Easy to Remember, Hard to Forget....

In life, everyone has done or said things they would like to forget and can't. There are memories we try to wish and pray away. There are always a few in some dark corner of our minds just waiting for us to wrap our heads around them, and drag them back into the light. Sometimes they are dragged out for us.

Alcohol, and/or anger makes people say, and do things they wouldn't normally even consider when calm or sober. There's the cutting remarks, pushing of hot buttons, dredged up family secrets and reminders of poor past decisions. We want them erased permanently from our memory drive. There is inevitably something we have done or said while drunk, or riled up, that we wish we could take back. This is not exclusive to people like me. Everyone has an incident or remark they remember, or don't, that haunts them or embarrasses them to some degree.

For an alcoholic this haunting presents itself through remorse, shame and self-loathing that eventually becomes overwhelming. It is simple math. Too many drinks, plus several years of too many drinks, equals loss of control, rage, verbal warfare and multiple bad decisions. This beast of burden becomes so daunting that it creates a cycle of more drinking and bad decisions. The equation is more drinks to forget, more for created mistakes, more drinks, ad infinitum.

For the occasional partier or abstainer, there are probably a few silly, or sometimes serious, incidents that happened on a vacation, or at a company party that are uncomfortable when relived. Some of them were serious enough to create a permanent scar on the parties involved. The normal person moves on, or works through it.

Before I ever picked up a drink, things happened to me that I couldn't process as a little boy. The incidents were confusing, and happened at the hands of a person I trusted. The mixed messages created conflicting emotions, and later would fuel my isolation and anger. It twisted my sense of trust and robbed me of my innocence. This "loved" one is no longer here. I have never shared the pain with my family. I know that nothing positive will result from dredging up the ghost of painful past.

That person is not here to respond, and other lives would be damaged by the news. It is my choice to hold it inside. There is no redemption that would result from my soul cleansing. It can not be changed, no matter how badly I want it to. No human can change history. I have forgiven this person. Not for his actions, but for his human weakness, and my own sanity. God has given me so many chances. To hold hatred inside would rot away at me like acid, while he is dead. He has stood before his maker and accounted for his stop here. His fate is up to powers I can't even perceive.

One of the most difficult parts of my recovery  has been facing the past, and those whom I have hurt along the way. By cleaning up the messes I have created, I am relieved of some of the baggage I was burdened with daily, monthly and yearly. We drink to forget. We drink to escape. We try to temporarily erase the massive discomfort we have created through the fog of a hangover.

Remember the Grinch cartoon where the little dog with the stick on his head is pulling that massive sled stacked four stories high with the Grinch's stolen Christmas booty? At one point they slide down a hill to a cliff, the overstuffed sleigh is teetering on the edge of disaster. The cute little dog is hanging over the edge of the cliff looking up at the huge bags that are sure to destroy him if it falls. That is what a drunk in recovery is trying to fix. Active drinkers keep adding to the burden. We try to remove the baggage, a little bit at a time, so that it doesn't destroy us. As we lighten the burden, the urge to escape is replaced by satisfaction in making things right, or at least taking responsibility for our past mistakes.

Setting the record straight with those we have wronged is greeted with acceptance and forgiveness, angry rejection or indifference by the attempted confession. The outcomes, once again, are out of our control but the issue being faced takes one more package off the sleigh of guilt. There are those we can't reach, those who are dead that make taking the responsibility for past wrongs impossible. We do the best we can with who we can, and leave the rest up to GOD'S timing.

The majority of people we have crossed are wives, husbands, loved ones and friends who are still in our orbit. The reparations offered to these people are lifetime repairs. By leading decent, sober well intentioned lives, we show others that we are "new creatures." Our actions, without expecting anything in return, is a lifetime commitment to sobriety, and our sanity. The ultimate goal is taking ownership of our errors and living peaceably with those offended in our darker days.

The selfish, uncaring drunk I was for 20 years, is still inside of me, and a part of my permanent record. It can not be expunged. There are times when people perceive that I have done them wrong. I am accused of things I did not do. The false accusations are understood but create anger and resentment towards our accuser. If a dog has stolen your socks time after time, when one goes missing, the doghouse is the first place you check. Lashing out creates more trouble. An honest appraisal of my past gives me understanding as to why they think I am the perpetrator. I was a sock stealing dog for years. I just don't steal them anymore.

Forgiveness is the key to contented life, whether drunk or sober. Anger and resentment are deadly for an addict. If dwelled upon for too long, these feelings will eventually lead us back to escape through the bottle or insanity. Forgiving myself has been the hardest reparation I have faced. The self-loathing, self-hate, fear, remorse, regret and shame can be relentless as my mind gets clearer in my sobriety. Forgiveness of self is vital, or I will end up drunk and crazy again.

I know GOD has forgiven me for my sins and human failings. By failing to forgive myself and others, I am questioning GOD'S omnipotence. I have been pardoned for my past mistakes by the ultimate expert on forgiveness. If I question my worthiness for forgiveness, I am doubting his authority and grace. It will take time, but with help, I will make it to the other side. I spent 28 years drinking. It may take 50 years before I am forgiven by others, and myself. As long as I am open-minded, and keep GOD centered in my efforts, everything will work out fine. More specifically, they will work out exactly as God has planned.

Forgive yourself and others for shortcomings and their humanity. God has forgiven us if we have sincerely asked for his mercy. Life is too short to live in the past. Remember that every day is a gift, and the days we live with hate and anger, whether inward or outward, robs us of enjoying the "present" of today. If I don't share the grace and blessings that have been freely given to me, I just might lose them all....

I Used To Play God, Sometimes I Still Have to...

When you are caught in the grasp of active addiction the addiction or "drug of choice" becomes your God. It is what has the most power over you and the first thing you turn to when you don't feel the way you want to feel. The God of Heaven is there to be filled in on our plans. He is wonderful when things go our way. He is heartless when he doesn't give us what we want. While I was using I forced my way through life kicking ass and taking names while leaving a huge swath of destruction in my wake. Although it was personal to the victims and hostages I took, it wasn't personal to me. I did what I had to do to survive in my parallel universe.

It always amazed me that I could perform so many tasks with self-control and success in my life, but when it came to alcohol a 12 ounce can of beer was stronger than me. I am absolutely powerless over mind altering chemicals. I have kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland and driven carefree across that beautiful country. I graduated from college. I have seen success is earthly and spiritual growth is eternal. I have found a new God, or a new perception of Him. He is not there. He is everywhere. He gives us the choice to do as we wish. He is there to pick up the pieces. I know Him by His first name which is love.

My 2nd oldest dog Cooter is having glandular problems again. She cries so much and grunts when she lays down. I look into her eyes and I see the pain deep within. Her wagging tail gets slower by the wiggle. She is almost 12, half blind, half deaf and living in the whole of my heart. I am taking her to the Vet Thursday. I am grateful to be sober and spiritually fit for whatever he tells me that day. I wish Ole Coot could tell me if she's ready to go or wants to hang around. I have been in this spot before and the tears are coming already. I know that God will give me direction. I know I'll do the right thing even if it's the thing I dread most.

Whoever says "they're just pets" doesn't truly understand that these amazing creatures are from God. I would be a liar if I didn't confess that I like animals more than people on most days. It is that love that guides me, even when I don't feel very loving, that I must turn to. It is the love that my FAMILY of animals gives me and my love for them that makes that moment of having to play God so difficult. I'm grateful I'm not God because the decisions He makes make mine seem like child's play. Sometimes the truest gift of love is being able to let go, let God and trust that you did the right thing. I wish above all that our pets could talk just one time, and that one time be when they're ready to head to paradise.

Sometimes....

Sometimes I feel trapped, between a whisper and a scream,
my pant leg snagged in the chain of my life.
If I force my way forward with the pedal in MY hand.
I hear my heart tearing like cloth and lurch back.
But if I call out for some help from above,
I'll make it home dirty but covered in love.

God Bless us All!

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

At the risk of sounding like James Frey's confession of adding fictional flare to his semi-non-fictional story of pain and addiction, I have to make a confession that is the opposite of his. It is an admission of holding back facts in my story. To fully understand the following chapter you will have to go back to my chapter "I Was Dead but Didn't Die." My comparison to Frey is that I left a part OUT about my attempted self termination. It was a fact that I didn't think added to my story and I didn't want you to think I was cruel to animals. Nothing could be further from the truth. I now regret the omission, and am eager to share everything. Now that I am writing about my "Near Death" experience and unexplained encounters, not of this dimension, it must be recorded.

There was no thoughts of misleading the reader. I just wasn't prepared to tell the whole story of that night. It was hard enough telling people I was trying to off myself. The omission revolves around my black Lab Fabian. I have had him since my wife rescued him at 6 months old, from the Downers Grove, Illinois Humane Society. He is now 11 and nearing the end of his road. On that haunting date I was going to speed up the trip and take him with me. I should also mention I have 2 other rescue dogs, "Cooter" an 11 year old yellow Lab, and "Grace" a 3 year old Pekingese. An endorsement for adopting animals may sound trite, seeing as I was gonna take myself out, and him with me.

I love my dogs dearly, as I do all animals. Kris and I have no biological children together so our dogs are our adopted proxies. Check that! I hate BATS, all bats big and small, and most snakes! I also despise any spider that I cannot squish with a paper towel victoriously. The most glaring phobia I have is clowns! They're always jumping out of tiny cars with honking horns and miming terribly choreographed slapstick skits in grossly over sized shoes with large painted-on mouths over their existing tiny mouths. What the hell is that? Too much time around them is sure to trigger a panic attack. That said, I am one of the few fathers who can say, with pride, that I never took my kids to the circus! I didn't want to pass on my phobias of the strangely painted creatures, nor create a scene of their father shrieking and running from center ring. That would inflict an equally painful psychological scar upon their young minds. Again, I use humor to deflect heavy feelings I have a hard time addressing in the moment.

Fabian and I have been joined at the hip for years. He knows my moods and tries to lick my wounds when I am hurt inside or out. He is the ultimate companion and I love him dearly. He is truly this man's best friend. He ultimately saved my life and was a part of the unexplainable events that happened that evening in 2004.

When my wife left me on that day after I relapsed and I planned my exodus to the great beyond, I did not leave a bowl of food for Fabian in the house. I did open the windows so the gas from the car exhaust didn't damage the house. Psychotic, I know. My plan was to take Fabian with me. We were going to be friends to the end. I have a small office that connects to my garage and that is where my suicide attempt began. I closed the door of the tiny office and opened the door to the garage where my Dodge Neon was running. I sealed the door to the house with duct tape to keep all the gas in the garage and into my office. I took Fabian into the room with me and we laid down by my CD rack.

After about 45 minutes went by, I began to feel sluggish. My breathing was slowing and it seemed as if things were going in slow motion. It was like I was watching a film. Fabian was laying next to me and I closed my eyes, as his were closed also. His breathing was more beleaguered, less frequent than usual, and very shallow. I knew he was getting close to death and I wasn't far behind.

As I laid next to him my eyes burned and I was unable to sit up. I closed my eyes and soon found myself in a different place. What I saw is hard to describe but I remember it vividly, even though I was being over taken by the carbon monoxide. Although I was sprawled out on the floor, I found myself standing up with Fabian at my left side. There were no white lights. The color for my experience was mostly grey. Describing the physical surroundings is hard to put into words because I have little to compare it to.

Imagine an hour glass each end perfectly symmetrical with a tube in between. Now take a thinly sliced cross-sectioned cut of the hour glass and lay it down flat. I was standing on one side of the hour glass floor and there was a bridge that separated me and Fabian from the other side of another hour glass floor. The whole vision was in white and grey. I could see that Fabian was still black but I could not see myself. I was there but couldn't see my physical being.

There was a presence there that seemed to to be hovering over my shoulder and encapsulating the whole place. It was very peaceful and strong. I was not afraid. There was no conversation in my experience but communication between me, the presence and the others I soon saw was definitely taking place. It was a non-verbal dialogue with a feeling based exchange of information. Fabian stood, happily transfixed at the view across the bridge. The more powerful presence was not encouraging me to do anything or go anywhere. It was just there letting me survey my surroundings.

From my side of the bridge I could see images of what I knew were people. It wasn't like, "oh look it's Grandma and Uncle Jack." I could sense loved ones and saw shapes of auras but there was no definition to the forms. I knew what they were but they were shapes, not outlines of humans, and they had a cloudy illumination to them. I also did not recognize, or feel, all of the auras that filled the background behind those closest to me on the other side. The bridge was slightly curvy and to each side was only grey vapor and nothingness. There was no sense of depth perception but the auras on the other side were seemingly about a 100 yards away.

I was not drawn to the other side and the loving figures did not call for me to join them. They were letting me know they loved me, but that was all. The stronger presence surrounding me gave me the feeling that I had a choice to go to the other side of the bridge or not. It was up to me. There was no pressure either way. It was simply up to me. I was not intimidated or feeling pressure. I was just at a point of decision. I looked down at Fabian and I realized that taking my own life and crossing the bridge was my decision, but that he didn't have a choice. I held the power of his life and death in my hands.

I knew I loved him too much to take his life and taking him from my family was wrong. I didn't reflect on the impact my death would have on my family. I just loved my dog too much to be so cruel to him and doubly cruel to my family. He is laying next to me now as I write this, as is Cooter. I call them  Salt-n-Pepa.

I found myself back on the floor, next to Fabian and the sealed door that went into the family room. He was barely breathing and his tongue was hanging out to the side. I reached up and pulled the door open. Oxygen and clean air rushed in. We both stayed there. The car was still running in the garage. After a few moments he began to somewhat get it together. I crawled into the family room pulling him along. A short time later, he was snapping out of it pretty well and I had the strength to let him outside to get more air.

I didn't fully comprehend what I had just experienced, like I do now. After I knew Fab was okay, I returned to the garage and closed the door behind me to finish the job I had set out to do. Rosary draped on me and Bible in hand, I shut the door from the office to the garage, leaving Fabian behind. You know the rest of the story. It has a happy ending. I am still here.

I now know I was on the edge of death. I know that I was given a choice to cross the bridge or stay behind. My love for Fabian helped me choose to stay here. God had decided to make my decision for me, through him. When I woke up later in the garage the Neon had stalled. I believe in heaven or another plane like I believe in oxygen. No one can veer me from that conviction. I saw what many, and few, have seen. Life's the journey, not the destination. I am glad God made my choice for me. In the condition I was in, I can honestly say that choosing life would not have been my decision, without God and Fabian's intervention.