So, today I began my meditative day by reading instead of writing, saving the latter for later. Now I am writing. It seemed fitting to read what a dad in recovery did to be in the life of his son, and then the story of a mom in recovery who put her family back together, too.
The experience of learning while reading was multidimensional if you will; to absorb their respective stories and digest them helped me.
Coming from a broken family, my mom being a drunk and putting us in a dysfunctional foster family (sexual and other forms of abuse were present) and my never knowing my dad, I have never had a feeling of a family outside of 'The Program.' I have a niece who is present in my life, and for that, I am humbled.
As to the stories I read, it was cool to celebrate a parent in recovery who stepped-up to love and care for their children. I can today celebrate this without remorse or a sense of loss or longing. How can one reasonably miss something they didn't have? One can miss a 'concept' of what they were 'supposed' to have or feel an infectious absence when they see other people enjoying family, but truly there's nothing wrong. It's not what happened to us in life that matters. It's what we do with it. Life can either polish us or make us disintegrate, dependant on the power within us that realigns our consciousness, mixed with a willingness to look for higher messages.
Why one person is aware of miracles while another person is aware of only pain, is evidence of a power unrelated to chance.When the miracle of awareness keeps pouring into the one life but not the other. Miracles happen every day in EVERYONE'S life, but why one person sees it, and another doesn't, well, that's the evidence.
Another dimension of my life includes today, August 15th, 1977, as the date I removed a child from a loving families' life by driving a stolen car under the influence. His name was Timothy Wilborn, AKA, Little Timmy. Today is the 40th "Anniversary" of that horrific day. He was six-months-old the day I heard his baby stroller beneath the car.
The parents I read about in recovery re-birthed their families and made a living amends. 'But one can't make a direct amends to someone who is dead,' I said to my Mary Jo Robinson, my Spiritual Advisor (she preferred that term to Sponsor). Mary Jo Robinson was a mom whose son was killed by a drunk driver, so I listened when she said I could make indirect amends. She got me in MADD, and I still work to turn tragedy into a story of hope by speaking.
But what of Sherrie, the mother of Little Timmy? Can I resurrect her son and make amends to her? No, but she told me she forgives me and loves me. She also said she is pleased I am keeping Little Timmy's memory alive and doing so honorably. She tells "our story" about the tragedy and how God moved her to a deep place of forgiveness, doing for her what she couldn't do for herself. Mary Jo did the same thing, and both women had Catholicism in their lives. I've always said that no one does forgiveness like a Catholic (Buddist comes close, though). Forgiveness is a miracle.
Yes, today is a day where I will probably 'hit a meeting.' "On the Red Road" meets at the Minneapolis American Indian Center, 7PM, "Indian Time", is OK. But the front doors of the building are locked after the meeting starts. There is a buzzer and someone will come down to open the door for you, but it's best to be there before 7.