My co worker’s mother died the other day, a few days before Christmas. She was seven years older than me, in her early 60s. She was an addict. About a week before she died, she overdosed, and she told the people at the hospital, “Can’t you see I just want to die?” So then she did, and this time no one found her in time to stop her.
I went to the funeral parlor and there I saw that the dead woman had many of the things I want, that I think would make me happy(er). She was there (dead) in a family funeral parlor. She had a local, large, extended family. She had, I think, five children, and many grandchildren. Two of them were little girls that looked a lot like her. There they were, just after Christmas, at their family funeral parlor at the viewing of their grandmother who killed herself at sixty one.
I understand that I really know nothing of her experience. She had a rougher, less privileged upbringing than I did, I know that for sure. The reason it struck me so and the reason I’m writing about it today is because I so often covet. Maybe because of my age? No, because my adult children say they don’t want children. They are still young enough that they could change their minds but I have to accept that they may not. I have to “count my blessings” and memorize my gratitude list. I am so fortunate and so grateful. And the number one thing has to be gratitude for my sobriety.
I went to a meeting where they read part of the 12 and 12 that asked, “can we accept failure or success without despair or pride?” Lately, for me, well, no, I can’t. I’m still full of despair and fear and all kinds of every other ugly thing because of the election. I’m not giving up and I’m not dropping out but I am just so frequently so sad. How much is normal? Natural? Therapeutic? Acceptable? Not dangerous? None, I think. None.
I see the ideal and I accept the plan. Accept defeat without despair. Any minute now….