Run the gamut to gratitude

Everyday I run the gamut through sad and mad, scared and worried, regret, grief and sometimes moments of despair. Almost always however, those tough emotions wind up leading to gratitude. Gratitude for the wondrous life I have experienced since getting clean and into recovery over 16 years ago. Gratitude for the strong foundation of morals and values I was given growing up, lost during active addiction, but still there at getting clean. Gratitude for grace, unearned gifts, appreciated only as my recovery spurred spiritual awakenings and growth. I have learned to notice the miraculous world where within I live.

The gifts I value most are the relationships with people near and distant from my little space. Last night at a meeting I heard the speaker talk of her herd. Like elephants the herd gathers around the injured, sick, wounded, old and young. We lean on each other, knowing now that our very existence is meant to be a part of rather than apart from. The herd I am part of has gathered around so many others before and now for over a year, they just will not leave me alone. I mean that endearingly; I am never really alone because I am in the presence of the God I understand. The people of my herd come close reminding me of that unending unbroken presence. Some of the "elephants" I thought I did not know have gathered round - overwhelming comfort and love.

What beauty stands next to me in the herd. My wondrous wife Jacki. She carries this load as much or more than I yet she stands tall and walks through. Sometimes she seems to drag me along. Often she inspires me to wash through the emotional wringer that comes magnified by cancer with so many little life bumps. I believe that if the tables were turned I would stand next to her but that's not the shoe on my foot. I get to see more of the depth of her goodness, not just with me, but with all in her path. I get to see more of the little girl openly experiencing her gamut of emotions. In-to-me-you-see. I love her beyond what seemed my capacity to love.

My daughter Kate. This love, of a different bent, comes so close to the power with Jacki. Kate is in my bones and flows through my veins. She is here for me and walks through what I am so sad she must. Closer we are than when she was 5 or 6. I stole time from her in the last few years before recovery. Then we began to grow together again. But then she stole the time inadvertently turning the table. Yet, miraculously she returned from the neverland nightmare of every parent. Since then our bond has healed and now our adversity adds glue.

Family, friends, sponsor and sponsees, others near and far, including you the reader - I live within a herd.

Cancer still extracts its due everyday. Most scary, though sometimes amusing, are the altered skills of social interaction. Sometimes it hurts the other person. More readily escaping my lips are irretrievable word barbs. My sarcasm is heightened, at times shredding the flesh of interaction with others. My indirect communications are tuned into subtle controls that later leave others with the taste of insult. Oh what the hell, just say it like it is Bill - my words hurt others more often than before.
In recovery I have learned to make amends, set things right. But some days it is tough to keep up.

At times, my more awkward attempts and communicating include grasping for words that used to be readily available. I get tongue tied. I forget more than an allowance for age. Sometimes this is funny, always it is humbling, and sometimes it just plain scares me. I can be sad about missing wit.

No bicycling, no driving after noon. less energy, breathing more difficult, the nasty daily effects of taking my little white pill of poison. It does work to slow cancer's growth so it is my friend, right? I do not want to trade with those on IV chemo a couple times a week, debilitating for days. The wait for the drug trial in Bethesda with the National Institute of health - it seems tortuous and it seems like 6 months, but really has only been six weeks.

Whatever the tough parts, I think the pain is shared amongst my herd, not piled on just me or any one else. I came to recovery with the smell of an unspoken elephant in the living room. Now, I am grateful for the magnificent herd all around. Thank you!
Bill