One Year

365 days.  One year.  Too lazy to do the math on number of minutes and seconds.  Gone. Spent. Invested or wasted.  Enjoyed or labored.  No matter how we think of it, it is one year and it is gone.

Post Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA), anniversaries are different.  They are better or worse; they are frightening or boundlessly joyous;  they are never the same as before.  This one is different even here in the land of different.  I'm giving myself gifts.  Gifts of joy and peace.  Just a light touch of longing on the side.

I invited friends to dinner tonight to ward off brooding.  Now I realize, I wouldn't have brooded regardless.  I'm happy.  It took me longer than I'd like to admit to get there, but I'm happy.   I've been  aware of the approaching anniversary, sort of subterraneously; it loitered and lurked.  But it didn't haunt; I didn't brood.  I am happy.  One year ago, I'm not sure I was.  I was deluding myself, imagining depth that did not exist, not seeing how far short I was selling myself.  Aiming higher today.  We should all aim higher.

Finally, one year later.  I see that it was shadows and fog.  There is little of substance there.  Or what  might once have been there has been doused, diluted, washed away, done in by fluids, by liquids; some kind of utter submersion had gone on.  But that is not my life; it is someone else's.  It's not mine.  Me -  finally, one entire 365 days later, I can enjoy the time we spent for what it was - it was fun, it was cute, it was safe.  And just one bit more.   It entered the door at exactly the moment I needed fun, cute, safe.  I shiver to think of what I would have done - how would I have found my way through that rough, ragged patch if buena fun, cute, safe had not shown up?  I'll always be grateful for it; always feel fondness.  It will always have a home in my stops-for-no-reason heart.  I will wish nothing but the best.

I aim higher now.  I'm so delighted to be able to say that.
I heard a song today that I adore.  The singer speaks with Cupid about his directional challenges.  Cupid laughs and says "Hah! - I don't take aim.  I only go bang, bang, bang".
I just need to watch out for that aimless guy.

Farewell to that year.  A loving farewell to that which was only very remotely possible.  In the sober light of day; in the light of a sober day I hope finds him.   Stranger things have happened - after all,  my heart stopped and I didn't die.  Fare thee well.

Extra Drinks

The Nail

In the last year of his life, someone was asked "Do you have any regrets?";  to which he responded:   "I regret the extra drinks".  Said he and his deeply troubled liver..............

I hate alcohol.  Today anyway.   I hate it.  I drink it now and then, but I can't stand what it does to people I love.  And by extension, what it does to me.  So screw it - I just hate the stuff.  If there were a Temperance League out there today, I'd probably be a card-carrying member.
As a friend says:  "There you have it".  Truth be told.

Since I will get an "F" in Alanon today, I should apologize or moderate the statements, or talk about detachment, or it's a disease, or there's a genetic predisposition, or they each find their own way to sobriety (or not), or we need to support them, or how to set boundaries while still loving them, or I tend to overreact, or leave room for the exceptions to the rule  -  all that annoying, mature, compassionate crap.  But not today;  today I just hate alcohol.   We all have moments when we simply don't feel like being politically correct or thoughtful or moderate or even knowledgeable.  But now, sometimes, it seems the SCA survival gives me permission to give in to those days - to go ahead and have a little old rant like this one.   In other words - screw it.  I don't feel like being sensible or gentle or mature - I just hate the stuff.

In my early days in Alanon, an experienced friend was talking with a very distraught newcomer.  The newbie was worrying herself sick over future romantic possibilities after she divorced her active alcoholic husband. She said: "I am so worried I will fall for another one - how will I be able to tell if a man is an alcoholic?"
And my friend responded:
"Oh, that is very, very easy for me.  If I am in any way attracted to him, he is an alcoholic."

So there you have it.  Even I get tired of myself from time to time.  So I know how you feel.