As we broke our embrace I looked left and spotted a Chicago Bears mug, not less than five feet away. We gave each other the look and I bought it on the spot. We dispensed of the ritual haggling and simply bought the mug. It was to remember my pop.

Being a step dad on Father's Day is an experience in itself. Even though I live with Bro, see Sunny often and hear from Hemingway regularly I am not DAD. Throughout the day I waited for them to call or text. I reflected on their younger days when I was an angry insecure jerk. I wished I could take every moment back and have a "do over," like when we were kids playing baseball in the school yard.

I tried to shake the darkness from me on such a bright day but it clung to me like plastic wrap on a bologna sandwich. As I pulled free from one side, the other flipped back to cling on again. I knew I had to think my way out of the situation. My feelings were getting the best of me. I took my mug and we headed for home.

When I returned home and switched on my computer there was a message from Hemingway. She said she loved me and I fell apart like a two dollar watch. Out of all the kids, I wish I could have the years of her late teens back to give it another approach. I was unbearable. She is an amazing woman. Later in the day I got texts from Bro and Sunny. My day was almost complete.

Mouse, my youngest daughter, is still AWOL from my life. She is twelve. I am not sure where her mother has taken her to. I have to be patient. I know in GOD'S time it will work out. Maybe it won't. I will endure whatever outcome I face sober. I am ready to take her back into my arms in a minute. My years of alcohol abuse has left her mother angry and I'm sure few positive remarks are made about me to her.

In recovery I have encountered many people trying to repair the damage of their past. I am troubled by those who say, "I will NEVER apologize or FORGIVE them!" Those are hard words to swallow after being so easily spit out. I would pay a million bucks to have my dad repeat all the things I ignored as a kid. I long for his laughter. I miss his stories that he repeated ad infinitum.

Life is short. Wounds can be difficult to heal. Scars remain. I plan on leaving this earth with a few scars and no open wounds. Anger and resentment is too overwhelming. Being right doesn't have to be the end game. I have said it a million times, like my dad would. Don't leave any regrets on the table. Swallowing your pride is easier than choking on your tears. I have learned that facing problems is easier than living with the ones you'll never have the chance to fix....

Soul Parole: Making Peace With My Mind, GOD And Myself, with Foreword by Tom Dreesen and Epilogue by David Brenner, will be available July 7, 2012. Look for it on Amazon, Amazon Europe and Kindle. Personalized copies will be available at soulparole.com.


         Proceeds will benefit Chicago Area Addiction, Homeless and Mental Health facilities

DEATH...IS IN THE CARDS....

Death used to cripple me with fear. It gnawed at me before I found sobriety, going back to the time I was a little kid. I would dwell on it. Mostly, I trembled at the thought of how bad it was going to hurt. I obsessed about HOW it was going to happen. I thought about it 24/7.

When I began to use I had a death wish. At the end of my run my fear of dying hospitalized me with horrific panic attacks. Then my thoughts turned to wondering who, if anyone, would show up at my memorial service. I pondered about who would cry or be unaffected. I hoped there would be lots of people, sympathy and drama. It consumed me to the point that I was afraid to live. That is part of the reason I turned to chemical escape.

A friend of mine died of alcohol induced coma last week. It was yet another tragic outcome from the unmerciful  ravage of addiction. Like most folks a death brings my own mortality back into focus. I consider every day I am given in sobriety a gift. I tried to kill myself daily. When I demanded that GOD "give me what I deserved," he ignored my rantings. Boy am I thankful for that!

We all have rituals and ways that we remember those who have passed. I wear a piece of jewelry or clothing  that was my father's at every comedy and acting performance I participate in. It gives me comfort. I wear his cross from Ireland. That is a gift from both of my Fathers.' I think of him several times a day.

When someone passes I collect a few of their mass or memorial cards. I put them in my visor. I place them in my Bible. I carry them in my wallet. I don't know why. I just do it. Whenever I open my Bible or sit in my car I am reminded of my mortality. I no longer fear it. I hope it doesn't happen for a while. I have a message to spread about hope and sobriety. When it comes, I'm ready.

I know I am going to heaven. I have realized that obsessing about death is the same as worrying about the sun rising or having enough oxygen. I try to live EVERY day like it is my last. I hope I leave a legacy of peace and love. I will see all my friends in paradise.

Last night I was flipping through my Bible and it slipped from my hand. I was taken by the fact that that a half-a-dozen memorial cards fell out onto the floor. I looked at them and thought of my friends and family fondly. There were a few tears and plenty of smiles. As I began to place them back into the pages I had marked with them, it dawned on me. I don't have a card collection of the dead. I have sweet remembrances of the many friends I have made on this earth. It's not a sad pile of cards. It's a display of love.

I no longer fear death. I focus on living. I suck every minute out of it! The more friends I make, more cards will inevitably follow. I have prayed for peace for those suffering near death. I have been devastated at the loss of someone unexpectedly. I keep them alive in my heart. I am grateful for my cards. I know that they are markers of tickets to a better place. They are not alone. I also see that I am not living alone down here as well. Now on with the living! Tomorrow never knows. May God Bless YOU!

These Days Everyday is Independence and Dependence Day...

As we move in to Independence Day weekend I have much to be thankful for and emotions, old and new, flood my mind. What comes to mind first is that today I have a CHOICE NOT to use. For many years I had no choice. I was going to use no matter how sick, sorry, broken, lost, loved, hated, rich or poor I was. I am no longer a slave to an obsession, compulsion and allergy that makes for a three headed monster that can not be beaten by oneself. PERIOD!

There are those who quit using alcohol or drugs. That is not sobriety. That is merely no longer feeding the beast. The person is just "dry." The issues behind the need to use have not been addressed and the halting of use leaves the person filled with anger, resentment, self-pity, martyrdom, uniqueness and a generally discontented life. That is the norm. Drinking and drugging was a symptom to deeper lying problems that were festering on the surface and deep within me. Depression, low self-esteem and critical thinking were at the core of who I was. I didn't like me. I was trained to feel less than. Chemicals made me okay with me until they turned on me and doubled my misery.

Today I have found I am not unique in my thinking. I am a unique person. My problems, feelings, life experiences, pain and how I reacted to them are personalized to me but are interchangeable with any addict or alcoholic. What a relief! It was a lot of pressure being a one of a kind drunk in a planet populated by billions of human beings! We are all the same. We just did the same things in different places with different people. I am proud to say I am just an average drunk and addict.

It wasn't until I was able to get over my "self" that I began to get different and become comfortable with me and you and the world around me. Addiction and recovery is an inside job. I am starting to like hanging out with me. I still have a hard time taking compliments but at least I can sit with me and be okay. It is a daily project of growth repairing me after 40 years of malfunctioning thinking and self destructive habits.

It wasn't until I was okay with me that I could begin to have real relationships free of conditions or motives with other human beings. For years I thought people were out to leave me, hurt me or screw me over. Now I get great satisfaction out of being of use to others and getting nothing in return. That is an oxymoron because knowing I am now a productive, useful citizen and someone who can be depended on gives me great inner satisfaction. Making someone else happy or giving them ease makes me smile inside. The what's in it for me mentality that goes with addiction has faded.

As far as dependence goes I am no longer dependent on chemicals but am on GOD, friends and family and new thinking to get me through the day to day challenges and wonders of life. I do not have to go it alone. What a cold isolated existence that was. I need others to help me when I don't have the answers or the insights to a problem I face. I seek counsel from my FATHER and friends because I don't want to get lost again. I used to dread not knowing what to do so I would guess and hope for the best. Now I turn to others to point me in the right direction.

As for my depression, it is what it is. Like my alcoholism is arrested and not cured, my depression can be managed but not eliminated. I get the blues but I don't have to let them lead me to dark chasms of despair. I can recognize them, pray for help, call a friend and reach out and get out of myself and then I don't have time to think about the blues. When I get too wound up I can recognize the manic side of depression and find a quiet place and meditate and chat with the big guy until the elevator comes down a few floors.

The thing I love most about my life now is that I don't sweat the future too much and I have made peace with my past. Right now is so cool and whether I wish to accept it or not it's all there is. I have missed too many todays sick from yesterdays and freaking on tomorrows. Time slows down in the present. I enjoy the moment as much as possible. That doesn't mean that some planning doesn't occur. I just don't worry about where I'll be in 2033.

I am grateful for the pain God has put me through. I have learned a lot from it. It has also given me experience that I now share with others who are just coming into recovery. I share my pain, I gain their trust. Never trust a chef who won't eat his own food, right? God saved me for a reason 237 times at least. I used to question why. Now I just say thanks and try to be a messenger of his love and grace and a steward of his unending mercy. I know he loves me. That's good enough. I can't impress him or earn my way to paradise. I can do "on earth as it is in heaven." Just to say thanks for giving me a break 237 times or so. 

An Apology from the Author...I'm Still Me!

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to vent and whine about my blog and if I should continue it or not. I was basing my decision to stop or go based on the amount of readers that I had and commented that readers had fallen from 100 a day to 100 a week. That is the worst thing that I have ever said in this blog and I apologize for it. When I started the blog I made it clear that if I helped one person my years of alcoholism were not spent in vain. Maybe one of those hundred people who checked in to my blog this week got a little shot of hope. My rant violated the basic tenets of recovery assistance. My motives were selfish, not pure.

In alcohol recovery we say the alcohol is removed but the "ism" is always there. I have heard this as an acronym of "I'm Still Me." I am in recovery but the character flaws that drove my addiction are still in me. The drunk in me is always going to live in me. I just have the upper hand and have arrested its' development. These flaws get better, or less powerful in my personality, but it will be a lifetime of repair. There are terms that are taken from recovery literature that fit me to the letter. I am an "Ego-maniac with low self esteem." I suffer from "terminal uniqueness." I also still seek approval and want everyone to love me. It is okay for me not to love or approve of everyone, but I want everyone to think I am the swellest guy. What a great guy!

There are pure and selfish motives. Until a few days ago my blog was written with pure motives. My request to vote on the blog was an attempt to seek approval for my work. It was a selfish motive. My dear friend Linda got me to reassess my motives in writing the blog. I have shared the messy details of my life and from the comments and emails I know my work is useful to some. That's all that is important. It is also important to me to review and repair the wrongs I have done to society, friends and loved ones. Ultimately I am baring my soul to rid myself of the baggage I have carried for so long.

I have written about how addiction is an equal opportunity killer. I have droned on about how the disease doesn't care about money,class or race. When we found out about our daughter's struggles I felt like I failed her, my wife and myself. At the root of addiction is low self esteem or self-criticism. In a drunken rage or high an addict verbalizes and criticizes those around them. It's nothing like the number we do on ourselves. The thought that I did not see the "signs" of addiction in my daughter made me question a lot of things about myself. I reached out to you to pat me on the back and lighten my load of feeling like a failure.

It's easy for me to share the pain that I have endured and relate how I alienated my wife and family. When the subject turned to my daughter I had to see her from the view of a daddy and an addict. Both crushed me. Seeing my wife endure another possible addiction roller coaster was my first chance to see the look in her eyes that I created hundreds of times. I felt it to the depth of my soul. It was a moment of clarity in seeing the years of pain I put her through. As a blackout drinker I don't remember most of the horrible things I said to her and others. She remembers every mean, cutting remark I made. In the last few days I am on the other side of the addiction coin. I feel her pain. It is not only the pain and uncertainty of our daughter's situation but a sobering reminder of my past. Now I feel her pain.

At this point our baby is doing all the right things. I am an optimist cloaked in a realist. I know that I am powerless over other people's actions. That's the bitch of the matter! I have redoubled my recovery maintenance and am going to be starting on a new road with my life. I have blogged about the loved ones of addicts and now I am one. There are many recovery groups for the family members of addicts or the children of addict parents. My wife and I will now be attending these meetings together. She is also going to venture out on her own and work on her own recovery. Since addiction is a family disease it is also a family recovery.

I don't know why addiction picked our family. It doesn't really matter. Asking why, how come or where did I go wrong is of no value. The answer is in solutions, not reviewing the problems. It doesn't matter why. It is what it is. Obviously I won't be sharing intimate details of my daughter's recovery. That's for the family only. However I will share my feelings and experiences on the new journey we are taking with her as a part of family recovery. God works in strange ways. I have stopped questioning him. I stand by my premise that there are no coincidences.

If you are suffering with an addict or are enabling or co-dependent there is help out there. If God wanted us to handle life alone He would have stopped at Adam. There is strength in numbers. Sharing our experience, strength, hope, good and bad is how healing begins. It's also the reason recovery groups continue to exist and grow. My intentions are pure. My motives are right. I want to thank you for letting me share my life, my soul, darkness and light with you. I will continue on with my blog until God has another assignment for me.

Angels and Dreamins'.....Near Death Experiences and Visitations! Part Three!

I would like to direct you guys to a link that has found its way into my heart. Being diagnosed as clinically depressed with general anxiety disorder myself,
this organization fights to open people's minds up to the stigma attached to having chemical imbalance or disorders. I hope you will check it out. It is http://NKM2.org/ . The goal is to stomp out the stigma attached to depression and other mental disorders. You will be surprised by some people you know who suffer from these conditions.

The first two chapters in this series centered on unexplained experience and my near death experience. Some of you may think I'm nuts. You're right! I have the paperwork to prove it! This one will revolve around my father and an experience I had after his death. Since today is our game against the Packers I thought this entry was appropriate. He was the greatest Bear fan on Earth and now in Heaven! The 4th passage will revolve around dreams. Dream interpretation and manipulation has been a part of me since I was a little boy. That story is for later.

There is a term used in recovery that is "contempt prior to investigation." It is very common among alcoholics and addicts. More specifically, I think most of us take part in it. To explain the meaning of the phrase I will give a simple childhood analogy. When we were young and we saw some food that didn't look delicious, when asked to try it we would shout,"No! It's yucky! We stood resolute that the food would be bad even though we didn't taste it.

As adults we do this as well. How many times have you pulled up to a corner and seen a clearly dirty person and thought, "What a bum?" I know I have done it in the past. We see people who are ethnically different or practice rituals that don't match ours and decry,"What they're doing is wrong!" These are all examples of contempt prior to investigation. It is making a decision or passing judgement on something before we have experienced it or gotten all the facts. It is a rejection of something or someone before we know anything about them.

In recovery, contempt prior to investigation is rampant in the addict. We judge everything and everyone like we are the all knowing and powerful. We are Gods! We determine that recovery programs won't work or therapy for depression is hooey and for "crazy" people. We decide what is going to happen before we have even tried it. Therefore we don't have to try it because we have already predetermined that it won't work. Thus giving us the out. How many times have you taken the chance on that ugly contemptible food only to find it was remarkably good? Corned beef hash looks like leftovers from a fraternity party and I love the stuff. Why? Because I opened my mind to the possibility that my preconceived opinions might not be right and gave it a shot with an open mind.

When it comes to "after death" experiences, hauntings, visitations, UFOs, spirits and intelligent life existing elsewhere in the galaxy we fall into one of two camps: I believe or that's a bunch of horse hockey! It is my experience that the more open minded I am about these subjects, and all of life itself, I learn and grow. I often find out that my ideas and notions were off base. I try to keep an open mind about everything. Who am I to decide what is and what isn't possible? The more my mind opens up to foreign concepts that I once decried as impossible or wrong, the more balanced I become.

When my father died I was concerned about where he was headed after death. He was an Agnostic (he believed in some creator but not sure what it was). He became more receptive to the concepts of heaven and hell towards the end. I took communion to him in his bed and he confessed his faith. My sister Chris would read the Bible to him and he really began to enjoy it. We all prayed with him and I was surprised he knew the "Lord's Prayer." I have said before an Atheists last words are..."I was only kidding!" It makes complete sense that as we approach our death we become more receptive to another dimension out of fear or to cover our basis just in case.

I am certain there is a Heaven and Hell. I know I'm going to Heaven! I obsessed about my father's final destination incessantly. Obsession is part of me. On the day before he passed onto the great Bear locker room in the sky I asked him a favor. I asked him to let me know that he made it to the other side. He was still coherent at that time and he said yes he would. He passed the next day and I began to wait for his message of safe passage.

When my dad was at our house he sat at the same place on one of our couches every time he visited. For the first three months after he died I slept on that couch waiting and waiting. I even hung up his favorite Bear hat and jersey above my pillow in hopes that it would be easier for him to find me. Night after night he would show up in my dreams but I waited for "the message."

3 months after his passing, and suffering from an aching back from sleeping on the couch, I got my message. It was different from the experience I had with the bridge and grey figures in 2004. He didn't kneel down next to the couch and say "hey little buddy I made it." It was different and amazing. He kept his promise.

I don't sleep well as you may know from the odd hours I am on FB or posting blogs. On this particular morning I was napping on the couch after a recovery meeting. As I began to doze off I opened my eyes and saw two figures at the top of my stairs leading to the kitchen. They were about 15 feet from the couch, his couch. These figures were more defined than my first experience. One was tall, very tall like 6'8" and the other 5'10," my Father's height.

Again there were no words spoken aloud but a telepathic transfer of words and feelings. I could tell the taller figure was a guide of some sort. It stood behind my father and did not communicate with me. It was there for my father. Both auras were bleach white and illuminating. My father's aura was that of a younger man, like when he was in his 30's. I could also notice his hair was straight, a style he wore briefly before going to his perm. He had a burgundy hue to his aura. I do not understand, nor need to know why burgundy was his color, but it was. The taller guide was in all white.

They stood at the top of the stairs and I looked at the TV to make sure I wasn't dreaming. The whole experience only lasted about 15 seconds but a lot of ground was covered in that short time. My dad let me know that he was alright. I could tell he was happy. He reminded me of the pictures of when his hair was greased back and he was driving flashy Cadillacs. There were no questions asked but answers were conveyed to me. He was elated and I knew he made it to the other side.

I believe you have to be open to the possibility of these visits or they can't happen. My mind opens more and more each day. That 90% of our brains that we haven't tapped into has to serve a purpose. I believe in the next dimension. The next level of our experiences after death don't end here. Just because we experience things we don't understand, or experience them personally, doesn't make it impossible. Contempt prior to investigation prevents us from discovering so much more of what life has to offer.

My final passage in this series will involve dreams. I have been interested in dreams since I was a little boy. I will not post that until after the Bears win the NFC Championship today. This is my Dad's season. He may not get the score but we will get the victory. I believe he will help us win today. Remember: he is part of the north end zone.

Excuse Me? Is There an ENABLER In The House?

I've told you bits and pieces of my family life in previous chapters. There are happy stories and tragic ones, but all of them have a message. That message is don't give up hope! Keep the faith! If you haven't found God, not to worry, he isn't lost. Start out with a simple hello. He already knows who you are. Then pray and talk to him with the deepest of sincerity and you will find the more you turn to him, the more you will feel his guidance and presence. I know I would not be sober or writing this blog if it wasn't for the relationship I have with the Lord. The comedy and acting skills he blessed me with are to be used to glorify his touching my life. He is, "I am."

I skipped from the beginning of my father's life with my mom, sister and me to the end of his life. Now we take a stop in the middle.

I was the only boy and baby of the family with a combined sister count of four. Being the only son had its advantages with my father. I went to my first Bear game at age 5 or 6. I vividly recall Dick Butkus hitting a guy so hard you could hear the crunch from our seats in the north end zone. As a youngster I saw Joe Namath and O.J. Simpson at the end of their careers and all of Walter Payton's. I was with my dad for the 1985 Superbowl season and 1988's loss to the Niners. I truly don't know how many Bear games we saw together but it was quite a few and it was a place I could tell my dad was truly happy. There was the snow falling from heaven during the NFC championship against the Giants and the "Fog Bowl" against the Eagles. The first game after 9/11 was the heaviest. We both cried like babies as they unfurled a field sized American flag across the stadium while F-15's roared overhead. When the new stadium was built our run ended with the personal seat licensing and my dad passed the tickets on to my Uncle Bob.

I missed a few seasons in between. I couldn't pay for the licensing seats because I was too busy spending my money on booze, dope and whoever wanted to do booze and dope with me. I have spoken about the lengths an addict will go to to keep the run going. Please remember when I say the addict I am the "THE." It doesn't mean we don't love people or care about their feelings. It's just that the power of addiction over our minds, bodies and souls is so domineering we often turn off our morality button to reach our goal of getting high.

The key player in the perpetuation of alcoholic or addiction insanity is the enabler. The word enable implies the weak and timid, easily manipulated and a complete pushover. It means in brief  "to supply the means," as listed in the American Heritage Dictionary. Enablers are usually the ones who love the addict the most and is filled with the most hope that someday things will be different. They are moms and dads, sisters and brothers, husbands and wives, friends and neighbors. They are sometimes obvious in their efforts and sometimes stealthy, dealing under the table.

Their intentions are pure but can be destructive in the end, not to just the user but the one who enables them. The pain of letting someone they love down, hurts them so they give in knowing it is wrong. The anger of withdrawal is frightening so they pacify. The hateful words or disinterest of the user makes them try to buy their approval and love. They hand out money, food or shelter not knowing if that hand out is going to be the one that kills or saves the user. Ultimately it is just another time in a merry-go-round of negative encouragement.

My dad was my enabler. He was there when I needed him. Whether it was for some cash or a car, he was the guy who saved my ass over and over. I took it for granted that he would always be there to clean up the shit I left behind. I worked for him on and off while crawling through 9 years of college. I didn't go 9 years straight. That was impossible for my addictive nature. I went for a year and a half to ISU. When the heat was ready to come down on me from the law or Academic Probation I skated back to Daddy. I transferred to Columbia College Chicago and attended, on and off, until graduating in 1992. I paid my ticket through student loans. I thought it was free money. I have paid the government back the $18,000 dollars I borrowed for my education. The $26,000 I owe them in interest, for all my years of neglect, won't be forgiven. Student loans come with no deal making. The government does not enable, at least where student loans are concerned.

If I was short of cash I would hit Dad up for a "loan." Those loans were rarely, if ever, paid back. He helped me move when a marriage or 3 failed. He did whatever he could to help me because of his love for me. I didn't see it that way. The addict thinks family and society owe them the money for injustices real or perceived from our earliest recollections. We had it coming! Suckers! That seems crass but when we need to use our hearts and minds focus on getting high. The kindness of the enabler is overlooked instantly by the obsession of the score.

By 1996 I was a fall down drunk and my father's good spirited giving ended. He arrived at my apartment after a girlfriend couldn't rouse me from a stupor. He slapped me awake, crumpled up a $100 dollar bill and dropped it in my lap saying, "That's it! The end of the line. You are no longer my son!" The words hurt long enough for me to realize I had a Ben Franklin and could get more vodka. We didn't speak for quite awhile after that. Messages were past from family or employees to check on each others well being.

In March of 1999 I called him begging that he take me to rehab. Initially he refused. I don't blame him. I was a drunken liar and thief. He did call back an hour later saying he was on the way and his charity got me to the hospital I so desperately needed. He didn't visit me in detox or for my loony bin stay, but Mom #2 stopped by every few days to bring me smokes, magazines, socks and undies. She was amazing. On family night none of my family came. I had used and abused them to the point of disconnect. Funny thing is that my dealers and bartenders didn't show up either. They had always said we were family.

My father and I built our relationship back up again, but he no longer enabled me. He helped where he could, but if I slipped off track he let me fall right on my face. It was tough love until I got the picture and started to fly right. There were ups and downs like any family dynamic, but I was able to make reparations toward the end of his life for the damage and manipulation I had laid on him. We spoke of my specific wrongs and I cleared away the damage of my past behaviors.

Toward the end, during one of his stays at a home, he made the comment that he had saved my ass now I was cleaning his. We both laughed but I was grateful that I had the chance to right my wrongs. If you enable, the choices are tough and there is not a one size fits all explanation on how to handle it. I was lucky. I had a chance to make peace and be useful to my father at the end of his life. If you are a user your time may be running out to make things right. Think about it. I was one of the lucky ones who got a chance at redemption. You can have it too starting one day at a time. Today looks good!

The End Is Near!

I know I'm not the only person who is reflecting on the events of 2010 today. I am truly grateful that I remember 2010. There are many New Year's Eves in the past that are a blank slate to me. Every day was New Year's to me because I would use and drink and say to my self  "I'm gonna quit tomorrow." I made resolution after resolution, night after night and was trapped in Groundhog's Day. I was trapped in tomorrows and yesterdays.

Today will be my second sober December 31st in a row. On this date in 2008 I stopped drinking for 10 days, then drank for 6 more. I have not had a drink or a drug since January 17, 2009. I had tried rehab in 1999 and had counseling after my accident in 1991. I would do okay for a while and then isolate. I am an isolating drunk. Sure, I went to bars occasionally but my favorite place to party was all by myself with a bottle and a box of tissues. Me and my self-pity are the fire and the booze is the bomb. When the three got together -  kaboom!

This is the most popular time of the year for people joining recovery groups. I have yet to see someone come in happy and smiling, stating with glee, "I just won the lottery. I am dating twins and I thought I would just stop in and see how you guys were doing." Some arrive because the court ordered them. Some come because their wife or husband gave them an ultimatum. Yet others walk in FINALLY realizing that they can't stay sober on their own. They need help from people just like them. I lived my life thinking no one was like me and here were all these me's of all shapes and sizes ready to help.

If you were lost in a jungle would you rather have a map or a guide who has walked that same jungle a hundred times and knows how to safely navigate the way out? The answer is obvious. Unfortunately the ego, fear and disease of "self" have worked on the alcoholic for a long time. It is hard to accept you have a condition or disease that makes drinking an unsafe option for you once you begin.

Our society glamorizes booze and promotes it as socially glamorous. These constant bombardments of fun and laughter that come with a cocktail are inviting to anyone, and damn near hypnotic porn to an alcoholic. The commercials remind me of the casino ads that show gambling, hot chicks, laughter and booze then end with a public service announcement. "If you or someone you know has a gambling problem call 1-800-I'm screwed!" The ads don't show the guy who can't stop gambling or the one who spent his paycheck on chance instead of paying the rent. Addiction starts out a wonderful servant and ends up a merciless master.

Most people can tie one on and that is it. They wake up with a New Year's Day hangover and lay on the couch drinking Gatorade and nursing a headache through endless football games. That doesn't make you an alcoholic. For those of you who are or live with a potential alcoholic I am sorry to say that there is nothing that you can say to make us stop. We must reach a point where the agony, self-loathing, depression, anger and chaos is too much for us to handle. In short we all have to decide for ourselves when the rat race of addiction is over.

For me it was January 17, 2009. I had drank all day and had pissed the bed the night before. There were times I pissed on the floor, on the couch, you name it. My Lab, Fabian, has actually pissed on my floor fewer times than I have. At the end of my run I would even fashion a diaper for myself knowing full well I would piss again but finding nothing abnormal about the behavior. I even bought my wife one of those mini carpet cleaners to clean up after the "dogs" made a mistake. On that night I begged to whoever was up there to please deliver me from the pain. I meant it and was willing to do anything to stop.

When I wet the bed my wife always knew but I hid it from the kids. After everyone left I would clean and suck the urine from our expensive mattress, wash the sheets and place fans around the wet area to assure dryness before my crew returned home from school and work. After 6 months of sobriety my wife was so proud of the new me she wanted to buy me a new drum kit. I was humbled by her amazing grace and the offer was tempting. I declined and took her to the mattress store and let her pick out the mattress of her dreams. I can say confidently and with deep gratitude to God that it has never been peed on.

If you are wondering if you are an alcoholic or addict the most honest answer to the question is what do you think. Only you know. Do you obsess that you may be an armadillo? I would think not. But if you are at a point where your ability to stop using when you want to doesn't work, or your life revolves around using, recovering from using or obsessing about using is a constant cycle, a hard look at the situation may be necessary. As a loved one there is support for people in addictive or codependent relationships, regardless of what addiction you may have. If you want to truly begin a new way of life look in the phone book. Start with the letter "A" and go from there. Before you know it, help will appear on the page. Whether you are the user or living with one, you have to wake up with you everyday. You are the only person that you are guaranteed to wake up with for the rest of your life. How are you doing?

I used to resent people who could drink safely and then put it down. I don't anymore. The thought of not drinking 5 years down the road at my middle daughter's wedding was impossible to comprehend. Now I just don't drink for today and tomorrow will take care of itself. Each one of us only has today, whether an addict or an earthling.

A lot of the justification I used to continue the cycle of addiction were notions and memories like, "Nobody loves me." "I am a loser." "I hated my childhood." " I can't tell anyone about the 'tickle game' a trusted adult played with me when I was a boy." "I can't live without booze. The pain is too much." All of these are symptoms of unhealthy thinking. Drugs and alcohol are the medicine addicts use to mask that pain.

Most of the things I wanted to be, but couldn't when I was drunk, have come to me ten fold. It feels great to have my wife and kids smile at me when I walk in the door. I am confident that I am a good husband, father, son, brother and friend. People can depend on me. I can look at myself in the mirror and other people in the eye. All the things I planned on doing tomorrow as a drunk, I am living sober today. It isn't always easy. I have to work hard at staying sober, as hard as it was being an addict day in and day out.
If I stay close to God and people who think like me it gets easier. I have no desire to use today. That is a miracle. I may crave tomorrow but I know what to do before giving into the craving. I call someone who has been through the same hell and pray for help.

Asking for help and surrendering is just the beginning. But sobriety is amazing. Just because you get tanked occasionally doesn't make you like me. Alcoholics know what they are, long before reaching out for help. We think we hide it so well and nobody can see our addiction. We are only fooling ourselves. I was amazed to find out that there were people who had the same crazy thinking I did.

Tonight I will sit back with my wife and daughter with some tasty snacks and Dave Chappelle videos. We will laugh and I will remember the whole night. I will wake up in a dry bed and thank God for giving me another sober today. Happy New Year!