Today I went to a Pleasant Hill noon meeting before heading back to Sacramento.
I got to the meeting a little early and while I was enjoying a little quiet time, I noticed there was a notice on the wall with a friend's picture on it -- never good news for the person with their picture on such a piece of paper in an AA meeting place. They are always about members who no longer need to worry about their anonymity. Typically an obituary. Such notices fall into two types: they are about members who died sober or about members who died drunk/high.
The good news today was that Ken Finnegan, an AA member for over 37 years, died sober. Not sure, but I don't think all 37 years were sober years -- but I'm pretty sure he had over 20 when he died. Doesn't really matter either way. It is what is and neither outcome is based on some moral accomplishment or the lack thereof.
I write about this tonite though because of one sentence in the announcement: "Ken died in the loving presence of his family on April 10th at 8:15am."
That hit me like a ton of bricks. A low gutteral sound escaped from my throat before I could keep it quiet. I immediately walked out of the meeting place and sat on a bench outside where I could regroup. You see this last Tues at 8:15am is about when my daughter was sitting down at the hospital, getting hooked to the fetal monitor and having its silence tell her what she already suspected: her baby boy was dead.
Ken died at the same moment in time.
For several reasons, this fact, coincidence or moment of grace, this truth brought me a wave of peace. You had to know Ken to understand this. Ken was a funny funny man. In every way! He was probably 70+ years old and didn't give a shit what he looked like: he had a very almost Albino skinny ostrich looking frame. Usually wore a old tee shirt of some color totally at odds with 1970s style basketball short shorts. I'm sure there are State laws somewhere that make his attire illegal or at least requiring some sort of permit.
He was also always sharing some hokey joke at the end of a meeting that made all of us laugh no matter what tragedies had been shared during that same meeting -- and somehow all of them would strangely include some weirdly wise truth about life.
This all brought me comfort. To know Ken might be there for Oliver in whatever follows death. Neither Ken or Oliver will be alone. And they will be laughing their little asses off!
My moment of peace was then interrupted by a guy who's been struggling to get/stay sober since I came into AA: He came out and stood in front of me and then leaned down to give me a bear hug, telling me that he hoped I was ok. He'd heard me talk about Oliver's death several days ago. He was worried about me. Told me that he had always appreciated my kind and supportive shares ever since he first met me ten years ago.
I returned the compliment by saying I'd always been pulling for him to get and stay sober since I met him and that I hoped it would click for him soon. We hugged again and then joined the meeting.
The healing continues...
Take care!
Mike L.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Apparently, 40 Out of 86 Affirmations Were More Than Enough...
Two years ago, as I was getting closer and closer to the birth of my first grandchild, I was finishing another David Richo book called, "When Love Meets Fear". Of course, as luck would have it, the more I progressed through the book, the more I became aware of fear and fearful things in my life. It was clear in each case that the fears were already there before I'd even touched the book, I was just becoming more aware of them and less afraid of most of them. Including some fears directly related to the impending birth of this first granddaughter.
At the end of this book, Richo included a list of "fear affirmations" and I ended up memorizing all 156 of these just in time for Harper's in November 2010. While Harper was coming into this world, I waited in the waiting room and wrote a blog on fear and quoted all 156 of those affirmations. http://mikelrecovery.blogspot.com/2010/11/taking-advantage-of-richos-fear.html?m=1
Not long after my youngest daughter's marriage to Daniel in June of last year, Rachel became pregnant and she was ecstatic! She seemed to live for having a baby. She, like her older sister Katie, always wanted above all else to be a mother. Me on the other hand? I started experiencing a resurgence of fear. I refreshed my memory of Richo's 156 fear affirmations, but that only seemed to increase the fears. I tried re-reading When Love Meets Fear and other than discovering that all 156 fear affirmations we plagiarized by his own book, that didn't help much either! But as I got toward the end of the book I discovered that Richo had also included another list of affirmations: 86 of them. I read through the first ten or so and nothing really struck me as insightful or beautiful (these being the usual requirements leading to me deciding to memorizing something...). But I was getting desperate as the baby was due in about a month. So I began memorizing them in groups of five.
I'd memorized 40 of them when Rachel learned that her son Oliver had died in her womb one day before he was due to be born. One day shot of 40 Weeks. Oliver was born the following day and that was five days ago. Yesterday, after the funeral service, I had to drive my son back to Berkeley so he could work today. On the way back to Sacramento today, I started reciting these initial 40 affirmations. As I did this I began to realize how each and every one of these affirmations had been a huge part of how I successfully walked through all that I have in the last five days, especially
#27: I accept the losses in my life and grieve them fully.
And
#28: I allow every human feeling.
This is precisely what I did as I began saving Yes to Grief Tuesday morning...
I will soon resume memorizing the rest of this batch of 86 affirmations, but for now at least these first 40 are more than enough!
Thank you David Richo!
Take care! Glad to be back blogging, even if by iPhone thumbing.
Mike L.
At the end of this book, Richo included a list of "fear affirmations" and I ended up memorizing all 156 of these just in time for Harper's in November 2010. While Harper was coming into this world, I waited in the waiting room and wrote a blog on fear and quoted all 156 of those affirmations. http://mikelrecovery.blogspot.com/2010/11/taking-advantage-of-richos-fear.html?m=1
Not long after my youngest daughter's marriage to Daniel in June of last year, Rachel became pregnant and she was ecstatic! She seemed to live for having a baby. She, like her older sister Katie, always wanted above all else to be a mother. Me on the other hand? I started experiencing a resurgence of fear. I refreshed my memory of Richo's 156 fear affirmations, but that only seemed to increase the fears. I tried re-reading When Love Meets Fear and other than discovering that all 156 fear affirmations we plagiarized by his own book, that didn't help much either! But as I got toward the end of the book I discovered that Richo had also included another list of affirmations: 86 of them. I read through the first ten or so and nothing really struck me as insightful or beautiful (these being the usual requirements leading to me deciding to memorizing something...). But I was getting desperate as the baby was due in about a month. So I began memorizing them in groups of five.
I'd memorized 40 of them when Rachel learned that her son Oliver had died in her womb one day before he was due to be born. One day shot of 40 Weeks. Oliver was born the following day and that was five days ago. Yesterday, after the funeral service, I had to drive my son back to Berkeley so he could work today. On the way back to Sacramento today, I started reciting these initial 40 affirmations. As I did this I began to realize how each and every one of these affirmations had been a huge part of how I successfully walked through all that I have in the last five days, especially
#27: I accept the losses in my life and grieve them fully.
And
#28: I allow every human feeling.
This is precisely what I did as I began saving Yes to Grief Tuesday morning...
I will soon resume memorizing the rest of this batch of 86 affirmations, but for now at least these first 40 are more than enough!
Thank you David Richo!
Take care! Glad to be back blogging, even if by iPhone thumbing.
Mike L.
A Lesson on Grief...
My world got a major jolt earlier this week, one that can't be fitted into a 164 character Tweet and one that can't be adequately conveyed through a post on this too long ignored recovery blog. My youngest daughter was due to have her baby boy (my 3rd grandchild) this last Wednesday, but for some unexplained reason, her baby Oliver stopped moving in her womb early Tuesday morning and after a quick trip over to the hospital, she learned (her husband was still outside entangled with an unknowingly cruel bureaucratic registration process) that Oliver had died sometime earlier that morning.
Our family has walked through a grief in the last six days that has transformed each of us. We've all gone through doors which seemed impossibly difficult to pass through, but each of us did. And on the other side, we each took a breath and then realized there was yet another door, different for each of us but similar in the sense that each of them all appeared to be things we could simply not go through or endure. But, each of us did. And the grieving/healing process has repeated itself in each of us many many times in these last few days.
Yesterday, we had a funeral service for Oliver. It was simply amazing. I can't go through all of it here right now, because I need to finish cleaning up our house, washing my clothes (not normally a task I'm permitted to do because I tend to have a habit of making clothes come out of the wash in different colors than they went into the washer with...which never causes me a problem because I'm gleefully colorblind!) and then heading back up to Sacramento to be with my wife, daughter, son-in-law for another day or so. Sometime this coming week, we will be burying Oliver: in a Catholic cemetery not more than 2 miles from my daughter's home and in a special area of the cemetery called the Holy Family section (it's overseen by a large statute of the Holy Family, Joseph, Mary and the child Jesus) and in a even more special area of that which is called the "baby area". It's an area reserved for babies and infants to be buried: you can see it from a distance, lots of balloons, plastic Easter eggs, toys, other keepsakes unique to each child buried there. While that's a major hurdle for Rachel (my daughter) and her husband to go through, it's only one more door of grief for each of us to pass through. I have no doubt there will be many more. But the healing has begun.
At yesterday's service, I gave a talk as Oliver's grandfather and Rachel's father. Before the talk, I welcomed everyone and introduced myself as one of Oliver's grandfathers -- but I informed them all that my three children were teaching their children, my grandchildren, to call me "Ho Ho" because of my slightly oversized belly, white beard, white hair and my laugh. I then shared with them what Oliver's "purpose in life" had been for me. My wife and daugher had just passed out little cards to everyone in the chapel for them to complete the following sentence: Oliver's purpose in life was....
While this might not seem at all related to my "recovery" from alcoholism, trust me, it has everything to do with my recovery. Without question, were it not for my getting sober over ten years ago and were it not for all the things I've done over the last three years to stay sober (I now realize I've been doing far more than to just "stay sober" -- I've really been learning how to live!!) -- well, I would not have been able to get through the challenges encountered over the last six days. And I have gotten through them, and far more than that. More about that later. Here's my talk which I wrote on my iPhone from 3 to 5:30am the morning of Oliver's funeral service....
Oliver's purpose in my life...was to teach me about Grief
I think I've always seen grief to be a bottomless dark hole into which I would fall were I ever to give it permission to come up out of me and into the light. This explains why, until now, I've always said No to Grief.
After years of practice, these negative words all faded into silence. Nothingness. Grief became emptiness. A lack of feeling. A lack of emotion. An absence of love. A hole of no color or depth or width or time.
When I learned of Oliver's death on Tuesday morning, I felt nothing. No feeling. I simply followed directions and began doing what I thought I was supposed to do. And I did that for five minutes.
And then I felt a sound welling up from deep within me and I knew it was asking, pleading to be heard. And then, for some inexplicable miraculous reason I said Yes to this sound not knowing who or what it was.
The sounds of grief started as a slow wailing guttural groan of deepest sadness and pain. The sounds were followed immediately by tears, lots of tears! I said Yes to them too! And then came the words! Lots of words! Angry vulgar loud words not normally spoken in Churches or Classrooms or at dinner tables or living rooms...and certainly not funeral homes! Or in front of children! The two biggest words were No! and Why?
Thank God these vulgar words were spoken and washed clean by the tears! And the even more meaningfull non-word sounds of Grief. This lasted for thirty minutes. By that time, I had arrived at the hospital where my baby girl Rachel was dealing with a grief I'd never prepared her for -- because I was never taught about grief as an adult subject, as a part of life, as a natural and essential part and parcel of love. I didn't feel guilty about this, I only felt the longing to hold and comfort my baby girl Rachel, my protector, my advocate, my fan. Rachel. The name Rachel means Gentle in Suffering.
For the first time in my life, I have really been there for Rachel. I've held her, cried with her, kissed her forehead and cheeks, grieved with her. And encouraged her grief.
And then, what has been most difficult for me as parent, as dad, As pops, I had to let her go.
What she is walking through is something I can not go through at this time in my life: the death of one's child in their womb, the birth of a son, the holding and caressing of his body for the first, and then the last time. I cannot do any of these things. Yet.
All I can do is be there for her as she continues to walk through a series of massive looking doors, all of which appear to have loud frightening sounds coming from behind them. And I know that she will walk through each one of them with courage, determination, laughter and wit. And oh, with beautiful and powerful and grace filled written words! I know this because I have seen her do this repeatedly for the last five days. A Woman Warrior!
So it appears I was blindsided this week not by Death but by Life. I've learned the painful lesson that Death is an essential critical part of life. Over the last 58 years, I'd fallen asleep to this wonder-filled fact: all life has a beginning, a middle and an end.
Oliver Martin Gs life's beginning, middle and end lasted a day short of forty weeks. In that all too short time, he was wonderfully loved and nurtured by a mother and father and a large group of extended holy family and friends. In that short life he touched and transformed me in ways I could have never imagined or even hoped.
Oliver, Rachel and Daniel are my heroes.
Life has a beginning, a middle, an end and an after.
We are Oliver's after.
Our family has walked through a grief in the last six days that has transformed each of us. We've all gone through doors which seemed impossibly difficult to pass through, but each of us did. And on the other side, we each took a breath and then realized there was yet another door, different for each of us but similar in the sense that each of them all appeared to be things we could simply not go through or endure. But, each of us did. And the grieving/healing process has repeated itself in each of us many many times in these last few days.
Yesterday, we had a funeral service for Oliver. It was simply amazing. I can't go through all of it here right now, because I need to finish cleaning up our house, washing my clothes (not normally a task I'm permitted to do because I tend to have a habit of making clothes come out of the wash in different colors than they went into the washer with...which never causes me a problem because I'm gleefully colorblind!) and then heading back up to Sacramento to be with my wife, daughter, son-in-law for another day or so. Sometime this coming week, we will be burying Oliver: in a Catholic cemetery not more than 2 miles from my daughter's home and in a special area of the cemetery called the Holy Family section (it's overseen by a large statute of the Holy Family, Joseph, Mary and the child Jesus) and in a even more special area of that which is called the "baby area". It's an area reserved for babies and infants to be buried: you can see it from a distance, lots of balloons, plastic Easter eggs, toys, other keepsakes unique to each child buried there. While that's a major hurdle for Rachel (my daughter) and her husband to go through, it's only one more door of grief for each of us to pass through. I have no doubt there will be many more. But the healing has begun.
At yesterday's service, I gave a talk as Oliver's grandfather and Rachel's father. Before the talk, I welcomed everyone and introduced myself as one of Oliver's grandfathers -- but I informed them all that my three children were teaching their children, my grandchildren, to call me "Ho Ho" because of my slightly oversized belly, white beard, white hair and my laugh. I then shared with them what Oliver's "purpose in life" had been for me. My wife and daugher had just passed out little cards to everyone in the chapel for them to complete the following sentence: Oliver's purpose in life was....
While this might not seem at all related to my "recovery" from alcoholism, trust me, it has everything to do with my recovery. Without question, were it not for my getting sober over ten years ago and were it not for all the things I've done over the last three years to stay sober (I now realize I've been doing far more than to just "stay sober" -- I've really been learning how to live!!) -- well, I would not have been able to get through the challenges encountered over the last six days. And I have gotten through them, and far more than that. More about that later. Here's my talk which I wrote on my iPhone from 3 to 5:30am the morning of Oliver's funeral service....
Oliver's purpose in my life...was to teach me about Grief
I think I've always seen grief to be a bottomless dark hole into which I would fall were I ever to give it permission to come up out of me and into the light. This explains why, until now, I've always said No to Grief.
No! Not now! Some other time! Don't you dare cry! Control!
After years of practice, these negative words all faded into silence. Nothingness. Grief became emptiness. A lack of feeling. A lack of emotion. An absence of love. A hole of no color or depth or width or time.
When I learned of Oliver's death on Tuesday morning, I felt nothing. No feeling. I simply followed directions and began doing what I thought I was supposed to do. And I did that for five minutes.
And then I felt a sound welling up from deep within me and I knew it was asking, pleading to be heard. And then, for some inexplicable miraculous reason I said Yes to this sound not knowing who or what it was.
It was Grief and I said Yes!
The sounds of grief started as a slow wailing guttural groan of deepest sadness and pain. The sounds were followed immediately by tears, lots of tears! I said Yes to them too! And then came the words! Lots of words! Angry vulgar loud words not normally spoken in Churches or Classrooms or at dinner tables or living rooms...and certainly not funeral homes! Or in front of children! The two biggest words were No! and Why?
Thank God these vulgar words were spoken and washed clean by the tears! And the even more meaningfull non-word sounds of Grief. This lasted for thirty minutes. By that time, I had arrived at the hospital where my baby girl Rachel was dealing with a grief I'd never prepared her for -- because I was never taught about grief as an adult subject, as a part of life, as a natural and essential part and parcel of love. I didn't feel guilty about this, I only felt the longing to hold and comfort my baby girl Rachel, my protector, my advocate, my fan. Rachel. The name Rachel means Gentle in Suffering.
For the first time in my life, I have really been there for Rachel. I've held her, cried with her, kissed her forehead and cheeks, grieved with her. And encouraged her grief.
And then, what has been most difficult for me as parent, as dad, As pops, I had to let her go.
What she is walking through is something I can not go through at this time in my life: the death of one's child in their womb, the birth of a son, the holding and caressing of his body for the first, and then the last time. I cannot do any of these things. Yet.
All I can do is be there for her as she continues to walk through a series of massive looking doors, all of which appear to have loud frightening sounds coming from behind them. And I know that she will walk through each one of them with courage, determination, laughter and wit. And oh, with beautiful and powerful and grace filled written words! I know this because I have seen her do this repeatedly for the last five days. A Woman Warrior!
So it appears I was blindsided this week not by Death but by Life. I've learned the painful lesson that Death is an essential critical part of life. Over the last 58 years, I'd fallen asleep to this wonder-filled fact: all life has a beginning, a middle and an end.
Oliver Martin Gs life's beginning, middle and end lasted a day short of forty weeks. In that all too short time, he was wonderfully loved and nurtured by a mother and father and a large group of extended holy family and friends. In that short life he touched and transformed me in ways I could have never imagined or even hoped.
Oliver, Rachel and Daniel are my heroes.
Life has a beginning, a middle, an end and an after.
We are Oliver's after.
"For all that has been, I say Thanks!(I forget who said this, it certainly wasn't me!)
For all that will be, I say Yes!"
Monday, April 2, 2012
New MikeLRecovery Twitter account...
My life continues to be overfull, but I am enjoying most every moment. And the moments I don't particularly like, seem to be full of wisdom somewhere down the path.
Because of my time constraints, I've been playing with a Twitter version of my blog and I've branded it in the same MikeLRecovery fashion:
https://twitter.com/#!/MikeLRecovery
What I'm finding most challenging is the restriction within Twitterdom that allows only 164 characters to a post. I'm not a short story kinda guy, but it's been fun trying.
Mike L.
Because of my time constraints, I've been playing with a Twitter version of my blog and I've branded it in the same MikeLRecovery fashion:
https://twitter.com/#!/MikeLRecovery
What I'm finding most challenging is the restriction within Twitterdom that allows only 164 characters to a post. I'm not a short story kinda guy, but it's been fun trying.
Mike L.
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