Those People

My name is StuartM; I am a fortunate alcoholic that doesn’t have to get loaded today.

I do, however, have to walk through a very difficult time and deal with the death of my mother AnitaM. Although I am saddened with her loss, I cannot express the gratitude I feel in the fact she was my mom. A miracle we were able to share recovery together with nearly 45 years of sobriety between us. My mom and I were in a good place. I am fortunate to be present.

It is impossible to capture a life time in words, and even harder to sum it up. I’ll do my best to be brief and not ramble. Thank you for taking time to read a piece of my experience, strength and hope.

There are many things about my mom’s life that are remarkable. Like many of us, her journey was filled with joy and sorry with numerous triumphs and tribulations. She was fortunate to have a north star throughout her life. She got to know a higher power that provided her serenity in rough waters, courage in difficult times, and occasional wisdom in confusing dilemmas.

In 1989 my mom was surprised by a call from my boss JimH. He was sober for a few years and rather than watch my demise he, thankfully, decided to step in. He simply told her I was out of control and the result would eventually be fatal. He also told her there was another option. Not a very graceful intervention, nor as “edgy” or “dramatic” as today’s TV shows, but it got her attention. Typical of my mom, she jumped in with both feet and took on the project. She liked to fix things. Some of you know exactly what I am talking about. I will never forget her look when she confronted me. She was confused and had no idea what she was saying, but she followed the script. I have yet to find anyplace that suggests a practicing alcoholic intervening on another family member is a best practice, but she got the message right for me.

She told me she loved me, but would not love me to death. I had a choice. I was relieved my “problem” was out in the open, and I was ready to do anything (at least what I thought was “anything”). They saved my life.

The funny part is while she was focused on helping “me”, she also stumbled into her own recovery. She came to the family sessions at Sundown M and when I got out of treatment she stopped drinking “to help Stuart.” She also started going to meetings. There were only a few AlAnon meetings in Lewiston, Idaho so she filled in with AA meetings. When she “accidentally” got loaded after 6 months, it caught her attention. That was her last drink, but it took a while for her to accept it. Five years later while I was visiting home, we went to a meeting together at her home group in Lapwai, Idaho. After the meeting she was very excited. She said, “Didn’t you hear me tonight? I said ‘My name is Anita, I’m an alcoholic.’ I just started saying it last week.” Then I said, “That’s fantastic, some are truly sicker than others and it is usually the alcoholic that is the last to recognize their problem. Five years of meetings seems about right for you - keep coming back.” We must have laughed for an hour.

Going through some things, I found her big book. It was fairly well used with lots of notes, bookmarks, and such. It is in a well-worn cover she made (I’m pretty sure some of you have one of her covers on your books). I forgot I gave her the book until I read something I wrote on the inside cover;

To my Mom,

One for you, to do with as you please, take what you like, leave the rest, pass it on.

With much love and appreciation,

Stuart

Next to it there is a sticky note in her handwriting – a reference to some words she thought particularly important – “1st 3 words page 112”

One thing is for sure - she was “in the program” from day one. Over the last 20 years she was dedicated to a program of recovery and the fellowship within it has been very important to my mom. I am acutely aware of the miracle of sobriety we were able to share together. I particularly liked to give her a coin once a year and point out I intended to remain 6 months “older” than her.

She was an active participant and served in many ways. From home group coffee to hotlines to sobriety feathers she usually had a point of view, and always a welcome for newcomers. December 3rd she would have celebrated 22 years of continuous sobriety – something she (and I) were grateful for.

My mom Anita passed away quietly in her sleep in the early morning hours of October 31 snuggled in her own bed, in her own home. If I could actually write the story, that’s it. I’m partially convinced she chose Halloween for fun. Once I took care of the immediate physical details, it was clear to me I needed to gather my family and costumes, get over to our friends house like we have done for the last 10 years, and get out trick-or-treating. There is no doubt my mom was with us and had a smile on her face. Mom would not want a lot of fuss or anyone feeling sorry. There was also no doubt that trick-or-treating with my kids was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The following day was filled with details and interactions I could not have anticipated. It actually became very simple for me. First things first, one hour at a time. After trudging through the following day, I headed to one of mom’s meetings – 7pm, St. John Vianney Church. To be honest, I don’t recall ever actually making a conscious decision to go and/or actually heading that way, but for some reason I knew that is where I was supposed to be.

As I drove up to the church I noticed the parking lot was nearly full and I thought this meeting is going to be packed and “Wow! How did this many people find out already?” When I walked up to the doors I noticed the sanctuary was filling with people. I was upset thinking, “Did someone already arrange a service and if so how come I didn’t know about it?” But upon walking through the door, I realized it was an All Saints Day Mass – an annual service in the Catholic Church. Although mom would appreciate the effort, the mass and songs were not for her. I approached someone from the church in the entryway that I recognized. I shared the news of my mom’s passing. While church goers passed by I asked, “Is there a Friend’s of Bill W meeting somewhere here tonight?” The reply was, “Yes, but those people usually come in the back door, downstairs, and the meeting is at the end of the hall.”

Those people.

I cannot describe the moment of clarity I felt at that instant, like a lightning bolt. I laughed out loud and was overcome with the understanding of “those people.” My mom was one of “those people.” I had an immediate perspective of my mom’s life and the time she spent reaching out and helping “those people” – the ones coming in the back door, downstairs.

At that moment I also felt an enormous feeling of gratitude that I was one of “those people” in her life. I’m not sure the attendees at the meeting that night could figure out why, after my mother had just passed away, I couldn’t stop smiling. When the meeting was over, I left out the back door, downstairs.

Long before she came to AA, my mom was a nurse. Although she initially started nursing school because it sounded like the easier softer way (get a job or go to school), she found her lifelong vocation and a passion for helping others. People who become nurses are a special breed.

Many people from Lapwai to Kirkland that have been involved with service work have met my mom. If you had anything to do with the Eastside Intergroup hotline in the last 15 years, you may have been “encouraged” by her. You may have also found yourself in route to St Martin De Porres shelter for a soup feed, to drop off soap, or to deliver candy canes. Some of you may have “sobriety feathers” and now you know where they came from.

In the days following her death, I started the process of cleaning out her house – not a lot of fun. Going through “stuff” – taking inventory of memories associated with “things.” I found myself unexpectedly juggling a constant barrage of interactions with family, friends, and neighbors. This was supposed to be about me, right? I did not anticipate becoming my mom’s surrogate and it was quite overwhelming listening to stories, feelings of loss, and “I’m sorry.” I wanted to say, “Sorry for what? Did you stub your toe?” That’s what mom would have said. However, I realized this process was not just about me. It was important to pause, even when I really didn’t want to, and listen. Where did that come from?

While going through her “stuff” I came across a few things. Apparently insignificant things no one else seemed to want, but they caught my attention because they reminded me what my mom was about.

The first was a collection of kazoos – my mom liked to give out kazoos. Very few people are gifted with musical talent, and the rest of us think we are. My mom believed everyone should be able to make music; she believed everyone has something to contribute. Turns out kazoos are a great equalizer. Within a few minutes, nearly by instinct, everyone can make music with a kazoo – and you cannot play a kazoo without a smile.

The second thing was a stash of kaleidoscopes. No matter whom you are or what your situation is, when you put a kaleidoscope to your eye you say something like “Wow!” My mom believed in “Wow!” She believed deeply that everyone should, even if it is for a short glimpse, be in touch with a sense of wonder.

The last thing was her AA coins. She usually packed two of them. One of them was from her home group and the other was from me. Once again, I don’t recall actually making the decision to go but with her coins in hand, I found myself at her home group 7 pm Thursday night at Inglewood Presbyterian Church. The meeting started and I shared a bit about my mom and the fact I was returning her coins to her home group. We passed them around by candlelight, and hearing stories about my mom I felt the fellowship like never before. But that was just the start. The secretary of the meeting seemed familiar. Could it be? It was hard to see her face by candlelight. But when the lights came on I realized it was someone I had not seen for 25 years. It was JimH’s daughter. You mean the daughter of the man who saved my life had been going to a home group with my mom for the last 15 years and will be packing one of these coins? Wow! I am sure my mom was playing a kazoo and smiling. Once again, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Shortly before she became pregnant with me, my mom was diagnosed with a malignant melanoma (an advanced stage of skin cancer). The doctors told her not to have me. They said she was too old (39!), her cancer would be back, and she would not be around to raise me. I was an “oops.” Although my parents planned to get married, I don’t have the sense either of their families were very excited. Not only was I a “surprise”, but they had both recently been through difficult and failed first marriages. I personally think they made a good decision to keep me (my brothers might argue differently). Unfortunately, shortly after I was born my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and he died a few months later. My mom became a single mother, again. She had two young children at home, and one serving in Vietnam. I can only imagine how difficult that trial would have been, but as a child I was oblivious to it. In spite of our situation, she consistently told me three things:

1.  She loved me.
2.  She was glad God brought me to her.
3.  My father was in heaven watching over me.

It is actually through the program I discovered this had become part of me at my core. In spite of my mom’s faults, her message was in my heart and helped me through the toughest times.

My mom’s funeral service was held on November 18th at St. John Vianney Church where she volunteered and attended meetings for so many years. It was important to her to have a Jesuit priest preside. At age 45 my mom, a widow trying to make a better life for her family, went back to college to get a degree. While one school questioned her experience a Jesuit from Gonzaga told her, “You’re worth it” (he apparently understood “those people”). Although it was difficult, I was thrilled to see so many people from the fellowship. In hindsight, I am thankful we decided against an open microphone! The program has prepared me to meet life on life’s terms, but it is the fellowship that has carried me.

Walking through the experiences of the last few weeks, more has been revealed indeed. I’m not the only one. Turns out I was not my mom’s only project. Turns out, I am I one of “those people” and I’m not alone. I also know exactly what I am supposed to do – while writing and sharing these words are important to me and maybe some others, a significant part of my mom’s eulogy has yet to be written. It will unfold in how I live my life. This Christmas we have a new bell hanging from our door, and a special sobriety feather hanging on our tree. I’m going to tell my kids I love them, that I am glad God brought them to me, and they have a grandmother in heaven watching over them.

Mom, I’m glad I got YOU.

Godspeed on the next part of your journey.

Last Update: Dec 10, 2011