Achieving Serenity

Fireball

Being of service

Sometimes I feel as if life is a horror movie with the inevitable climax scene of my loved ones dying.

I knew it had to happen one day, but it didn't discount the initial shock I felt when my mother called me and told me dad was dead. At first, it was like my brain would not allow me to register the fact. Message sending... Message failure, please try again. I didn't want to cry but knew suppressing the natural emotions would only delay the cry at a later time. Impulsively, I hung up on my mom right after she said the words. She called me back and I apologized and just said I needed some time to process the news.

The closest death I've ever experienced was with my grandparents and a dog from my childhood. In my thirty years on this planet, none of the people I've grown closest with have met an early demise. There were some friends of a friend with an overdose here, a suicide there, but I hadn't really known the person other than by vague facial recognition at school. This was my first official death experience and I just wanted to speed through the stages of grief as quickly as I possibly could.

My friend Coby and I had plans to go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and a comedy show tonight, so I would talk to him about my loss. I was driving over to his house with the radio off thinking about what the comedy show was going to be like because it was at a location I had never been to before. We were going to be meeting up with our other buddy Paul, who was performing as an opener for the show. All three of us were well into the recovery scene with fifteen years combined of sobriety.

When I got to his house, we decided to chill and watch football for the fifteen minutes until it was time to leave for the meeting. We were seated at the couch and I dropped the news to him stoically, and given my dry, sarcastic sense of humor, Coby understandably thought I was joking.

"My dad died today." I just spit the words out; I didn't even want to talk about it but I knew bargaining was a necessary step in the grieving process.

Once he found out it wasn't a dark joke, he gave me a hug and he told me about how he dealt with this when he was eleven, which is when his father died. I found the talk to be helpful, but it was still just a repulsive feeling trying to accept it. I was talking about it with Coby but my mind was blank, as I didn't want to see any memories in my head. They were merely too painful.

During the AA meeting, I found myself at times having a genuine laugh and feeling of serenity about life. Then like a boulder dropping from a cliff, I would remember my tragic truth and immediately think about something else. I was learning firsthand that the grief takes its own time and that I can't expect my instant gratifying desires to be fulfilled in this particular case. The only thing that kept my mind focused was a certain newcomer called Todd. His timid presence and apparent nervousness reminded me of a younger version of myself when I first started attending these meetings in rehab.

Before we left for the comedy show, I waited outside for Todd so I could attempt to calm his nerves about entering a sober life. I know how frightening and overwhelming it can be, so much so that it can cause people to relapse quickly. The hospitality I received when I first got sober was an elegant and surprising joy; it also made me feel as if I was living on Planet Friendly. If I could show Todd that same level of comfort, maybe he will become more confident with his choice to clean up his life.

He exited the meeting room and entered the breezeway with a woman whom I assumed was his mother. Todd looked about 18 years old and was wearing a black hoodie with a black-and-red baseball cap. I approached him amicably and reached out my hand.

"Hi, Todd! My name's Eric!" We shook hands and mother introduced herself as well.

"I just wanted to let you know that you are in a really great place surrounding by some amazing people. Did you hear anything that you liked?" I asked.

"Yeah, I really did! I thought it was going to be a lot of stories that I couldn't relate to but the problems they were talking about... I just know I've felt that way too," Todd said.

"I was really scared when I first got sober. I had to take three shots of Fireball and four Xanax bars just to find the courage to ask my mom to take me to rehab. When I got to meetings, I planned on just sitting back, not talking to anyone, but the people there were so friendly and made me actually feel comfortable. I'm usually shy and just let other people initial conversations, but being around these people has given me a whole new way of living. Is it alright if I give you my phone number?"

"Yeah that's cool!" he responded. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent me a text message with his name to my phone number. We said our goodbyes and I caught up with Coby so we could head to the comedy show and meet up with Paul. I actually felt better about my situation, and genuinely hoped to see Todd again.

On the drive over, Coby and I blasted music and had little to no conversation. I thought about the two-drink minimum and felt strangely upset that I couldn't drink. I had four years of sobriety and hadn't really had any real cravings until today. There was no way in Hell I would drink in front of my sober buddies so I felt secure for the time being.

We were a bit late to the comedy show, so we weren't going to be able to talk to Paul until afterward. I figured that's probably for the better; I didn't want to bum him out with my news right before he was going to make people laugh. He performed a killer set that had me laughing uncontrollably, but then I would get a sudden reality check that my father is no longer breathing. It was an unpleasant roller coaster of emotions, but I enjoyed comedy and its natural power to bring happiness in even the most morose of circumstances.

By the time I was driving home, I had already pictured my night. There was no way I was going to be able to be alone and sober, and my family lived in different states so I couldn't stay with them. I should've stayed the night with Coby, but subconsciously I think I denied his request because I already had mentally made my decision to drink. In recovery, before actually relapsing, the alcoholic makes a choice to drink and considers how logistically it can be done. This mental thought is the actual relapse since all behaviors begin with thoughts. So in my car driving over to the gas station with a 0.0 BAC, I had already relapsed.

I picked up a bottle of Fireball and a pack of cigarettes. I was going to drink and play Call of Duty until I pass out. I was not ready to handle the harsh climax of my horror movie. Part of me wanted to just pop the bottle open on the two-minute drive home, but I didn't need a third DUI.

I parked and walked toward my one-bedroom apartment with a Circle-K bag in hand. I already had some soda to chase it with, so I when I walked in I set the Fireball down on the kitchen table and opened the fridge. It was at this moment that I felt my phone vibrating an elongated buzz, confirming an incoming call and not a text or other notification. I figured Coby must've left something in my car as I reached down into my pocket.

It was a random number that I hadn't seen before, but it looked vaguely familiar to the unsaved number that Todd had sent me a text message on. Oh no, can I answer this? I have to answer this. I'll just bullshit with him for a while and then get back to my night.

Fifteen minutes later, I successfully picked upmy first sponsee as I chucked that bottle of Fireball into the dumpster. Todd,the alcoholic with 17 hours of sobriety, saved me from an awful relapse. I cameclean with everyone about how close I was to drinking again and felt mydreaded, tense pressure relieve itself. My choice to be of service that dayproved to be a crucial step in my recovery and to my journey toward serenity.