This Memorial Day, it was difficult to avoid reflecting on war. As we honor the brave soldiers who have died fighting for a cause and/or fighting for survival, I think I might understand, albeit in very limited capacity, what it must be like – watching your fellows fall beside you against an unrelenting enemy.
To those of us with the disease of alcoholism and addiction, we are indeed in our own kind of war, fighting for our survival and the survival of others so afflicted. Our text, the Big Book, suggests that “our job is to keep on the firing line and God will keep us unharmed.” (page 100). I try to stay in the trenches in this recovery effort and diligently carry the message to others and still so many do not make it. Though I have seen hundreds recover and live happily and become usefully whole, I also wonder at times if I am only there at the front line as a spiritual medic, to carry away the wounded.
It was particularly poignant this weekend as I went on a 12 step call with another friend in the program to see a woman I had been working with that had relapsed. We spoke with the family for 2 hours before we had an opportunity to speak with her. We played with her young children and tried to empathize and comfort her parents as best we could. This family had already lost one child to addiction and the surviving siblings both have the disease, with one successfully in recovery. The ravaging of this disease on loved ones was glaringly apparent and humbling. Everyone was stretched to their limit and losing hope; none the least of which was my friend herself.
She had only a glimmer of hope but admitted she was too terrified to trust and had some reservations. Driven by (at least) a hundred forms of fear, she expressed she had been trying to end it all. So many of us have been there at that jumping off place – where we can’t live with it and we can’t imagine life without it. The powerlessness can be overwhelming. At the end of our afternoon with her, she agreed she would re-double her efforts at the recovery program but within 24 hours I was notified she was in ICU due to an overdose.
We are 100% hopeless apart from Divine help and our cases are too heartbreaking, as one doctor was quoted in the Big Book. That is really the truth. Sometimes, we lose the battle. As recovered alcoholics, however, we have to continue in the war and continue to treat the wounded. We have a purpose, we have a duty and a calling to carry the message to ALL those still suffering, including the family members who request our services, but in the last analysis, when an alcoholic has placed themselves beyond human aid, there is the elusive spiritual ingredient of hope, a spark of willingness to live that must come from a Power greater than ourselves. God could and would if sought.
We are allowed to match calamity with serenity to the extent that we play the role which has been assigned us by our Higher Power. The age of miracles is still with us. I see the proof of it every day. I refuse to give up hope, but it is also so true that faith without works is dead.
Faith has to live in and through us 24 hours a day, according to Bill at the end of his story. And though we cannot give another faith, we are responsible for planting a seed of Light, for showing those who still suffer a rainbow.
