Doing What my School Teacher Said

So,

I am just doing what my school teacher said.

She led us all outisde on a warm spirng day and said,

close your eyes and listen…

what do you hear?

I believe we were studying the five senses at the time and so I closed my eyes and listened.

Decades later here I am, laying on my porch deck in the sunshine, closing my eyes and listening.

I hear the birds chirping, the wind gently breezing by, rustling the dry foliage…

I hear the backyard chicken clucking and a dog in the distance making a stance… for a moment I hear nothing

and just feel,

the sun tingling my winter-skin making me feel warm.

I feel connected to a bigger realm.

I hear:

I see you,

you are mine,

enjoy this day.

I began these writings nearly three years ago in response to my son’s death of an overdose and titled this site:

In the Battle – because,

well,

I felt like I had been in a raging battle as I fought hard to save my son into long lasting recovery.

I continued to daily battle trying to make sense of how to live my life without my son.

I knew my son lived a daily battle for most of his life, fighting to find reason, purpose, and peace in his life; since nine years old, he fought for ten years, and maybe even more if we count the silent years before that.

I know some reading right now are fighting hard too, whether you are yourself caught by addiction, or emotional turmoil’s, or illness of some sort of another – physically or mentally…

Or whether you are a mom, or dad, or sister, or brother, or grandma, or uncle, or friend watching your loved one suffer in the daily battle…

I write for you,

for me…

and I wonder if it matters…yet I continue on because somehow it grounds me in my battles to put thoughts to words on a screen.

Battles are a part of life – I don’t think anyone is battle-free.

In fact, I think most people are in a battle every single day – remember that when you decide how to treat others in word, or deed.

Today I think of a fellow-grieving mom – Sharon, you know who you are…

And I hope she is enduring the battle strong, although today no doubt makes her feel weak… as memories overwhelm her heart.

Aren’t we all yearning for connection to the bigger realm?

As my son struggled daily, I know he ached for understanding and to make reason out of all his pain…

…watching him, I know I did.

Another bird offers a new song and I am stirred to remain still and listen…

I lay on my deck knowing that this bigger realm is held and sustained by the Creator who knew all things before any part of this earthly life came to be. Humbled I lay, as if in His hands, and find calm in my heart.

I do not know the answers of why we each have the battles we have.

But I do know, I am seen, and I am His, and I am given the gift to enjoy this day if I choose.

Today, I do choose to enjoy.

I hope you can too dear warrior friend…

I urge you to take a moment to do as my school teacher said…

close your eyes and listen…

in the whirlwind of life, we as a people do not heed this very often – quiet can be scary, especially when you are thick in the battles.

close your eyes and listen…

I believe, you can hear more than the sounds of nature if you stay long enough and listen…

you will hear,

I see you,

you are mine,

enjoy this day.

It is my belief, that everyone on earth is a child of the Creator, whether they understand or acknowledge it, or not. And this Creator, God the Father, knows you, sees you, and loves you.

Bottom line:

In the Battle, you are not alone… God is with you.

The Battle belongs to HIM.

If you ever want to know more; contact me, I am more than happy to chat.

When a Recovering Addict Mourns

It is morning, but it is dark.
Dark in the sense that everything is just not how it is supposed to be.
Dark, so dark, that I strain to see sense, but there is no sense to see.
This dark weighs like a thousand pound cloud that thunders, waiting to release the torrential rain.
How did it come to this?

Dutifully going through the motions, I slip on my suit coat.
Black. Black as dark as black can be. I feel wound & bound as I enter this day.
Just five months ago he came to the house. I recognized his hesitancy and his lack of admission right away because I had been there myself.
Not that I know it all or have the answers and can say I am free, because, in reality, we are never really free – never free enough to not be concerned.

We all walk a tenuous, tightrope of recovery.

The light begins as a pinhole stream, as hope is recognized and love is allowed in. Gaining steadiness in my walk I can say the brightness of the light grows with each day that I keep my back turned away from the lures that promise things that are not true.

Emotions are hard.
They trigger desires and thoughts to run and hide in the dark spaces and places.

Standing tall I breathe big and my hand slips into my suit coat pocket and feels a single, soft tissue. This suit was borrowed by him who came to the house five months ago. He wore it to his friends funeral. Yes… this was his tissue with his tears dried on it from just a few weeks ago. And now, here I stand, wearing the same suit, needing a tissue of my own. I pull it out and let the soft crumbled mass sit cradled in my hand like a treasure; the treasure of a friendship now lost.

Death is so very dark.
Why couldn’t I have helped him better to see the light more clearly?
Emotions; damn emotions!
Begging, they seductively whisper to me…
the darkness that thunders with the weight of rain, beckons.
That tenuous, tightrope is before me. Can I still walk it?

I am paralyzed in the moment.

Without any more hesitation, I carefully place the crumpled tissue back into my pocket. And my heart weeps a message: Dear friend, I will miss you. I am sorry I couldn’t change your mind.

And so, I step out and balance my footing…
Sober. Yes, sober, I decide on it.
And I leave the dark rumble behind me.

***

My son was just barely five months clean in recovery when one of his good friends died of an overdose via a medicine laced with fentanyl. He was crushed. He wept and stuffed that crumpled tissue into his suit coat pocket.

Just about six weeks later, it was my son who died of an overdose involving fentanyl.

I cannot help but think about the impact that drug related deaths have on those who are in recovery; I imagine it frays the end of the tightrope.

Emotions are hard. Death by drugs is a slap of reality across the face that forces a hard look at mortality and threatens the recovering addicts ability to keep walking that tenuous tight rope.

As my son’s friends in recovery came to his memorial service, they wept and were crushed too.  My heart feared for each one of them.

For real, just weeks later, I watched these same friends weep over another friend who died of an overdose; It was horribly overwhelming. What bold resolve it takes to keep on going forward in recovery when friends are dying all around them.

How can we help?  We can help by being purposeful in our love and support for those  who struggle every day to keep sober and clean. Acknowledge their strength and resiliency to keep going when fear rises up and they doubt their next day will be successful. Keep reaching out and hoping and be there when they need you.

Most of all, pray.