running down the clock within a bermuda triangle of sorts in the mcintyre homestead; simply frantic not to be sucked into a surreal oblivion...
pace the upstairs hallway. call sponsor in back room. go downstairs. fall on knees in bathroom. pray. sob. go back upstairs. repeat.
counting the minutes in my head until i could get to a meeting. don't imagine the open bottle of wine, coating your willing throat, burning, flushing, warmth, peace....
[spring out of your head, girl, dive into your heart...]
the meeting was across town in an area called st. vital.
and in this wee corner of winnipeg i received exactly that. vitality. and the christmas spirit.
not a $10 bonus card from target with every $75 spent!...
not 50% off all sales this boxing day...
and not a single item that was passed to me from under the christmas tree...
with my sister-in-love's hand clutched in mine, we sat at a meeting with 2 other committed members. at first, the speaker, d, began to ramble about the many jobs he'd held and let slip throughout his life due to the drink, his annoyance over the fortune oozing from his son's pores, and a mild flirt with membership back in 1966 that lasted a month...
old henriette to new henriette, "how the hell is this supposed to help me?"
[typical selfish, self-absorbed addict...]
and then it hit.
[my godshot...]
he is dying of terminal cancer. he is clearly in his 70's and his wife kicked him out a couple of years ago.
he has every reason in the world to drink, "to get on with it", was his heartfelt cry. but he now knows himself to be a better person without it. and he would rather die a sober man, a good man, than a drunken one.
and if he can surrender to sobreity for six years while facing cancer, i can surrender to my sobreity while facing these painful, uncertain renal times.
it's not the fight of willpower, but the surrender to serenity.
best. christmas. present. ever.
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