One year's difference...

This was a post I made about a year ago. I wanted to re-post and show the difference a year can make -- OR that a year and sobriety can mean no change at all.

May 14th, 2011

One of my very first needlecraft projects was to embroider a set of kitchen towels. My mother bought seven blank “flour sack” towels and ironed a transfer onto each one (do they even make those anymore?). The lines were to be stitched using brightly colored embroidery thread in several different stitch styles.

There were seven towels – one for each day of the week and each day had a specific task: Monday-Sweep; Tuesday-Dust; Wednesday-Laundry; Thursday-Ironing; Friday-Mend; Saturday-Shop; Sunday-Rest. It took me a while to get them completed, but I was sooooooo proud of them when they were all done and neatly hung on the handle of the oven. For months I changed them daily so they matched the appropriate day of the week.

My little girl mind would often drift into believing that maybe this is how life was supposed to be lived. Was there a time for each chore and was always to be done consistently each and every week? I wondered if this was the way life was suppose to be lived and the fact that my family didn’t operate in that manner meant that we were somehow not living the “right” way.

After a few months, I forgot about putting the right towel out for the day and just grabbed one when needed for drying the dishes without concern for what day of the week it was. But, I did, however, carry over a bit of “neatish” behavior through my teen years. While other teens had rooms resembling the city dump, mine was neat and clean. My closet was divided by dresses, skirts, tops and pants and in each section the clothes were organized by color. For a teenager – I was definitely not normal.

As I have gotten older, I have digressed… Fast forward 40+ years… left to my own devices, I would have a house that was livably clean but not spotless. You might find yesterdays coffee cup still on my desk and the newspaper might be thrown about the sofa. In my room there is a stack of clothes that needs to be hung up or put away. If I lie down during the day, I do not re-make the bed. My toothbrush doesn’t always make it back into the holder. My bedroom slippers never make it into the closet.

I know I have a point here somewhere in the clutter of my mind… In Riley World there would be a kitchen towel for every day of the week and each would have a list of tasks. He would adhere to those tasks as though they were the holy grail itself. The towels would be changed at 12:01 A.M. every single day. They would be clearly hung on some special hanger in view for all to see. There would be no deviation.

Imagine the frustration he must feel when comforted with the fact that the pile of things… *#!% ...as he calls it… accumulates on my desk and my attitude is “I’ll get a round to it this week.” It must cause extreme stress for him when he gives me a grocery list and I come home with only seven of the ten items. Riley lives in an absolute black and white world. I live with approximations and shades of gray with an occasional absolute thrown in.

Riley says he has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder – I’m not so sure. The absolute routine of Riley’s world has a purpose. He has told me that if he gets everything done that needs to be done, his time then becomes his own do to with as he pleases. And what he pleases is alcohol related. In his mind, it’s OK to be drunk to the point of peeing your pants, if the kitchen counter is spotless. It is OK to be oblivious to the end table having rings from his beer cans if he vacuumed the floor this morning. That doesn’t sound like OCD to me. It sounds more like alcoholic behavior.

There is a jagged sort of logic in his thinking. It’s not one I agree with – but it belongs to him and I have no right to try to take away his thought process. As he – again – progresses towards end-stage, he needs those daily reminder towels to keep him on task because he sometimes confuses Monday with Wednesday. He has difficulty remembering his self-assigned tasks and when he is to do them or even if he has already done them.

I know that part of it is the memory loss from the stroke. But I am also acutely aware that most of it is that his frontal lobe is saturated with ammonia and therefore not truly able to agree to anything for a long period of time. I also know that he finds some kind of “pay back” in creating minor difficulties for me. If he is not happy in the living arrangement, he will not let me be happy either. Or, if he makes me miserable enough, I’ll send him away.

Whatever… I just want to give fair warning… if I see that Tuesday Towel around here, I will promptly burn it and then claim no knowledge.

March 10, 2013

Now that Riley has been sober for almost a year it would be easy to assume that the Tuesday Towel scenario would be in the past. But, that is far from reality. I still don't like living in a sterile environment and Riley is even more determined to drive me crazy with his little cleanliness endeavors.

When I have my morning coffee, the spoon I use to stir in the cream and sugar is washed, dried and put away before I finish my first cup. And evidently I have a two cup requirment because Riley asks me every morning "Have you had your second cup yet?" The question is really "Can I clean up the coffeemaker now?" It has nothing to do with me getting my fill of caffiene. So not only is my spoon no longer on the counter, the coffee pot is no longer holding coffee. That's all before I finish my first cup.

I like to lay on the sofa and watch my soaps. During this wintertime season, I cover with a fluffy throw. If I go to the bathroom during a commercial, when I return, my throw is neatly folded and returned to the back of the sofa. He must fold up that throw a dozen times a day.

The cleanliness level feels rather false to me. He goes crazy over sweeping the floor, but refuses to use the vacuum cleaner on the carpet. He pesters me to clean out the fridge, but will leave his chicken out on the counter for several days -- telling me not to put it away. And get this -- he eats it and never gets sick. He keeps his beard neatly trimed and reminds me he needs to get a hair cut, but never takes a shower or washes his hair.

Not all things are resolved with the advent of sobriety. Sometimes the little things that we find exasperating during alcoholic drunkenness become overwhelmingly intolerable in sobriety.
I have to stop writing now because Riley wants to clean out my "to be filed" bin.

All about me, me, me...

I remember back, almost a year ago now, I sat at my dining room table with three hospice workers from the home health care agency. It was our first meeting and we were setting things up for Riley to be treated as a hospice patient rather than just a stubborn old drunk. I had to sign a paper stating that I understood that no measures would be taken to keep Riley alive. For me, I felt I was signing his death warrant. I hovered over the place where the signature was to be, but had difficulty actually putting the pen to paper.

The hospice worker was very patient. She asked me what was holding me back. We talked about my feelings of failure because I had not been able to get Riley to desire a better life. I told her of my need to see things through to the end. And I told her how tired I was in general.

As we talked I came to understand that my hesitation in signing the paper was really not about Riley, but instead it was about ME – my feelings, my needs, my desires, my failures, my anger, my everything. I also began to understand that I was experiencing a form of de-Je-vu from signing papers for removing life support from my son.

I had heard Riley say over and over that he would rather be dead than sober. I asked him if he was sure that this was what he wanted. The answers he gave were vague and reminded me that he was not being realistic. He said alcohol would not kill him. He said he was not dying and wouldn’t die for another 30 years. It was almost as though he was daring me like a challenge in an Olympic match.

I signed the papers and an overwhelming sense of relief came over me. I broke down in the arms of the hospice worker and cried. I didn’t cry because Riley was dying. I cried because whether he died or it was a relift to know it was no longer my responsibility. I cried for my son. I cried for a life that would never know the true potential of living in sanity. Neither my son, nor my husband would die as the people that I knew they could have been, but rather as an empty shell of what was once so very good.

The next day I set about getting Riley moved to the more convenient bedroom down the hall. It would be an easier access for the workers and EMTs. A hospital bed, cabinets and supply storage, a comfy recliner with a side table and reading light, a bedside potty, these were all the necessities of allowing him to die.

A hot pink notice was placed on my refrigerator door and on the door of Riley’s new bedroom. It stated that if the EMTs were called, they were not to take any heroic measures to preserve Riley’s life. Instead they were to call the hospice hotline and they would immediately send out a worker. The hospice nurses would make Riley comfortable and let him pass to another place.

It was less than 24 hours later when I was told that he was a half point off on his albumin panel and therefore, Medicare would not pay for his hospice treatment. I was on my own again. And only hours after that notification, Riley was calling me from his new bedroom because he wanted me to call the EMT’s. He was having a heart attack.

As I held the phone in my hand, I hesitated. I had a little debate inside my head. Call. Don’t call. Who would know if I didn’t call or if I waited too long to call. There was no one in the house but us. Our nearest neighbor was a ways down the road. No one would know.

There was just one little hitch. I would know. I would not only know but I would have to live with that decision for the rest of my life. I dialed 9-1-1 and went to Riley’s bedside. I would know. My conscious would be haunted. It was all about me and not about Riley at all. I wasn’t as interested in saving Riley as much as I wanted to save myself.

When they loaded him onto the helicopter for his ride to Greenville, I was told he would be there in about 15 minutes. It would take me 2 hours to get there by car. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. The sun was starting to come up and I had only slept for a couple of hours. But, I went home, packed a bag and headed off to the hospital.

In the back of my mind I was thinking, “Someone else is watching over him and caring for him. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing will change by me being at the hospital.” I thought about turning the car around and heading home. The peacefulness of a Riley-free country life was calling to me.

Then I started getting phone calls from the hospital. They needed his history, papers signed, information, etc. and needed to know when I would be there. It was a jolt back to reality. As much as I wanted to only think about myself, I knew that this was really about Riley and not me.

My day would come when I could be self-centered and only consider what was best for me. This was not the day. On this day in May, I would do what Riley needed for me to do. After all, I was being told to call the family and let them know that Riley would never be released from the hospital. It didn’t seem like it would be long before my selfishness could begin.

As all my blog followers know, Riley did survive and is still alive today. So he has won this match of the challenge but the game is still in play.

I realize that if Medicare had not stopped the hospice, Riley would not be here today and I could revel in my self-centeredness. The reality is that there will always be something that will prevent me from being as self-involved as I think I would like to be. There are my grand and great-grand kids, blog followers and group members who will always need me in some way or another. I can’t see myself ever turning my back and saying – “Well… I’m just too busy to help you.”

As much as I would like to think this whole hospice thing was about me wanting my peace and aloneness. It really was about Riley and what he needed. Not so much about what he wanted but what he needed. He needed me to sign those papers because he only had two choices – sobriety or death. He chose death. He let me know on a daily basis that he wanted me to let him go. Let him die.

Was signing the hospice papers about me? Of course it was. Was signing the papers about Riley? Absolutely. It was about both of us. It was giving both of us not just what we wanted, but what we needed. If I had it to do again – and eventually I will have to face the situation again – I would sign on the dotted line. Watching Riley be miserable in this Linda-enforced life of sobriety makes it very clear that this is not the life he wants. He truly does mean it when he says he would rather be dead than sober.

They don't have to die...

Since I started this blog, a few years back, I get contacted by people who need or want me to donate to one thing or another all the time. I don’t have the funds to give to everyone who sends me a sweet e-mail. Heck, I have trouble getting donations for my own endeavors, so unless it is something I just can’t resist, I always pass.

A couple of days ago, I got one of those e-mails. The first sentence was “I need your help in fundraising.” I thought – Oh here we go again. But as I read, I realized this isn’t just an opportunity to help a deserving organization, it’s an opportunity for me as well. Not to mention that what was offered sounded like a really, really FUN thing to do. I don’t get a lot of opportunities to just do something outside the box for fun.

Hollywood and Vine Recovery Center in Los Angeles has seen addicts through the recovery process many times. Celebrities have passed through their doors as well as homeless, uninsured people in desperate need of help. Everyone receives a “hand-up” out of the insanity.

I’ve been stomping on my soap box for a long time that rehab centers should be required to do some kind of “pro bono” rehabs. When I found out that the proceeds of this event will be used to pay for rehab treatment for those who could not get it otherwise – well – I was ALL on board. Although the program will focus on the younger addict, it also covers adults. That was even better. Who knows... maybe if this had been available to my son, he might still be alive today.

The event is the Hollywood and Vine Musical Extravaganza and will held on June 2^nd at Club Avalon. There will be many celebrities performers such as the guitarist, Mike Pinera who was a member of the Blues Image Band who had the hit in the 1970’s “Ride Captain Ride”. He was also a member of Iron Butterfly and Alice Cooper.  Members of both groups are on the agenda to perform. If that’s too “old school” for you how about Nick Hawk? Or the Chris Weaver Band? On a more folksy side there’s Ollin Band. The key note speaker will be Craig S. Strong and the cast of Celebrity Rehab.

This event has the potential of making a huge difference for so many people. Unfortunately, it can’t happen without help from others to meet the expenses. Oh! There’s that ugly word again – expenses and here’s another – fundraising. Everyone’s help is needed. Every dollar will count. I’m asking you to part with at least one dollar to help the show to go on. One dollar. 100 cents. That’s less than the cost of your morning sausage biscuit. Of course, more money -- $5 or $10 or $1000 is all welcome.

There is no official website yet – but one is coming soon. On the funding site there is a link to Dr. Montgomery and information about the Hollywood and Vine Recovery Center. Click the link below to go to the events funding page and make your donation. The life saved could that of your child, niece, nephew or a complete stranger.

What’s in it for Linda Jane Riley? My work will be front and center receiving recognition and exposure to the public. My hope is that it will draw people to the blog, encourage people to join the OARS F&F Group, and help with raising funds to keep the support groups going and growing. This could be the a huge step in making OARS F&F Group into a non-profit organization with real live meetings across the country. Making a donation to the musical event, in the long run, could actually be a donation to my endeavors.

Oh! And let's not forget how much fun it will be for me to walk down that red carpet which is something a little old lady like me never dreamed would happen in a million years!

http://www.gofundme.com/HWAVRC-Musical-Event

Free lunch...

I learned a hard lesson as a child. It had to do with an advertisement I saw that said a car was being offered for FREE. I took the ad to my father and told him I had the solution to helping my brother get another car. My father read over the ad and then read to me the “fine print.” It seems certain accessories were free – like the windshield wipers – but the car itself still had a price tag. After our discussion about how unfair the ad was, he looked me squarely in the eyes and said, “Linda, no matter what anyone says, there is no such thing as a free lunch.”

My father was right. Even a free lunch costs something.  Although it may not be in dollars and cents, the cost can still be more than you can afford. Anyone who has ever felt pressured to accept an invitation from a boss to have lunch, knows that there is a price tag. To accept means your cost is in the time you spend eating with a person you would not choose on an everyday basis.

Recently I had a conversation with the developer of the Webinar “Intervene – An Emergency Guide to Heavy Drinking and Alcoholism.” We were talking about feeling guilty because we have to solicit funds to manage the different projects that we hope will make a difference in someone’s life. As much as we both would like to offer everything we have to everyone who wants it at no cost at all, the fact is that everything cost something.

A comment on my last post says I have gone “corporate.” That I’m no longer real and Riley is forgotten. The commenter was disappointed in me because I posted that my book was now available in Smashwords and that the webinar was coming up and my followers were invited to join. I want to address this comment publicly here so if others feel the same they may be able to understand.

“The Immortal Alcoholic’s Wife” has been offered on this site for quite a while. It is not a new thing. An e-book version was promised many months ago and I’ve followed through on that promise. The book is now available for your Kindle, Nook, IPad, etc. In the next couple of days it will be available at Barnes & Noble and Amazon.  A soft cover version is also promised and I’m working on making that happen.

The webinar is not my creation. I have contributed information for the material, but I cannot take ownership because it is not mine to take. Sandy Jones is the author, creator and producer of the entire 11-week series of classes. She has done an excellent job and there is a lot to learn from her research and efforts. There are expenses associated with this endeavor, such as the web hosting and designing, handouts, teleconference expenses. This was a huge undertaking and while she was working on this webinar, she had less time to work on her real job. To be offered to my readers for $50 is just a drop in the bucket compared to what it cost her.

Besides “The Immortal Alcoholic’s Wife” and the “Workbook for Caretakers of End-Stage Alcoholics” (which is currently being updated), I also have three support groups for friends and families of alcoholics. Two are free to host via FaceBook, but the third is a private site for which I pay to maintain and host. It is expensive. The money comes from the GoFundMe account. Usually there is not enough money in the account and I cut corners on my home budget so I can keep the website up and running.

Besides the cold hard cash that is needed to keep doing what I do, I spend nearly five hours a day on Immortal Alcoholic / OARS related activities. During those hours, I support followers either through e-mail or on the support sites. My in-box has so many letters that where I used to answer every one within a few hours, I now can seldom answer each and every one individually. I do research on things that I hear about or information passed on to me. I plan and organize to expand the groups and eventually make available real meetings with real people. I reach out in my community to offer my services to anyone that I can possibly help.

While I’m doing that, I’m working a part-time “corporate” day-job that gives me just enough income to fund my activities. I’m watching out for Riley and teaching him how to be self-sufficient again after having so abused his brain with alcohol that he only is able to function at the level of a pre-teen boy. I cook for him, clean for him, shop for him and set his TV recorder so he never misses an episode of NCIS. He could not afford to pay someone for all the things I do for him. In fact, when I have someone come in to help, it can cost as much as $50 an hour.

I was once worked for a Fortune 500 company in San Francisco. I wore designer suits to work and had standing appointments for my hair and nails. I worked from very early in the morning into the evening. I planned, facilitated, and attended conferences, conventions, seminars, workshops, meetings and teambuilding events. I couldn’t get through the day without my calendar. I made great money and it cost me great money in cash and time just to keep up the appearances and be away from my family.  I thank God every day that I no longer work in that environment.

In my dream world, I would be able to quit my day-job and find a way to make money on the things that give me the most satisfaction – my Immortal Alcoholic and OARS work. I would be able to help people and put food on the table at the same time. I don’t live in a dream world. I live in reality where the bills come in every month no matter how helpful I am to others. I can rack up hundreds of hours of “good deeds” but the electric company still wants cash.

So… as Sandy and I talked about feeling guilty about trying to make money off this horrible thing called addiction, we came to understand that the more money we make, the more we can benefit others. We discussed the fact that rehab centers make big money off addiction. Doctors, lawyers, hospitals, all turn a profit from addiction. Neither of us aspire to become multi-millionaires from doing what we do. We just don’t want to end up in the red or sacrifice necessities for the cause.

To the commenter who said I’m not real, I’m fundraising. Anonymous is half right. I am fundraising. But I am still real and Riley is still flourishing under my care. I’m helping about 1,000 people on average every single day. Just imagine how many people could benefit if I could afford more time and money to provide the avenues to reach them.

Anonymous – if you’re looking for a free lunch, well, I wish you good luck with that.

E-Book and Webinar

My book, The Immortal Alcoholic’s Wife, is now out on Kindle, Nook, Sony, IPad, and many other e-book formats. This is an extremely personal book which gives an in-depth look at my life from childhood to the present. The family stories show how I was groomed to be a caretaker from an early age. It is the story of my life.

Mixed in with the stories, both heart-breaking and humorous, there is a lot of useful information written in a language the language of a regular person. You won’t have to have any medical training to understand the explanations of alcohol related complications.

Anyone with an alcoholic in their life will benefit from reading this book. Alcoholics will get a glimpse of what it is like to be on the other side of the bottle.

Get your copy today from Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/286326

 

--WEBINAR—

I have contributed information for an upcoming webinar that may be of interest to many of my followers. I’ll be participating in the program and my readers have been invited to join. I hope that many of you decide to take advantage of this opportunity.

INTERVENE – An Emergency Guide to Heavy Drinking and Alcoholism

Starting February 24^th at 5:30 pm PST, the duration will be about one and half hours.

This is an 11-week, in-depth webinar which will answer questions such as:

What’s an average amount of drinking? How much is too much? How will I know if my friend or loved one needs help? Who do I go to? Why can’t alcoholics exercise just a little bit of disciple? Why can’t they stop?

The cost of the webinar is $50 which is a giant savings considering that it will be $279 when it is rolled out to the general public.

For more information about the webinar creator and details of the program, please visit:

www.InterveneToday.com

Dead? Alive?

This was written by an OARS member who is the daughter of an alcoholic. She has chosen to take a step back from her father as he walks down his alcoholic path. The invisible umbilical cord binding child to parent still remains as she tries to minimize her involvement in his insane behavior. In my opinion, she has mastered the art of detaching with love.

Ms Forland writes:

I don’t go to my alcoholic father’s house as much as I used to… but do pass it on the way to work. I phone him often to “check in” but when I don’t get an answer a knot forms in my stomach and won’t go away until I hear from or see him. This week it was about two or three days and since he had received his check for his pension recently, I figured he was on a bender.

Dead or Alive? Dead or Alive? Those thoughts keep going through my head as I drove to his house a few days ago.

I shoveled his driveway and steps and was comforted to see footprints in the snow leading to his door. I could not bring myself to actually go into the house. I figured he was plastered or dead, or in bed asleep since he sleeps all day and drinks all night.

The next day, I couldn’t handle the stomach pains from the anxiety of not knowing if he was dead or alive, so I went to his house again. As I walked up to the door, I threw salt on the steps and waited to see if the front door would open on its own. It did not.

I walked in, paused and listened for sounds of life. Both the TVs were on full blast. Dead or Alive? I slowly walked through the kitchen. The counters and table were cluttered with empty bottles of rum and vodka among the food and dirty dishes. Dead or Alive? I entered the living room, some papers were scattered everywhere along with plates of food on the floor. There was no sign of him on the main floor. No blood or vomit. Good sign, right?

Dead or Alive? Dead or Alive?

Upstairs, I pause and listen. Quiet. Dead or Alive? I took a deep breath and slowly walked to his bedroom. Dead or Alive? I turn the corner and can see into his room. TADA! There he is. I see his body move slightly and I know he is still alive. I sneak backwards out of the room, turn and go down the stairs and, quietly but quickly, out the door.

As I drove home, I could feel my stomach knots unravel and relax. I’m good. That is until the next time. 

Detaching is one of the hardest things ever needed when someone we love is addicted to alcohol or drugs. The problem seems to be more complicated when detachment is needed between children and parents or vice versa. I always have the option of leaving and forgetting about my husband, but it never feels like an option for a parent to leave a child or a child to leave a parent. Those ties cannot be cut by a bunch of legal words on a court-recorded document. The ties are binding for life.

I admire Ms Forland for finding a way to satisfy her need to protect him and, at the same time, protect herself. I know that what she wanted to do was wake him up and shake some sense into him. I know I would have had a hard time resisting that urge. I admire her for not cleaning up his house, stocking his refrigerator with healthy food and thereby letting him believe she will take care of his messes. She was able to recognize HER need to know if he was still alive and once that need was met she did nothing more. Nothing more would have done anyone any good or made her feel any better.

If the person had been her child, I think it would have been even harder for her to walk out the door. It’s so extremely hard to keep those maternal protection instincts from kicking in and trying to save the child from imminent danger. Sometimes trying to save the child in that moment only teaches them they can depend on the parent to always come to their rescue. That in turn prevents them from actually taking responsibility for themselves and saving their own lives.

I think it’s normal for each of us to think we would know what we would do if we were placed into a certain situation. The fact is that we never really know how we will react or what we would do. There are so many scenarios to life, it’s impossible to imagine every which way we would turn in the real event. Sometimes we just react instinctively and other times we think things through to a rational end.  The main thing to remember is that no matter what we do, we will always do what we feel is the right thing in whatever the circumstance and in that instant. It may not seem right to others, or in my own hindsight, but there is no need to feel guilty or accept others criticism. Pushing down those feelings of guilt are sometimes harder than doing what you felt was right at the time.

As for me, I fight the “guilt-monster” every single day. But, I am confident I’ve always done what I felt was the best thing to do at any given time and in any given circumstance based on the information at hand and from my previous experiences. To do any less would be like trying to revive the Pansies I planted last spring.

Peer support coaching...

As many of you may remember, I recently went back to working a real job. It’s only part-time, but it is brain-demanding. I find it a struggle to devote my attention to something that simply provides me an income. To top it off, my Immortal Alcoholic in-box continues to bulge over with more and more requests for help. I often spend three hours a day just on answering e-mails and I would spend more if I had the time available. How can I focus on my paying job when what I really want to do is help others who find them in my situation?

My journey has taken me down many different paths along my walk of life. I tried to count how many “careers” I've had. I've been an apricot cutter, baby-sitter, mother, receptionist, waitress, marketing assistant, sales administrator, executive assistant, word processing manager, liaison, administration manager, reporter, event planner, author, and title examiner. The longest time I've spent at any one thing was 15 years. Considering that I started working at the ripe old age of 14 that means I've been in the workforce for 50 years. So my longest tenure is just a drop in the bucket. Looks like I've been a bit of a “job jumper.” But, in the grand scheme of things, that’s OK because I believe I can use all my past experience to embark on my next career adventure.

I have always said that I wished I could actually make money at writing this blog or by having the support groups. The reality is I can’t make money at doing those things. Any money I receive through donations goes directly to supporting the OARS Group and helping it grow into a non-profit organization. I have grand visions of OARS becoming the next Al-Anon. Wouldn't that be great? A non-12-step alternative for friends and families of alcoholics just gives me a smile too large for my face. It’s one of the reasons I went back to work after retiring. I needed the money to support my dreams.

I've become gung-ho about getting the OARS meeting up and running as live, face-to-face group meetings. To do that, I contacted the local substance abuse facility and asked for their support. They were interested and asked if I was a peer support coach. They gave me some phone numbers and names of people that were “in the biz.” Over the next few days, I googled, phoned, talked, and reached out to anyone who might give me ideas or help me get started.

Recovery Innovations hires peer coaches for the purpose of providing support to addicted persons by recovering addicts. They also have a training program for people interested in coaching. The big “but” was that it was not for friends or family – just substance abuse addicts. The criterion for their program was set out by North Carolina’s Health and Human Services Department and they did not have anything in place for collaterally damaged people. My contact encouraged me to rattle the chain of that government entity and bring attention to the need.

(If you are an addicted person and the idea of a peer support coach is appealing to you, go this website:

www.recoveryinnovations.com.)

I asked the contact if I need to be certified before I could start offering my services as a peer support coach. The response was that I had already been doing coaching for several years simply by extending my hand of support to others through my blog, e-mail and support group formations. I just wasn’t being paid to do it. He knew of no reason why I couldn't become an official peer coach without any certification. Besides, there’s no certification offered in our state and therefore the job doesn't exist. If I issue a disclaimer about not being a professional counselor or therapist, in his opinion, that was all I needed.

My next stop was the SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) site which is a part of the federal government’s Health and Human Services Department. I found a grant for the creation of peer-to-peer support. I thought this must be a divine sign that I was on the right path. I called the contacts and after many attempts (it is the FEDERAL government, after all) I finally reached someone who told me that she didn't think the intent of the Grant was for anyone other than the addicted. However, she told me that I should apply, but I would have to be a non-profit organization in order for the application to be accepted.  However, she again, encouraged me to apply. Nothing worth having is ever easy.

Well, I would like that $250,000 grant to set up the OARS Group, but I must take those baby steps. I believe I've already taken a few of them. This month I will file for non-profit status in the State of North Carolina for the OARS Group. If I can get it done quickly, I can apply for the federal grant.

While I’m doing that, I will officially hang out my shingle as a Peer Support Coach. I have a website that I have neglected for a while (I apologize to everyone who has been there) and is now being re-vamped and renewed. It will have my rates and how to schedule an appointment to meet with me via the telephone or Skype or Instant Messaging. When I am ready for clients, I’ll post it on the blog with a link to the website. If I can make enough money at doing that, I can quit my day job and focus on doing what my heart is telling is the right thing to do.

As part of the coaching, I have a plan to start offering myself as a public speaker. I’m not exactly sure how to do this, but I've been told in the past that being a speaker is the most profitable way to go. Talking to an audience is not frightful for me and I’m looking forward to the opportunity.

I wish I could win the lottery and not have to worry about paying rent or buying little things like food and electricity. The reality is I haven’t found the winning ticket yet – I guess I have to buy a ticket before I can win which is something I only seldom do. Anyway, if I did have that ticket, I would be able to devote my time, money and efforts solely on supporting people who have walked in my shoes. Unfortunately, the reality is that I MUST pay the rent, buy food and electricity and that takes both time and money.

Forget about the alcoholic...

Over the past few months, it seems that my e-mail is over-flowing with letters relating that the alcoholic in their life has died. The mixture of both regret and relief is often the focus of the letter.

I like to call this passing of the alcoholic a “Gift of Freedom.” It is a gift of being able to regain a life without the insanity brought on by the alcoholic’s actions. It is an opportunity to reach for happiness in a new life. I don’t know how many times I have said, “I just want this to be over. If he’s going to die, just let him die.” Letting him die seemed like the most humane thing for everyone concerned. It would be Riley’s final gift to me.

I’m not alone in those thoughts. Almost everyone has used those words even if they were never truly vocalized. When we say/think it, we are only seeking relief from the immediate situation. The truth is that if the alcoholic could die and still leave behind the pre-alcoholic person – all our prayers would be answered. Unfortunately it does not work that way.

Once the loss has happened and we are gathered in a church, graveside, meeting room, or however it happens, we get the opportunity to eulogize our loved one. So what do you say about a person who showed up at your Junior Prom and knocked over the punch bowl? What do you say about a person who lost many jobs and all friends who did not share a penchant for inebriation? What do you say about a child who never really lived a full meaningful life past the age of 14? Instead of standing up and saying you’re happy the alcoholic is dead, what do you say?

While communicating with these people who have shared my experience of losing a loved one, I found that what we say and do is never about the alcoholism. We talk about the person before the alcohol took over. We share funny little anecdotes and memories of a time long ago. We silently put to rest the alcoholic and focus on the person.

In my opinion, it’s about the only thing we can do. No one wants to brow beat the dead. What good would that do? I have an image of a two-part cartoon of a wife shaking her fist at her husband and saying, “If you don’t stop, the drink is gonna kill you!” The husband responds that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The next frame is the wife standing over her husband’s open grave which is littered with booze bottles. She has a tissue to her eyes and weeps “Do you believe me now?” It’s a sad cartoon, but it’s what we all are thinking. Best it stays as a cartoon.

So how do we handle the grieving process and not harp on our own disappointment?  I’m a firm believer that some things are just best if left private. Publicly, I believe, we should remember the good and relate what a wonderful writer, provider, cook, etc., the person was before. In private with a group of people who understand you and your situation, you let all those negative emotions flow. Weep openly with those who care the most about you. Reach out to them for support in rebuilding your life. The group can be family, Al-Anon, OARS, a therapist, or any other support group. The point is to surround yourself with those who care and can offer direction.

Most caretakers of end-stage alcoholics grieve several times during the course of the alcoholic journey. They grieve every time the alcoholic relapses, every time they go into rehab, every time they cause chaos. The grieving seems to be endless. Then when the alcoholic dies – they grieve some more.

The good news is the “gift” part of the death. Once the survivors have recovered from the initial loss, they are able to move on. A constant state of chaos creates a form of “post-traumatic stress syndrome” and once the chaos stops the opportunity exists for peace and quiet. It is a bittersweet reward.

When Riley dies, I don’t want to be the one to eulogize. I’ll leave that up to others. His daughter will talk about the time he held her all night long when she was very sick. His brother will probably share stories of the time they shared in apartment. A friend from his past may talk about how he could make an electronic technician manual read like a masterpiece novel. A former shipmate may tell the story of how he “supervised” the changing of a flat tire. There’s lots of good stuff to tell. I’m sure the group will not leave with the image of Riley falling down the stairs in a drunken stupor. I’m happy for that.

Whenever someone wrongs me, I always tell myself that the best revenge is living well. So when Riley is gone, my revenge against the alcoholism (not against him) is that I will attempt to live my life well. I will survive and be happy.

WAIT A DARN MINUTE!! Why should I wait until he dies?? I think living your life every day to make it the best it can be is the only way to go. I’m not going to waste one second of potential happiness on allowing the stress of alcoholism to take me to a dark place. It's a tall order for someone who lives inside a craziness bubble. I'll have to remind myself to be happy several times during the day.

My mother used to tell me “This is a day you will never have again. Better make the most of it.” I think my mother was right! Today I will be happy, productive and make lemonade!

Jury duty...

Jury Duty is one of the responsibilities of being a member of our society. It may be inconvenient and feel like an intrusion on our life, but it is necessary. Anyone chosen for the jury duty process of selection should take the event seriously. The following was overheard as I waited for to be granted entrance into the courtroom. People were being screened through the metal detector. There were two bailiffs involved in the procedure.

First Bailiff: “Are you drunk?”

Potential Juror: “No. I’m Ashley.” She held out a very shaky hand to the Bailiff, but he rebuffed the salutation. Ms Ashley’s mother stood next to her with a support hand at the back center of her daughter’s waist. She would have been voted as the best dressed juror in comparison to the other candidates. She wore a beautiful blue knit dress with a leather belt in the same color blue. Her hair looked as though she had just come from the beauty salon. Her makeup was flawlessly applied yet subtle. She could have been a politician’s wife on the campaign trail. But the swaying and shaking of her body told a tell that the togetherness of her exterior did not match her interior.  

Second Bailiff: “What’s in your drinking glass, Ms. Ashley?”

Ms Ashley: “It’s OK. It’s just water.”

Second Bailiff: “You won’t be able to take that glass into the courtroom.”

Ms Ashley: “It’s OK. It’s just water.”

Ms Ashley walked away (with the aide of her mother) tottering on her high heels.

First Bailiff to Second Bailiff: “We’ll have to do a breathalyzer on her. She’s smelly of the stuff.”

Second Bailiff to First Bailiff: “I agree. Let’s get a female officer down here.”

About ten minutes later, a female officer arrived and there was a conversation about what would happen if the results were over the legal limit. She would be arrested. They spoke quietly, but the small lobby made it impossible to carry on a private conversation.

Riley looked up at me and said, “So what if she’s been drinking. It doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be a good juror.” I proceeded to explain to him that jurors in to be in a clear state of mind so that they would understand the facts of the case presented. “It’s not illegal to drink,” he said. “So she’s had a few. It’s OK.” I didn’t respond.

Now that the posse had been assembled and measures / counter-measures were in place, the First Bailiff went outside to find Ms Ashley. She was not there, but her mother was. Her mother explained that she only had that odor because she had been drinking constantly over the past three weeks. But, she had not been drinking that morning and therefore she was not drunk. The First Bailiff explained that she could not be allowed into the courtroom if she was above the legal limit on the test.

Ms Ashley appeared from the ladies room and said she had no idea why they would want to do a breathalyzer on her. Her comment was directed to an innocent, handsome, male by-stander. “Are you kidding me??? You reek of a distillery!” He exclaimed and then walked away from her. She muttered “Asshole” under her breath, but everyone in the lobby could still hear her.

The posse came over to her and said they needed to take the test. Ms Ashley informed them that she did not want to take the test, but would speak to her attorney who just happened to be in court that day. The lawyer came from around the corner where Ms Ashley stopped him and told him she did not want to take the test. The lawyer shared a few words with the bailiffs. It took less than five minutes for the lawyer to turn right back around and tell Ms Ashley to wait an hour or so and then take the test. She left to go outside to have a cigarette.

It was about 30 minutes later when the lawyer came up to the bailiffs and asked if they had gone ahead and taken her into custody. They told him no. He said he could not find Ms Ashley or her mother anywhere on the grounds. Someone in the background said – “She said she was leaving. She said she wasn’t going to stick around for this bull shit, got in her car and drove off. She wouldn’t let her mother drive. They were arguing.” The bailiff’s thakedn the informant and then notified the police of a potential drunk driver by the name of Ashley etc., etc.

I don’t know what happened to the woman and her mother. Shortly after all the drama, we were informed that we could all go home. Well, it was an entertaining morning anyway.

I wonder how many people show up for court appearances while they are still in the midst of foggy-mindedness. I bet it is more than I had ever anticipated. The thought of being a defendant with the question of my freedom on the line – and having my fate determined by someone who obviously is not of sound mind – is more than irritating, it’s downright frightful.

Should all jurors be given a breathalyzer before entering the courtroom? It seems logical to me. On the other hand, it could be construed as a violation of a person’s civil rights.  After all, an occasional drink in the morning doesn’t make you an alcoholic. Or does it?

For me, it’s not so much about determining if a person is an alcoholic. It’s more about having the good sense NOT to drink when you know you will be in a situation of having power over another person’s life. If I were on trial, I would prefer all my jurors be blessed with sound judgment and sober minds.

Out with the old...

I knew that it would be difficult for me to downsize from a very large four bedroom house to a more compact, one bedroom in-law apartment in a house that I now share with my grandson and his family. As I unpack moving boxes and do my best to “get rid of” things I no longer use or want, I am reminded that a generation of youngsters has lost the concept of valuing what you have. My grandkids must walk through the garage portion of our very large house to enter mine and Riley’s living quarters. If I’m out there sorting, opening, organizing, there is almost always a comment of “Why don’t you just throw all this stuff away?”

Throwing away seems to be a theme these days. It’s a theme that I don’t understand. If you drive down the side streets into the residential areas, you will see appliances set out on the curb for either the trash man or a freebie seeker. These appliances may be out there because the owners renovated their home or maybe because it has stopped working for some reason or another. Whatever the reason, they’ve been discarded.

I have a fond admiration for the freebie seeker who will pick up the unwanted appliance, take it home and work on it until it is a productive piece of equipment again. In my day, things were repaired and/or repurposed. My mother could repair almost anything except her car – she left that to Dad. I remember her greased smudged face after she replaced the pump in the washing machine. The point is – we didn’t throw things away when they didn’t work the way they did when they were new.

I don’t work the same way as I did when I was new. I’m slower and things I’ve always been able to do for myself are far more difficult now. I fear I may wake up and find myself in the trash next to the coffee pot that has a clock that doesn’t keep the right time. The pot still makes a good cup of coffee, but the clock portion is no longer programmable. I’m a lot like that coffee pot and I hope that the fact that it takes a bit longer for me to make the coffee will not be of consequence. But I’ve already seen signs of de-valuation. My opinion is no longer listened too with undistracted attention. My suggestions are met with a sigh and roll of the eyes. I’m considered to be “old-fashioned” and sometimes a bother.

When I read that a suggestion to “just get rid” of the alcoholic in a person’s life, I feel it is another way that we simply “throw things away.” In many cases, I believe the best course of action would be to walk away from the alcoholic. But that is not to get rid of something useless, but rather to encourage a change for the better for all parties. Just because you don’t live with someone doesn’t mean you’ve put them in the trash can.

I have always been a bit of a hard-ass bitch that could stand up to almost anyone. I seldom show my fear – if you see it in my face, you should probably run for cover. With Riley remaining sober, even if it is not by his own choice, I feel I may have softened a little. While I may have wanted to “throw him away” many, many times during his drunkenness, I feel less inclined in his present condition. It could be the fact that he knows he needs me to help him manage his life so he is less antagonistic or it could be that he is now taking Prozac. It doesn’t really matter. I think I see in him a slight glimpse of the man I fell in love with back in the 60’s. The glimpses are few and far between, but just enough to be a reminder.

Riley doesn’t work the way he did when our relationship was new. He doesn’t have much to contribute towards any part of sharing a home or being a husband. The truth is, that part of him was gone when he decided he liked life better as a drunk than he did as a husband. I didn’t throw him away even when I separated from him. I may not have been in his life on a daily basis, but I was always there – in the background being silent and watching him choose his own direction.

For the grandkids, Riley is disposable. In the kid’s defense, Riley has made himself become disposable. He doesn’t participate in family activities and is unable to have conversations beyond guttural noises and heavy sighs. He cannot and does not want to relate to them. The result is that the kids have thrown him away and moved on to focus on other family members. I understand.

There are times when I feel sorry for Riley. I see this physically debilitated man who can no longer remember what happened the day before and must take several naps a day. He has no sense of smell and his entire right side is weak and nearly useless. He doesn’t have the strength to carry in the groceries or help me move boxes around the garage. He can’t drive. His life is all contained in his room with re-runs of NCIS. I’m sad for him. That’s where I’ve softened. In spite if it all, Riley still has value. He washes the dishes and puts away the groceries. He cleans the bathroom. Since his memory of the far distant past is better than his ability to remember what happened yesterday, he shares memories of a better time over our morning coffee. I will miss those things when he moves on to his next life.

Those soft episodes of emotion for him aren’t long lasting. I take a step back to remind myself that Riley is in the condition he is in because of his own doing. He created his situation and now must live with the consequences. He denies that alcohol had anything to do with him having a stroke or heart attack. He claims that alcohol isn’t the reason why he can’t drive or live alone. It’s easy for me to go back to being my naturally bitchy self.

Going through the boxes and sorting out the good from the bad, useful from the useless and historical from individual memory… I know to throw things away is not in my nature. It’s hard to make those determinations. I’m not a hoarder, but I’m not a discarder either. I value what I have and see worth where others see none. I can live with that.