This Saturday, with a little bit of luck, I’ll be celebrating 34 years in Recovery. Very often at this time of year, I start reflecting on things that have happened in my life, and just how I got to this place filled with gratitude. I looked down at my keychain, and there, staring me in the face, was a vivid reminder of how fragile our Recovery can be.
A little over 28 years ago I moved up to Fort Lauderdale from Miami. I had slightly over 5 years clean at the time. I had just gotten married, my son was born a year later, and we bought a beautiful little house in Cooper City….a bedroom community of Fort Lauderdale.
Although my life was good, there were many changes and challenges, all taking place at the same time. I went from a five minute commute to work, to spending close to three hours a day on the highway. I went from living in an apartment for most of my life, to being a homeowner with all of the responsibilities that come along with it. I went from being a single guy, with lots of toys; boats, motorcycles and sports cars, to a guy buying his first minivan, crib, diapers and strollers.
Most importantly, my father, who was the victim of medical malpractice, was lying in a coma in a hospital in Miami Beach and my mother was fighting breast cancer. To quote a Tale of Two Cities, It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I had 5 years clean, and my previous life was unrecognizable.
After the move, I tried going to several meetings in my new area but it was difficult. In Miami, I knew everyone in the rooms. I felt at home. When I’d walk into a meeting, there were always people coming up to me and giving me a big hug. In my new area, when I walked into a meeting, very often I wouldn’t know a soul. Although people were friendly enough, I felt like an outsider, and I started questioning whether I really even needed these meetings after all.
One Friday night, I walked into a small meeting at a clubhouse. It was tiny compared to the meetings that I was used to. There wasn’t anyone there that I knew, and I seriously considered walking out and just going home. My sponsor had suggested that I raise my hand and share my feelings, and perhaps that would make me feel better and more part of the group.
I did what I was told. That night I let it all hang out. I cried in front of these strangers. I shared my joy and my pain with them, mentioning that I had considered going home and not returning. I was completely drained after my share and still shaking in my seat, when this guy from the row in front of me asked me my clean date. After I gave it to him, he promptly stood up and left the room. I remember thinking how odd that was.
At the end of the meeting, we closed with the Just For Today instead of the Serenity Prayer. Even after 5 years, I didn’t even know all of the words. People started coming up to me and shared how they felt moving to a new area. I started to feel better that I wasn’t alone anymore. What happened next would shape how I viewed everything.
The guy that asked me my clean date, handed me a silver dollar. It had five fresh holes drilled in it, along with the date 11/19/82 engraved in it. After my share, this man, who went by the name of “Rainbow John” had gone out to the parking lot and engraved the coin to make me feel better. It worked!
I told him that I”d be back the following week and I actually was looking forward to it!
That was 28 years ago. Now that meeting, Plantation Recovery, is my “home group”. I’m there just about every Friday night and it’s still the only meeting that I know of that closes with the Just For Today instead of the Serenity Prayer.
“Rainbow John” became a dear friend that would add a hole to my coin for many years until he passed away from liver disease. He died clean. It’s funny how something so simple, as a hug, a sharing of feelings, or a simple gift, can make us feel welcome. That night 28 years ago, might have actually been my last meeting, if it wasn’t for the kindness shared from one addict to another. I’ve never forgotten what that felt like, and try to be that welcoming spirit whenever possible.
I heard when I first came to Recovery, not to leave 5 minutes before the miracle happens. Sometimes we’re the last ones to see the miracles as they’re taking place. I’m filled with gratitude today. My life is richer than it’s ever been, and I need to always remember the power that one recovering person has with another. I’d like to be the “Rainbow John” in someone else’s life today! We all have that capability, and it really doesn’t even take that much effort. Thanks for letting me share.
