I am the opposite of a one-chip wonder. What should that be called, I wonder? How about this = deeply, wildly grateful.
My sobriety date is April 25, 2017. I had decided not to get a two-year medallion only because last year I bought this nifty keychain medallion holder at Intergroup which allows me to read the Serenity Prayer on the back of my one-year medallion several times a day. Didn’t want to change a good thing. Plus, let’s face it, this is my 14th attempt at getting sober, and I’m a bit tired of all those medallions, sort of a Marie Kondo approach to AA.
But then my dear friend Al informed me he had a two-year medallion waiting for me which both touched me deeply and made me curious. Al said it’s special. Al is really smart and really, really funny. But most of all, Al is really, really, really kind. Sober 38 years. He’s also kind of quiet. Not taciturn exactly — just not interested in filling up the air space with drivel.
Recently another member of the Greenhouse told me about a 12-step call he went on with Al at the hospital maybe 18 months ago. I think there was a third AA man in the room and the guy in the bed. We all know that guy in the bed – sick, shattered, shaking, terrified, alone, humiliated, in debt, cut off and apart from all that is good and sound and safe and whole. Profoundly perplexed as to why he drank AGAIN. I am a woman, but I am that man in the bed.
A couple of days later, I was coincidentally at a Happy Hour meeting when the man in the bed attended his first meeting, with his wife and a cane. I have been attending AA meetings since February 1980 (and before that near Philadelphia in the 70s to see my mother get her medallions – there’s those darn medallions again!), and this was the most bereft and hopeless man I had ever seen at a meeting or seen anywhere in life. It was all there in his eyes. I think maybe the wife even talked for him. He was a shell. The day I saw the man in the bed the very first time was perhaps three or four days after his 12-step call in the hospital. I cannot begin to think of the shape he was in then.
Anyway, on the 12-Step call, the two AAs besides Al talked about the first step and powerlessness and Higher Power and acceptance. They talked about hitting their own bottoms. They talked about how it’s a mystery really– a profound and wonderful mystery — about how and when it is your turn to get sober. Really. Get. Sober. Al said not a word. The other two guys made sure the wife had the meeting guide. They made sure the guy in the bed got all of their phone numbers. Somebody made a joke. Nothing from Al. They eventually got ready to leave. Somebody gave the man in the bed a Big Book.
The AA group started out the hospital door. Al brought up the rear. The man in the bed weakly said “Thank you” to the group. Al turned around, looked the guy right in the eye, and said: “I hope it is your turn.”
I saw the man in the bed last month at our GreenHouse birthday night. Eyes glowing. Skin rosy. Smiling. Please don’t stop trying. This program works.
Lisa H., The GreenHouse Feb. 2019