grandson. I was privileged to have him for almost three hours today and we had some quality time together, he and I. Not a whimper, no colic, nothing but pure heaven disguised as a 3 month old baby boy. Thank you God, for that little miracle. I will love him with all my heart until I draw my last breath. He fills up my senses--just like the old John Denver song. "You fill up my senses like a night in the forest--like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain--like a storm on the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean, you fill up my senses, come fill me again."

  God willing, this boy will never see me drink. By His grace, I will not throw away this new and improved life, thereby bringing toxicity into the baby's life--not that my daughter would allow that. She would get him as far away from me as she could if I choose to drink again, and that would be the right thing to do. I know the right thing to do and I know the wrong. May I continue to choose wisely......one day at a time.

  Congratulations to Grandma Randin on her little miracle.

  Today I am grateful for blessings in receiving blankets.

 

January 13, 2006


  Well, goodness gracious! I worked on a Muse in my head today off and on about my husband and how grateful I am for him. About an hour ago, I was sleeping on the couch and he came in and turned on the TV--loud TV. I said without malice, "Could we not have the TV so loud tonight?" and he shot back something unpleasant and suggested with resentment in his voice that I go to bed if I was tired. The Mental Muse in progress began to take a nasty turn at that point and I decided I would NOT sing his praises in my daily journal--no you couldn't make me even if you hung me by my toenails and shoved toothpicks into my eyes.

  However, after some thought processing, I have reconsidered and decided to write the Muse that has been fluttering about in my cranial cavity all day. OK--so he was mean and inconsiderate today--big deal. The fact remains that I am, after four years in sobriety, coming to the full realization of what I put him through and how lucky I am that he stood by me. Even well into my sobriety, I still considered him more of a burden than a blessing, what with all that spitting and snoring, the dirty socks on the floor, his constant grazing and leaving messes in the kitchen, and oh, I could go on and on but here's the bottom line. What he's doing now is baby poop compared to what I did to him. His annoyances are a tiny mosquito--mine were King Kong. I've said this before--I would NOT have stayed with me.

  So today, I do consider him a blessing in my life--warts and all. I will try to stop changing him and work on myself instead. He's not a wad of clay I can mold and shape into what I want and think he should be. The stuff that drives me crazy is here to stay and it only drives me crazy because I allow it. I, in fact---created most of it with my drinking.....well not the spitting and snoring. But I did contribute greatly to his negativity and crabbiness, that's for sure.

  Today I am grateful I am the clay and not the Potter.

January 14, 2006


  I just watched Sleeping With The Enemy on TV. Great flick!

  I slept with the enemy for over 30 years you know? I served, worshiped, slept and woke with the enemy every day. His name was Jack--Jack Daniels. Oh, I cheated on him a lot with others like Mr. Smirnoff, Jose Cuervo, Sam Adams, and The Gallo Brothers, but in the end, I was faithful to Jack. My affair with him became monogamous and I thought I couldn't live without him. Thank God I found a way because I could no longer live with him. He bled me dry--sucked the life right out of me. I functioned by rote the last six years of my drinking. I was an empty shell. My life was mechanical, robotic. Conscious thought was an effort and I just didn't have the energy. I was on booze control and the devil himself was behind the wheel.

  When I look back at those last years of my drinking it terrifies me. I came so close to just disappearing into nothingness. I was fading, fading--like a ship that leaves dock and sets out across the ocean. The light gets smaller and weaker if you're standing on the shore until it just vanishes as though the sea swallowed it up.

  Today I am grateful my ship came back in.

January 15, 2006


  My inventory can whup your inventory!

  I'm ashamed to say I have fallen into that mentality during my sobriety. If you'd just stop doing it your way and try it mine, you'd be a lot better off. Will I ever learn to stop doing that? I know I can and must try my best if I am to stay sober and free.

  What works for me may not work for someone else. My job is to share my experience, strength, and hope with other alcoholics. Period.

  Even as a sponsor, I must realize that I don't carry the alcoholic, I only carry the message. I let them know what worked for me and make suggestions which come straight from the Big Book. Just recently I indulged in "sulking and silent scorn" over the 13th Step nonsense at the mixed meetings--vowing to never attend a mixed meeting again, mumbling and grumbling that Bill W. and Dr. Bob would be turning over in their graves if they could see the AA of today, (you have my permission to roll your eyes here) yet I was there at the mixed meeting yesterday... that'll teach me to never say never. Thanks Miz C, for knocking me off my self-righteous pedestal.

  Sometimes, I just have to get off my high horse and climb onto a Shetland pony--better yet, make that an armadillo. If I can visualize myself on one of those critters, maybe I can avoid becoming road kill.

  Today I am grateful for blinders--they keep my eyes off everyone else and focused on the Carrot of Happy Destiny dangling in front of me.

January 16, 2006

  When the alcohol is no longer present in your body you will hopefully have more clarity of mind.

  Also restored along with your sanity will be Common Sense. I lost my common sense completely when I was drinking, along with my sense of humor, intelligence, logic, morals, and ethics.

  One day, and I can't pinpoint when, it came to me--an epiphany, a revelation! Eureka--By George, I think I've got it! If I don't drink, my life will be better and it will keep getting better. If I do drink, it will certainly get worse. It's a no-brainer but our brains don't function properly when we're drinking.

  That's all I have today. I hope it helps.

  Today I am grateful that God has restored my common sense.

January 17, 2006


A PILL TO ERASE BAD MEMORIES?????

  Say it ain't so! I was on my AOL home page the other day and saw that frightening line. However, I did not click on it and read the article. I hope and pray science never accomplishes that. I tried to visualize the damaging and painful repercussions of such a pill and it sent chills down my spine and made me feel sick to my stomach.

  If I swallowed one and wiped out all these horrific memories I have of my drinking years, I would probably drink again and the tornado would be unleashed. I'd lose everything--my husband, kids, grandson, cats, dogs, friends, health, soul, and life.

  I need my memories for survival. I need to remember where alcohol took me and my family--straight to the bowels of Hell. I tumbled head first into the flames--the scorching abyss of terror and shame. I fell from grace and hid my face from the world and from my loved ones. I couldn't see me in the mirror anymore. What I saw looking back was a pale, despicable, wicked, hateful sub-human creature.

  No thank you--I don't want your pill. As horrible as my memories are, I want to keep them. I want them there in my memory banks for all time.

  Today I am grateful for my memories, especially the bad ones.

January 18, 2006


  Step 10--oh yeah! Dontcha love that one? We covered that at our Step Study this morning. I used to despise that Step, but I love it now. In fact, it's one of my 12 favorites. (har har)

"Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it."

  On page 92 in the 12 and 12 it reads: "It will become more and more evident as we go forward that it is pointless to become angry or to get hurt by people who, like us, are suffering from the pains of growing up."

  Well, slap my butt and call me Rosebud! That's something I never knew when I was drinking. I thought that's what life was-- being angry and getting hurt by people. ( and let's not forget about hurting them back--really really bad!) If only I'd known--I could have saved myself 47 years of misery.

  I really wish both our books were required reading by the entire human race. Heavens! There is some profound wisdom in those books. I think they should be incorporated into the Constitution of the United States. They have taught me how to live.

  "We have entered the world of the Spirit. Our next function is to grow in understanding and effectiveness. This is not an overnight matter. It should continue for our lifetime. Continue to watch for selfishness, dishonesty, resentment, and fear. When these crop up, we ask God at once to remove them." (Big Book, page 84)

  I'm glad that line about keeping this stuff up for a lifetime is in the book. Were it not, I'm quite sure I would be kicking back now thinking I was all finished with my recovery. I will be an alcoholic until I die--no gettin' out of that one. That means I must practice these principles until I die. The Big Book says on the next page that alcohol is a subtle foe and I am not cured. To doubt that would be courting disaster. Folks, I'm a 51 year-old hot flashin', night sweatin' Wife, Mom, and Grandma--my courting days are over.

  Today I am grateful for peach dumplings-- baked in a cast iron skillet and swimming in caramel sauce. Life is good.

January 19, 2006


  Romancing the Drink is a dangerous pastime for an alcoholic. Our brains are tricky machines. They produce chemicals after a certain emotion has been triggered which is addictive in itself. In essence, we become addicted to the emotion. Even now after four years of "re-wiring" my brain, an occasional pleasant thought about alcohol surfaces. To be sure, there aren't many, for my entire drinking career was unpleasant, but a few remain that are not offensive. Watching football on Sundays always elicits a fond memory because of the beer ads, and I don't even like beer. Those commercials, as well as the wine ads shown at other times Romance the Drink.

  The ads don't depict a consumer of their product lying on the floor with vomit trailing from the corner of their mouth. They don't show the other family members wringing their hands in hopeless frustration and heartache. They wouldn't dare hire actors to scream profanity, staggering and slurring and looking for a fight. You won't see terrified, sobbing children on the screen either.

  No, they portray the purchaser of their product as a sophisticated woman, sipping her Merlot and looking pretty darn sexy while doing it. They show a bunch of good ol' boys laughing and enjoying the game together on the big screen TV. They deceptively depict couples lounging in a restaurant, or out on their deck at home entertaining friends, having intelligent conversations and meaningful relationships.

  I can sit here right now and close my eyes, recalling the first few swallows of my poison--the first drink of the day. It was sheer heaven. It burned going down, but that burn created an instant warmth in every cell of my body. My muscles relaxed and my heart stopped pounding. Relief--blessed relief.

  Then I fast forward to the way I felt by the time I finished that drink, then another, then another, and before I know it my mind presents me with a grim picture. There I am, passed out or driving the porcelain bus. Or perhaps I'm writing toxic letters online or raging at my husband-- spewing horrible, despicable words at him.

  Thank you God for those pictures. There is nothing romantic about alcohol for an alcoholic.

  Today I am grateful for those mental snapshots. They are worth 164 pages worth of words.

January 20, 2006


  We were reminiscing this morning about the genesis of the Spiritual Sisters Women's Group. It started about 2 and a half years ago and I recall a lot of heart-wrenching sharing and crying in the early days when there were 6 or 8 of us showing up. I had avoided the women, for the most part, like the Black Plague. In the mixed meetings I could maintain my composure and be "strong." There were no tears (I considered that a sign of weakness) and no histrionics flowing forth from me when I shared. It wasn't until I sat in that room with the women that the dormant volcano erupted and I cried and shared and shared and cried. Suddenly, I felt alive--reborn. My heart and soul were being cleansed with every sob session.

  I no longer censor myself. I no longer fight to keep control of my emotions. I have come to realize that letting it out is the first step in letting it go. I feel safe in that room. I'm secure in the knowledge that no harm will come to me while I am there. I need that particular forum like a hummingbird needs nectar. I can speak my heart and know that I won't suffer any recriminations or be harshly judged. I am woman and in that room, I am free to roar.

  Today I am grateful for the tears.

January 21, 2006


  Greetings, my friends in sobriety.
Most of you know I identify at meetings as Nan, Happy Alcoholic. And I have written before that the main reason I do that is because if I am sober that day, and I was sober the day before, then By Gum, that's a good reason to be happy, even if I can't think of another one at the time. I guess the long version of that moniker is Nan, Happy to be Sober Alcoholic.

  Today I had some personal issues that were very sad to me, but I didn't have to drink over them. God is working through me to overcome the sadness and Let Go, Let Him, if I would only get my stubborn self out of the way. He sent a 16 pound package of perfection to my house today as His gesture of good will and previews of coming attractions. Yes, the precious package is named Miles Lighthorse--my grandson and a constant source of joy and gratitude for me.

  I still choke up occasionally when I hold that baby. Sometimes when I speak to him, I'm so overwhelmed with love and overloaded with raw emotion that a few tears escape and trickle down my face. I gotta stop doing that--the poor kid will be confused later on. "Grammie, why do you cry when you hold me--don't you like me?"

  I shall do what is required of me to beat the blues back. I know that when I am "disturbed, no matter what the cause, that something is wrong with me." It is the "spiritual axiom" the 12 and 12 talks about. Oh how I abhorred that line when I first read it. I was indignant in a "Whatchoo talkin' about Willis?" kind of way.

  But today, I know it's true.

  Today folks, I am grateful for different strokes.

January 22, 2006


  "But I found countless reasons to prove to myself that alcohol had nothing to do with my misfortunes. I told myself it was because of fate, because everyone was against me, because things weren't going well." (Big Book, page 194--Gratitude In Action)

  I told myself all those things too, especially the one about everyone being against me. In particular, I accused my husband and daughter of ganging up on me. In my mind, they were a devious team working together to make me feel small and look stupid (and perhaps dump arsenic in my whiskey bottle someday). I raged at them for "making" me feel inferior.

Well, I read a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt shortly after I came to AA that shot a hole in that theory. I think I've used it in the Muses before. It is: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Wise woman, that Mrs. Roosevelt.

  My drinking was the reason for all my misfortune, not vice versa. I was creating my own fate with my drinking. Things weren't going well because of my drinking. It wasn't a case of which coming first, the chicken or the egg. It was me being a chicken and laying one rotten egg after another.

  Here's where accountability comes in for me. Now, when there is chaos, disharmony, anger, and all that other stuff my drinking created, I can't blame it on the whiskey. I have to be accountable--I can't use Jack Daniels as an excuse or justification. Why did I tell that lie? Why did I have to prove to my daughter that I was right? What caused me to get angry with my husband and call him an arrogant bastard? No more "I wouldn't have done that if I hadn't been drunk" excuse.

  So what do I do? I take that spot-check inventory in the evening, write down my boo-boos and make amends as promptly as I can. Hopefully, I learn from my mistakes and don't repeat them. Of course, that only works in a perfect world. In my world of progress not perfection, the mistakes will, ideally, keep getting fewer and farther between.

  Today I am grateful for accountability.

January 23, 2006


  "There may be some wrongs we can never fully right. We don't worry about them if we can honestly say to ourselves that we would right them if we could." (Big Book, page 83)

  Sometimes, even when you think you have righted a wrong, or at the very least are working toward it daily and progressing, your victim may not feel the same way. Just as we have memories crop up, so do they.

  I wish I had some sage advice as to what you should do in that situation but I don't. I can honestly say that that I would do anything to right my wrongs to a cherished person in my life, even offer my life to erase the pain I caused them, but I can't do that. The Book also says we don't worry if we can't right them, but I do. I'd be lying if I said I didn't. I fret over it every day and pray that changes in time. I'm still fairly new, but I am told that it gets better, and that 'this too shall pass' and my sobriety, sanity, and life depend on believing that with all my heart.

  I didn't drink today, even though I entertained the thought for 30 insane seconds. I'm grateful I didn't.

January 24, 2006


  Well, I woke up this morning feeling like I had been pulled through a knothole backward, then run over by a Mack truck. Being ripped to shreds by someone you love is quite painful, especially when everything they are reminding you of is something you're trying not to regret, yet have vowed not to shut the door on. As long as that door is open, and I know it must always remain open lest I forget where it leads, there is a chance a knife-wielding ghost from the past can stroll right through it and cut your heart out.

  However, today was a new day--the only day I had to worry about (yesterday's gone, Sweet Jesus--and tomorrow may never be mine) and I have made a decision to put myself back at square one. I have begun the Steps anew with my co-sponsor and will "completely give myself to this simple program." I need to get back 110% into my life and my program. I can't fix anyone but my own ornery self.

  By the Grace of God, I will be ready and better equipped the next time, and I'm certain there will be a next time. Until my loved one lets go of the past, there will be heartache in my future in this matter.

  So, I will put on the armor of AA and stand ready to battle the ghosts with daggers--not with sharp words of my own, but with love, kindness, and understanding. Neither will I be servile or scraping--that serves no useful purpose and helps no one.

  I answered an e-mail from a darling young woman in the program recently by advising her to read her AA chips and note the words "To Thine Own Self Be True." Today, those words spoke to my own heart. Thank you Sugar, for helping me to practice what I preach. And thank you to the Wise and Wonderful Dynamic Duo who helped me see the error of my ways and gave me the courage to change directions.

Today I am grateful for Queens and Quilts.
Today I am grateful there is a solution.
Today I am grateful for Good Orderly Direction.

January 25, 2006


  Humility. I wonder if I need more. After all, I believe it is the yeast in this new recipe of life I have found and that I will fall flat without it. And readers, I've been feeling pretty flat the last few days--like a souffle that went pfffffffft-whoosh.

  I did have an epiphany recently, however. Since the weather turned cold, I have not been spending and hour or more on the back patio each morning in prayer and meditation. An Aha moment. Gee whiz--do you think the two could be connected? Darn tootin' they are. The Step Study this morning on Numero 11 made that crystal clear.

  "Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out."

  So therein, methinks, lies my problem. My conscious contact was on the blink and I am going to get back into some serious prayer and meditation to improve that situation.

  I'll pray and meditate as soon as I finish this big plate of crow followed by a big slice of humble pie.

  The Not-so-great and Not-so-powerful Nan has spoken.

  Today I am GRATEFUL I don't have to be responsible for anybody's behavior or words but my own.

January 26, 2006


  This morning I closed my eyes and traveled to the forest. I found a creek with clear, pure water flowing through the dense foliage. I saw tadpoles and trout swimming lazily in the water. I heard the gurgling and trickling sounds as the life-giving liquid danced over the rocks embedded in its bottom.

  There were massive ferns and plants with leaves as big as an elephant's ear. I was enclosed by pines, tall and proud. It was cool and dark because the trees blocked the sun, yet not too dark to see clearly. I sat down at the water's edge in soft pine needles and black earth--nature's compost. I was very still and quiet-- my heart, soul, and mind in tune with every sound. I heard a soft crunch and raised my eyes to see a doe and her fawn emerge from the clearing and approach the creek on the other side for a cool drink. She caught my scent and raised her head, nose twitching and ears prickled, but I remained motionless. She sensed no danger and finished quenching her thirst, then turned and walked back into the forest with her little one bounding close behind.

  It's just you and me now God. I need to talk to you, but more than that, I want to listen. I spoke my heart and He listened. I thanked him for the blessings bestowed upon me and asked for guidance in all matters. I probably took more time than I should have, but I had a full and heavy-laden heart.

  Then He spoke and I heard: "Be still and know that I am God."
       Contact. I listened carefully.
            Peace. It washed over me.
                 Comfort. You are safe.
                        Hope. All will be well.
                             I like that place. I will return often.

  Today I am grateful the storm in me has subsided.

 

January 27, 2006


          When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
          And the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
          When funds are low and debts are high,
          And you have to smile, but you want to cry,
          When care is pressing you down a bit,
          Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
          Life is queer with its twists and turns,
          As every one of us sometimes learns,
          And many a failure turns about,
          When he might have won had he stuck it out.
          Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
          You may succeed with another blow,
          Success is failure turned inside out,
          The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
          And you never can tell how close you are,
          It may be near when it seems so far,
          So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
          It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.
                                                 – Author Unknown

  I just wanted to share that--I thought it was really good. I didn't write it, but whoever did was pretty wise, not to mention an excellent poet. It's a beautiful way of saying "it's always darkest before the dawn."

  We can't give up no matter how many mountains we have to climb, how many rivers we have to swim, or how many times we find ourselves facing adversity. Many an alcoholic has succumbed to that old familiar coping mechanism--the bottle. King Alcohol attempts to draw us back in with the promise of oblivion, revenge, escape, numbness, or whatever we think we need to fill that space inside us that screams "I can't do this, face this, understand this, bear this, or accept this. I don't have what it takes--it's no use. I'm worthless, friendless, helpless, and penniless."

  But we can do it--we must. Sobriety is our only chance. It may not seem like the easier, softer way when you're in the eye of the storm, but it is.

  Today I am grateful for my spiritual tool kit.



January 28, 2006


  Leave it to me to draw a comparison between Kentucky Fried Chicken and alcoholism, but here's where my wandering mind took me today.

  There I was, driving down the road thinking about the meeting I had just left and pondering some of the wonderful shares when all of a sudden I thought of KFC. Many years ago, when I still ate a lot of junk, fried chicken was one of my favorite foods--that is, with the skin left on. My memory today was vivid and physical. I felt my salivary glands activate at the thought of that crunchy skin, the taste of the grease, the sensation of it, the feeling of it dribbling down my lip. Yuk and Ugh! Yet my mouth watered at the very thought of it.

  I dabbed my mouth with a tissue and visualized my cellulite-dimpled thighs to remember where that fat went. Then my brain made that leap to alcohol. I only had to look at my past to see where that went. The damage went way beyond thunder thighs and midriff bulge.

  Today I am grateful for skinless chicken breasts and AA.

  PS--I heard a song by Rod Stewart as I drove home and all of you came into my head when I heard it. He sang: "Have I told you lately that I love you? Have I told you there's no one else above you? You fill my heart with gladness--take away all my sadness--ease my troubles, that's what you do."

  Yes, that's what you do.


January 29, 2006


Nannerz was craving some chicken
(The kind that is SO finger-lickin')
But she told herself Nay!
And went on her way
So her thighs would stay thin, and not thicken.

  OH--I hope Miz C doesn't get mad at me for printing that limerick she sent me this morning after reading the Muse. I thought it was too cute not to share. She is a woman of many talents.

  Well, hey now. If you have the cheese, I've got the whine. My throat hurts. I've been feeling like something was trying to creep up on me for the last few days and now it feels like Strep Throat is on the way. My husband said on the way home from dinner just now that it was probably throat cancer. Isn't he just the spreader of sunshine? Even worse, he said it with a hint of hopefulness in his voice and not even a wee bit of concern. Grrrr.

  OK--that's all the complaining I'm going to do. It was a good day--a good day to be sober, happy, joyous, and free free free. I love this freedom. I have the freedom of choice and I choose not to drink. I am liberated from that boogeyman in a bottle. I'm no longer a prisoner of my own mind--wasting away in self-imposed exile.

  All those years, especially the last decade when I isolated at home and drank to miserable oblivion every day, were as far from freedom as I could get. I couldn't be spontaneous. If someone called and asked me to lunch (not that anybody was calling) I couldn't have gone--too drunk or passed out. If there had been an emergency with someone I cared about, I was too inebriated (or passed out) to drive.

  I had to plan my grocery shopping and all other necessary errands AROUND my drinking and what dilemma that was! I'd have a desperate debate going on in my head before I passed out the night before. Should I get up early, get to the store, and get back here ASAP so I can drink or should I drink first, sleep it off, then shop?

  Mercy Sakes! I thank God I don't live that life anymore. I'm ready to walk out my door at ANY given time in my 24 hour day. That is amazing and incredible freedom.

  Today I am grateful for freedom.

 

January 30, 2006


  I got this response from Pat yesterday after she read the Muse on freedom. The picture she painted of desperation, hopelessness, and self-loathing was vivid. I wrote back and thanked her--telling her I FELT her pitiful, incomprehensible demoralization come through. She's coming up on 32 years and she hasn't forgotten. I hope I never do either. I asked her permission to use it and she said yes. So today, she is the Muse by Proxy. Here you go:
Well friend, do you want to know how pathetic I was? The last 3 yrs of my drinking I didn't drive. I didn't want to go anywhere and besides I was scared to death of cars. Oh I thought I was fine, but there were lots of drunks and nuts out there. Oh yeah. anyway, my "daddy" needed to take me to the market. We went to Thrifty drugs for cases of booze each week..... always talking of the party we were having. Uh huh. A case wasn't enough to last the week so I called a liquor store a block and a half away to deliver. I was afraid to walk. There was one street to cross. Not a busy one but too much for me. Let me also mention the whisky we bought was aged at least a week and was the cheapest. Key of Kentucky.

  Looking at the above it's hard for me to believe that was/is me.
Freedom isn't what Janice Joplin said was just another word for nothing left to lose.
Freedom is another word for everything to gain. Sobriety, serenity, integrity, respect, love, clarity, caring and much more. I'm blessed beyond my belief and sooooo lucky to be sure.
I'm sure glad we're in this together. Love, Pat

  I'm grateful we're in it together too M'Lady.......Nan

 

January 31, 2006


  Her name is Sue. No, she's not in the program--she's an 81 year old resident of the Hallmark Assisted Living Facility. Most of you know that I sing at the church service there every Sunday and have fallen in love with those folks.

  I've only known her about 5 or 6 months-- that's when she moved into the facility, but she was a regular at the service. I adore her sense of humor and sass. She sits in the back with Gladys, her partner in sass, and I tease them that they sit in the back-sliders section. They cackle and slap their knees in glee every time I tell them that.

  Yesterday Sue didn't show up. I asked about her and was told she was dying. After the service I walked the long hallway to her room. I've seen this before, many times. I trained in a similar facility when I thought I wanted to be a nurse. I gave hospice care to four people in the last decade before I stopped drinking. It was just one of the methods I tried to balance the moral books. I hoped the good deeds would negate the bad.

  But back to Sue. Even though I have seen impending death before, I am never prepared for the shock I feel when I walk in and see someone who barely resembles the once vibrant, living person I knew. My initial reaction is anger and utter sorrow. It seems so unfair that death should be so ugly and pitiful. But then something inside me surfaces and I do what I know now is one of God's precious gifts to me. I hold their hand; I kiss their cheek or forehead; I stroke their hair. I give them comfort, dignity, and love. If they ask, I sing, read, or pray. Even as a drunk, I did that with a loving heart, but I did it more for the glory of Nan than anything else.

  Yesterday, as a sober woman, the experience was very different. Sue was the only woman in the room, in my eyes and heart. I only wanted to bring her peace and comfort. I didn't allow myself to think of me or my sadness until I walked out. I prayed a lot yesterday when I got home. I talked to God and thanked Him for that blessing-- that opportunity to say good-bye. I let my anger go immediately through prayer and acceptance. In the past, the alcohol would have kept me in turmoil. The anger and sadness would have taken on a life of its own. It would have been all about me me me.

  Today I am grateful for Sue.