Spiritual Awakenings II - Группа авторов

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no shame in it.

      Which leads me back to my time in the brig at Treasure Island. At different times in my sobriety, I have served as meeting secretary, coffee maker, general service representative, intergroup representative, and been on Hospitals and Institutions (H&I) committees. I believe in one alcoholic, one service commitment.

      So, when a guy from H&I said he was going to “TI,” I leapt at the chance to go with him.

      My sponsor suggested I wait until I was one year sober and had gone through the Steps before I tried to find my birth mother. I did as he suggested and found her in Austin when I was three years sober, along with the paternal side of my biological family. I met my paternal grandfather shortly after he was paroled after serving twenty years in a Texas maximum-security prison. He died not long after.

      On a subsequent visit to Austin, I mentioned him to an old-timer after a meeting. The old-timer replied, “I met your granddad once about twenty years ago, when I took an H&I meeting into Huntsville.” I walked out into the parking lot and bawled. I never knew my grandfather had a taste of AA, and it puzzled me why sobriety had been given to me. But, as granddad said when we met, “I don't need a paternity test to tell you're my grandchild.” Right back at ya, Granddad.

      In my fifth year of sobriety, I lived in a monastery in Big Sur, California, working for a famous monk as his liaison. The Rule of St. Benedict states, “Sit in your cell, as in paradise.” Thanks to living one day at a time in AA, I can go anywhere, provided it is on my Father's business, and have access to paradise.

      Today, I have a beautiful wife who I met in AA on a Thanksgiving morning, a son, and countless friends, as well as eternal gratitude.

      Thank you, AA, for reaffirming my desire to not drink today.

      Larry K.F.

      Studio City, California

      May 1997

      On joining AA, I was struck by the jovial mood of the members and wanted to know their secret. I grabbed the Big Book, the Grapevine, and the new Step book, Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, in a desperate attempt to stay sober. I had forfeited my business, my home, and my family—including my two daughters—in one fell swoop.

      Following a youth during which my drinking was controlled by the Depression came a tour with the RCAF in World War II, in areas where booze was not always available. I was then discharged to a depleted world. I was in a drained and restless mood, and alcohol became a way of life. I found nothing in common with civilians and was bored in their company, but I did find a job, get married, and try my hand at settling down. I pushed baby carriages and moved through two jobs. Then I tried real estate selling, where my time was my own, and the time clock didn't interfere with my drinking.

      With my marriage on the rocks, I visited a psychiatrist who told me to pick a new vocation, start from the bottom, work up in business, and win back my family. Booze became a real handicap now, and although I had a lot of willpower and determination, I found myself straining at the bit. When the tension became intolerable, I'd turn to drink, thinking that preferable to going bananas. This trend continued until my drinking threatened my new job, which required punching a clock but paid well and offered a good pension on retirement.

      As a new employee, I was required to work that first Christmas Day. My buddies of the night before dumped me onto a bus to go to work. Then my hangover hit me, and I found myself at the end of the bus line, although I'd told the driver where to let me off. He took me back, and I awoke at the start of the line. I guess the driver was hungover too.

      From then on booze took over, but I wanted to hold on to this job, and through sheer determination, plugged on. Then I went on the drunk to end all drunks. This one was different somehow. I just couldn't get loaded, and the fact came home that I could no longer drown my troubles, which scared the daylights out of me. Then I went for a walk in the downtown area of the city.

      Suddenly I came up short. Booze!—that was my problem. In a flash of clarity, I saw that if I could beat this curse, I could recover. But how? I remembered a questionnaire I'd done in our local paper, but which I'd rejected as extreme, although it appeared to hit the mark in a number of areas. Perhaps AA was the answer after all. Going into a phone booth, I found a group listed nearby, which I entered at 4:00 P.M. and by God's grace was open. I realized later that given another few hours of reflection I could have had a change of heart, so unstable was I at this point. For an instant hope inspired my determination to give this last resort one hell of a try.

      The first weeks were crucial. To still my inner turmoil I studied the Big Book—“Bill's Story,” “We Agnostics,” and the basic action Step, the Third Step. One night, in a state of near delirium, I concentrated on the paragraph that contains the Third Step prayer. Feeling highly elated, I went to sleep.

      In the middle of the night I awoke in a sweat. Was I never to take another drink for the rest of my life—that elixir that seemingly had brought me through so many scrapes? The idea shocked me! Then I remembered that all I had to do is to stay sober one day at a time. Again, I fell asleep and the compulsion to drink was lifted from me and was never to reoccur. The test came two weeks later.

      I was working on some real estate I owned, in July, the hottest time of the year. My thirst was overpowering. I choked on a soda pop, and being convinced that beer was the only drink to assuage, I threw my tools into the car and hightailed it to the coolest bar in town, which was a shaded float over the river. At the bridge I stopped with the crushing realization that I was now in AA and understood the importance of the first drink. What to do?

      With my heart in my hands, I said a prayer. Visions of another debauchery crept in, and the horror of working in the clutches of another hangover flooded my thoughts. I drove home and made a cup of tea and lay down. That battle was over. I knew it would have taken an all-night drinking session to still my craving if I had capitulated to that first drink.

      A few months later, I got drunk to give me the nerve to sever a relationship. That was my last drink. In my first years in AA I was burdened by not being able to reconcile my marriage, as others appeared to have done. But the Twelve Steps enabled me to transcend the trauma, and I was able to hold my job and maintain my two daughters, who on maturity came to live with me, while my ex-wife passed away later without seeing the light. In my four-score years, one half in AA, I've found myself a survivor. I have the respect of my family and the church I joined after my awakening. In the spiritual aspects of AA I can find unlimited opportunities to round out my retirement years.

      I believe that AA should be recognized at the close of this millennium, as the most progressive health advance of the twentieth century. In my opinion it has saved more lives than all the antidepressants and painkillers churned out by our geniuses in pharmacy and psychiatry.

      My gratitude goes out to Bill W. and Dr. Bob for this remarkable Fellowship, and to Lois and Anne for sticking with their spouses through their shaky quest to alleviate lonely suffering and conciliate fragile families.

      George V.

      Winnipeg, Manitoba

      May 1959

      One of the swellest guys I ever met was Tom. I find myself thinking about him often because he's my idea of a man, and because his story is a departure from the run-of-the-mill type of drunk. Tom never got drunk in his life until he was fifty-six years old. That's when his wife died. He and the missus were a devoted couple and their lives were wrapped up in each other because they'd never had any children.

      Almost overnight she took sick and was gone, and Tom was left stricken and bewildered. Tom was a steady-plugging gentle type of person and he and mama had a love so deep for each other they had no need for a real, personal love of God. So, when his wife passed away, Tom had no one to turn to for comfort.

      For a while he spent most of his time hunched over a freshly risen mound at the cemetery

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