Homeboy

"A moment of silence for those still sick and suffering, in and outside these rooms."

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

I just heard of another former “friend” that I knew from recovery has died. My guess is that he did not die sober. Bobby was a big guy, a former bouncer. He was not a likable guy, in my opinion. He was arrogant, disrespectful to women, and probably abusive as an active alcoholic and addict. He was a few years older than me and grew up in the same town. I did not know him previously. I called him homeboy. He mockingly called me Kathleen (my preferred address) when everyone else called me Kathi (how most people knew me).

It was a good time. There was a group of us. Some couples and some singles who would socialize outside of meetings. Barbeques, baseball game trips, NYE parties, and celebrations. My husband and I hosted an annual Super Bowl party for a few years. The group waxed and waned as most do, especially for people in and out of recovery. But a core of us are still friends. We had a lot of laughs. Just in case you didn’t know, sober people are very funny.

Bobby was part of that group for a while. Just like addiction, recovery can make strange bedfellows. Behind the facades, you can catch glimpses of real people, scared little children, trying to prove their worth, beaten down by life on life’s terms. Sobriety is a scary and difficult road. Honesty, humility, and accountability are necessary. All these things that addicts and alcoholics desperately try to mask when using. Surrender is key. For some, it is not possible. AA puts it this way in the literature, “It is not their fault, they seem to have been born that way.”

In my 42 years of sobriety, I have seen many overdoses and suicides. One beautiful young woman that I was close to aspirated in her sleep after years of struggling in and out of sobriety. Another friend, for many years, despondent during covid, hung herself. Another, holed up in a cheap motel room, met his death. And there are millions who never even make it to the doors of recovery, because their disease is louder than any rational voice or spiritual conviction.

Such a contrast to the joyfulness of sobriety. “Happy, joyous, and free,” is how the literature describes it. 12-step living is not a panacea. It is not a magic pill. In fact, sometimes it is hard as hell. But to quote a friend who always ends his testimony with this line, “(12-step) did not open the gates of heaven and let him in, but it opened the gates of hell and let him out.”

God bless all.