an old friend

Went to a meeting at the hospital tonight. It's not one I usually go to, but I went, and it was good. Got to hear a newbie talk for the first time, and that was rewarding. I remember her first meeting all those months ago, and I remember seeing her off and on since then. I had to confess, though, that I did not realize it had been eight months. I thought it had maybe been three or four. Seems I stuck my head in the campaign and woke up last week wondering where all the leaves on the trees had gone.

After the meeting, three of us women went upstairs to visit an old guy from the program who is not well.

Bernie is a great guy. He has brain cancer. It's terminal. It's been bad for a while now. I think they keep him pretty heavily sedated so he doesn't try to move around too much and injure himself. But he was alert when we got there. Some of his adult kids were there, sort of milling and foot-shifting and not knowing quite what to do. They seemed stunned by the sheer number of people who are streaming into their father's room, expressing their love and moving on. The were kind enough and generous enough to step out for a few minutes so we could each have a moment with Bernie. They cautioned us that he really couldn't talk, and that he was very sleepy and seemed to not always recognize people.

My friend C was the first to go to him. She got close to his face so he could see, took his hand and spoke his name. His eyes opened and there was a familiar spark. The corners of his mouth turned up just the slightest bit. He knew her. They shared a few moments and then I took a turn at his bedside. I was thrilled to see the recognition in his eyes.

"I love you Dawn," he said.

I nearly fell over.

I held his hand and kissed his forehead.

Daring not to linger, I passed my turn off to M, the member of our small troupe with the shortest amount of sobriety. She remembers Bernie some, but he has sort of fallen off the radar for the past few months as his health has steadily declined. His eyes sparkled, though. M is pretty. And Bernie, well, let's just say he has always had a way with pretty girls. Always respectful and sweet, that respectfulness and sweetness got him more attention and affection than any strutting lewdness by younger, cockier men. M leaned over and kissed my aging friend, and he positively beamed through his gray grizzles of a beard.

He might be terminally ill, but he is neither dead nor stupid. Have I mentioned that I adore Bernie? Yeah. He's my bud.

M and C went out in the hall to talk with the family members, and somehow I ended up back at Bernie's bedside. I held his hand and his grip was strong. His eyes found mine and sparkled. He couldn't really talk much, so I talked to him instead. I talked about how we always seemed to meet of a workday lunchtime at the local really bad Chinese restaurant and how we always were glad to share a table and conversation. I talked about how I used to love talking with him about this engineering disaster or the other (he is an electrical engineer), how people built towers in the dumbest places imaginable, and how summer people really have no business trying to fix their own homes. We talked about contractors who cut corners, and ones that did things right, and we solved many a construction dilemma over plates of shrimp with lobster sauce (his) and Szechuan chicken (mine).

I told him he needed to get a prettier nurse (the nurse on at the time was a man) and his eyes blinked his agreement.

I told him that he had some fine children and that they seemed to care for him a great deal. I told him that he'd done good, and he blinked his appreciation. It was the long, slow blink of a man who has spent a long time wanting to reconcile with his kids after drinking for so many years. Bernie's been sober a long time now, but when kids are young and Dad's an alcoholic, well, some wounds take a very long time to heal. For his kids to be there means an awful lot to him. It also probably tells him that he is nearing the end of his time in this world. Especially if they're all there, even at 9 p.m., and the nurse was making arrangements for reclining chairs so they could spend the night by his side.

I bent low and told him that I had to go and that he should probably rest some and spend some time with his kids. He squeezed my hand one more time while I kissed him and told him that I loved him, and as I let go his hand, his gaze shifted to his children in the room.

What a gift that was. To see Bernie one more time. I was afraid I was going to come back to meetings after this campaign and learn of his funeral some two weeks previous.

What a blessing it was to have him recognize me and speak to me. To share some warm memories. Wow.

My heart is at once full and hollow.

Blessed be Bernie. May your journey be gentle, however long it takes.

little bits

Money is still tight, but it seems to have slightly less of a stranglehold on my world right now. I got paid for that cellar clean-out, which is nice. We can pay the cable/Internet/phone bill now and see if they'll come fix the damned cable box so it doesn't sound like it's inhabited by crazed squirrels. No audio makes for tough watching on football Sundays. We can also get some heating oil, which will be nice. And maybe pay back one friend who lent us money last month for rent.

I did some writing this morning in my journal. Journal writing for me is very different from what I write here. Here I know I have an audience (all both of you, bless your devoted little hearts), but in my journal, I write for me. Sometimes it is like a meditation, sometimes it is like a prayer. I try to do some exploration, and I allow myself to write in a free-form, flowing style much like that old "stream of consciousness" stuff we played with in years past. What I write here is thinned by my internal filters. You get the funny stuff, the witty stuff, the sarcastic and zippy stuff, but not the vulnerable stuff. Not the scared stuff. Not the really, really scared stuff, the shame, the self-doubt, the insecurities, the negative stuff voiced by the chorus of demons that are my alcoholic thinking, my dysfunctional upbringing, and the sometimes hostile world in which I live.

I can dig pretty deep here, and get pretty honest, but the stuff I write before I have my first cup of coffee is the stuff you don't even dare whisper aloud in the dark. It is the stuff I keep hidden from myself, and it scares me sometimes to even put it on a page. After that first cuppa joe hits, the really intimate stuff fades back to the interior and hides. The witty stuff comes out to shine and get the attention. And the writing gets just a little bit less real. Less close to the bone. Less dangerous.

So this morning? Well, this morning I got started on that financial step work stuff I talked about yesterday. The thing that is scaring me is the personal inventory I need to take, where I look at my behaviors and my feelings and figure out what is worth keeping and what needs to be thrown out. When I was ready to do this step with regards to my alcoholism, my sponsor at the time said to me "all you have to do is be ready to change everything about yourself."

That's huge. Everything about myself is, well, everything about myself. My identity is what it is. It is how I define myself, for good or bad. To look at the parts of my life as they pertain to my financial mental health and discover that big hunks of stuff really have to go, well, that's a scary proposition.

I did it with my previous inventory, and while I did change some things about myself, I don't think I actually really changed everything about myself. I think maybe I changed a whole lot about my behavior and how I think and feel, and I suppose that might seem like a lot, but from where I sit, I am still me. I have not changed my identity. I am a new version of me, not a different person. I guess I can have faith that this new inventory thing that I am doing will have a similar effect upon me. I can look forward to a new version of me. And I guess I can handle that. We'll see what tomorrow's writing session brings for me...

Monday, some steps, and money issues

Up early, swallowed some pride, got some help, did an estimate, offered some advice, did a favor for a friend, had a nice visit and yummy lunch, and headed home. Over all, not a bad day. Tomorrow will hold some similar kinds of plans. Probably some humility in the morning, followed by some work stuff, and then some recovery work. Not much glory on the agenda, but that's okay.

I find that I am still healing. I told some friends today about some of the support I got to my blog posts in the past week, about how Jen in Denver lit a candle at the same time we were having a candle-light church service here, and I started to cry. I didn't fight it, just told the story, let the tears flow, and mopped up when I was done. It seems to be going that way. I am not fighting the feelings. Which for me is a pretty big deal. I spent a lot of time and energy trying to avoid my feelings, so just letting them be is remarkable.

I have some work to do on myself these days. I need to address my relationship with money. It is a huge scary thing for me to undertake. I need to apply the same kind of effort to this endeavor as I do to my sobriety. I am tired of being broke. I am tired of owing people. I am tired of the anxiety associated with this stuff. I dearly hope I have had enough. I need to apply the tools I learned in my recovery program to the problem at hand. I need to come to grips with what I am powerless over and what I am not, I need to know where and how to ask for help, and then I need to do that. And then I need to take areal and meaningful inventory of my behavior and feelings around money. It's going to be a big job, but it needs doing and each day that passes is more time I spend on the unhealthy side of this equation. And I would like to think I have had enough of that.

I also need to deal with this stuff if I am going to have any credibility when it comes to being a financial fund raiser. How can I tell members of a church or a non-profit how to raise money, how to be transparent, how to get over their shame and secrecy issues when it comes to money if I am unable or unwilling to discuss my own affairs frankly? If I am going to seriously think about creating a business where I help groups and organizations raise money, I need to be able to speak honestly and with integrity and authority.

So, tomorrow I start anew on this journey. That's the plan. I shall report as I am able. It may or may not prove to be compelling reading, we'll have to see what I discover.

counting my blessings

The past week has been rough, that is certain. But I am beginning to be able to put some things in perspective.

Five years ago, if anyone had asked me about the possibility of seeing gay marriage become a reality in Maine, I'd have said "not in my lifetime." Tuesday last week, over a quarter of a million Maine voters cast ballots in favor of just such a concept. That is amazing.

I am trying to get back on track now, and I have a few little jobs that are coming together. I don't have a ton of work, but I have a few things lined up, and the skills to do them. I am blessed in that regard. I have a multitude of talents that I can use to earn my keep.

We don't have any money, this is true. In fact, I have an appointment tomorrow morning with the church food pantry. Not to sign up as a volunteer or a coordinator or fundraiser, but as a client. You can imagine how much pride I had to swallow to make that call. But, I am blessed to know how to reach out for help when I need it. And right now I need it. I knew things were getting tight toward the end of the campaign, and since it's over, we've had to take stock of things and the truth of the matter is, we need help. I am grateful that I have the clarity to recognize this. I am also grateful that I am able to work past the shame I feel about asking for help. If people didn't need help at times, organizations would not be created to serve that need. My goal is to work as hard as I can to get to a place where we won't need this help as soon as we can. And perhaps to address my need for prepositional phrases.

I know how to cook and how to be creative on a budget. We will not go hungry, nor will we have to eat gruel. We may have to make adjustments, but we will not suffer as badly as some have or will.

And I am exceedingly grateful for Laura. She has been my rock through this campaign. She has worked phone bank nights while I did house parties. She set up my laptop with the commercials on a continuous loop and left me very simple instructions on how to make it go. She encouraged me when I needed it and brought me down to earth when I got a little over-inflated. She has been wonderful. And yesterday, when I needed to get away, we went. We visited a friend far away, had a marvelous time and then drove home again today. In all, we're out a tank of gas and a couple bags of groceries, which perhaps we could ill afford, but the good that escape did to my spirit is immeasurable. She knows what I need and will do what it takes to see that I get it. I am truly blessed.

And I have a little dog who is a real rock star. She reminds me daily of what unconditional love looks like and what is important each day: breakfast, snuggles, taking care of business, and enthusiasm for each task as it presents itself.

time for some r and r

We're headed south to visit a friend. It's just an overnight trip, and on our budget, we won't spend much more than gas money, so that's good. But we need this little break. It may or may not be written up elsewhere. We'll see. Right now my concern is getting all the appropriate stuff jammed into an overnight bag and remembering all the pieces to my c-pap so I can sleep through the night. Quinn will come with us - she has friends to visit as well. Big, dopey, awkward, gawmy friends, but friends nonetheless. Now I am off to pack our gear. Will check in again tomorrow. Happy Saturday, everyone.

funny how it works out

I went to a meeting tonight - for the first time in a very, very long time. It felt good to sit in the metal folding chair and sip instant cocoa from a Styrofoam cup, even if it was in the basement of a Catholic Church. I was there for my 12 step group, not to genuflect and do the rosary. I got asked to chair the meeting, and I'm not sure why, but I was ready to do it.

I did the normal things one does when chairing a meeting: talk about what it was like before alcohol, what it was like when I drank, what happened, and what it's like now living sober. Standard spiel. And then I talked a little bit about this mourning process I am in. How this has been a tough week for me, how I am hurting, but working through it. I can be healthy and still be in pain. I have no regrets about what I did. I gave everything I had. I put everything I possibly could into the campaign, and it turns out that this time, it was not enough to win. I can't get married. I cried. I didn't whine or carry on, I didn't accuse anyone of anything. I talked about how I felt and how I was dealing with it, and how drinking sure as hell was not going to make anything better.

And I got enormous support. Lots of the people there knew I was working on the campaign. Some didn't. One or two might even have voted yes. I noticed that they did not approach me after the meeting like the others did. By and large, though, the vast majority were wonderfully supportive and sympathetic. My wise and ancient sponsor (he's my "auxiliary" sponsor, we've decided) made a special point to come up to me and tell me to call him. I will do that. He is a wonderful man. An Elder in every sense of the word, not just in his Penobscot Nation heritage. One of the original guys who started meetings on the island years and years ago, he's got 30-some years of sobriety and the wisdom of generations. I must make it a point to see him.

But what I notice now, after coming home to comfy clothes, a cup of tea and two medicinal cupcakes, is how nurtured I feel. One meeting, and I feel back into it. I fell back into the rhythm and cadence, I looked around the room and knew all the faces, and was able to feel all the love.

And that just struck me. I was able to feel all the love in that room tonight.

That is different for me.

Usually I can see it, but I don't always feel it. Tonight I felt it.

And I was not afraid of it.

Oh wow. This is the difference that HAI weekend has made.

wowowowowowowow.

I could see love, accept it, welcome it and feel it.

Without concern over any one's motives.

That is huge. More than I can possibly describe.

I've got to figure some way for us to be able to make it to the Level 2 weekend in December. Crap. Gotta gotta gotta.

We did Level 1 back at the beginning of October. It was intense, and wonderful and enlightening, but until just this moment, I had not seen a real, tangible example of how it had changed how I relate to people. Wow.

Gotta go digest this.

Back tomorrow.

tired of crying, but apparently not done yet

Tuesday night was heartbreaking.

Wednesday felt like the day before a funeral. People called all day, sent e-mails, chatted on facebook and left notes here on my blog. One asshat was classy enough to leave an anonymous note "Losah". I left it there.

This is what we were up against. Anonymous jerks who prefer to snipe from the shadows and write hateful things on websites and yard signs. Gotta take real guts to run over a paper sign. That'll show everyone what kind of man you are. Pissant.

The loss has been devastating. We poured our hearts and souls into this campaign. We took the high road. We did not bring up the sins and hypocrisy of the Catholic Church trying to take any kind of moral high ground after raping children and covering it up for a hundred years. We did not attack our attackers. We stood our ground, spoke our truth and fought a clean fight.

They lied and spread fear. They made accusations about us wanting to indoctrinate children and of conspiracy theories that would make the Roswell crowd blush. And we took the high road.

And you know what? If there is any fault to be found in our side, it might be that we were too polite. We did not point to abusive priests and the bishop who covered up for them and paid off victims. We did not call out the lies as LIES, but used words like "misleading" and "not true."

When it all boils down, we won the urban and coastal counties and lost the inland, rural vote. And Lewiston/Auburn, Maine's largest center of Franco-American Catholics, well, they voted against us in record numbers. It was harsh. The Catholic Church that just put churches up for sale, closed a bunch of schools around the state, bulldozed a beautiful Gothic stone church because it was getting too expensive to heat, and continues to protect priests who raped children entrusted into their care, told people how to vote and they did. It boggles my mind. What part of Christian charity is this? To deny people access to dignity and security? I don't understand.

And what hurt the worst was seeing the joy and celebration when the numbers were announced. The were so happy. How can you be happy to be so mean? so cruel? I don't understand.

We had a service at the UU church in Ellsworth last night. I wasn't convinced I was going to need/want/benefit from such a thing, but Laura wanted to go, and Leela was going to the effort, so we went. It was enormously cathartic. Leela and Wayne (music director) both held me as I sobbed and sobbed. We were all aching and raw and hurting and we came together and held each other and it was good.

When I went to bed last night, my eyes were puffy and red from a day of crying. When I woke this morning, they were dry and sore, but better. Today we worked a little bit - cleaning out a cellar. Just the kind of mindless work I need right now. Lift and heave. Tote and toss. Shovel and sweep. Bring it all to the dump and reverse the process. Good stuff, this manual labor. Although this evening my arms were all rubbery and weak. I wasn't prepared to find that I was so badly out of shape. Apparently a political campaign, wrapping up with 9 days of the flu and followed by two days of emotional hell was sufficient to do damage to my muscles. I'm sore tonight, but at least I have identified the cause.

And then I was chatting on line with this group I like, and this guy was making insensitive and obnoxious statements about why must gay people always flaunt their sexuality. The moderators tossed him out on his ass, but not before I was trembling and sobbing at my computer. I was surprised and horrified at the strength of my reaction. It overwhelmed me in an instant. I had no control. I was simply reduced to a sobbing heap. Again.

You all know me pretty well by now. Being a sobbing heap is not something I generally make a habit of doing. But in the past two days, it seems to have blossomed into a real talent of mine.

I don't know what I need or want right now. Except maybe the patience of people around me. If I am crying, just let me be. Don't tell me it's all right, because it's not. It hurts. It sucks and it hurts and it is NOT all right. It will get better, I know that. But I don't need you to tell me that while I'm crying. Just let me feel it, experience it, and get through it. And it's not likely to be pretty or graceful. Too bad if you can't handle that. I can't really handle it either, so we're even. If I wave you off and say please, don't touch me, that means please don't touch me. Don't hug me if I don't want to be hugged. If I am able to accept touch, I'll reach out or present myself in such a way that you will know. If I am unable to accept touch, it will likely be because I am teetering on the edge of total collapse. I prefer to do my total collapses privately, with one or two very close friends, not in public. If I wave you off, I mean it. To touch me after that will be a violation. Please respect my boundaries, both physical and emotional. If I don't want to talk about it, let's talk about football please. Or those rat bastards the New York Yankees. Or the price of heating oil, or what job you'd like me to do for you. If I want to talk about the election, please let me, even if I cry through it. There is much to be proud of this fall, and I can be proud through the tears. But mostly, just let me get through this at whatever pace I need to do.

I had planned to do this NaBloPoMo thing like I did last year - pick a series of enormous and grand topics and write my brains out. I may still do some of that. But for now I need to deal with this mourning process. Thank you for your patience.