There was a new young man, who said he was coming back after five years out, at the meeting today. Nevertheless the meeting itself was one of those filled with jokes and laughing.
As I sat there, listening to all of this, I couldn’t help but think about how it was for me, when I came in. When it came my turn to speak, I told this young man that there was nothing funny about alcohol and drinking. For me, to drink is to die. I also told him that, if he wanted to get sober, we could help him. If he didn’t, there was a bar next door.
After the meeting he came up to me and asked me my name. I told him. But I also told him I didn’t put my name and phone number on the list they passed around for him. He asked me why and I told him that if he wanted my phone number he would have to come back and ask me for it. He looked at me seriously and said he would.
What I didn’t tell him is that, if he came back and asked me for it, I would tell him the same thing again. No phone number until he showed me that he was serious and wanted this program.
I don’t know why he singled me out or even remembered I had talked to him. He was way on the other side of the room and I was sitting way in the back. But I did talk to him then about hope. The hope I had found, when a man who told me about a group of men and women who stayed sober together and if I wanted to get sober he would take me there. And he did. I also found hope at my first meeting.
But what I was really thinking about at that meeting today was what it was like for me back then. The hell alcohol put me through. The near death experiences I went through. The knives and the shootings, where I almost got killed. The drunken nights, when I couldn’t get home, because alcohol wouldn’t let me. And all the other troubles alcohol introduced me to. That’s why I couldn’t laugh today. There was no way that I wanted this man to die needlessly.
I wanted to help if I could. I know I’m powerless to do anything about what someone either wants to do or not. I can’t remember, when I changed someone else’s mind. Only my own mind. And that man helped me to remember why I was there at that meeting. To share my experience, strength, and hope with him. I don’t know if I did that, but I gave it a try.
I know there is nothing special about me. I’m just another drunk, like everyone else in that meeting. But I can hope. Hope that I helped someone today. I know he renewed my hope and my faith in this program. His example being there kept it “green” for me today, by reminding me of what it was like and why I never want to go there again. For that I owe him my thanks.