The mystery of the ages for those of us in recovery. I woke up early this morning so I had time to peruse some blogs. I read about the suicide of a young woman. I looked at her blog. On the day she took her own life, she posted a funny picture of Santa. I wonder if this was just her blog persona, or if that was all she shared with anyone. I hope to God she had someone to talk to, but suspect we sometimes make decisions that back us into corners that seem irretrievably locked.
Last night at church I lit a candle for my recently deceased friend. I sat and cried and I prayed for him.
I think I shall need to get used to doing this. I am 57 years old. Most of my friends are recovering alcoholics. I don't know if there is research that gives an average life span for a recovering alcoholic, but I think it is probably shorter than the general population. We tend to destroy our health by drinking and smoking and indulging in other habits that are simply not good for us - for instance, I LOVE diet pepsi, and know this can't be good for me. But I think - oh, compared to booze and cigs, diet pepsi is nothing... but I would be so much better off without it.
The only way I can think to honor this life is to live it as fully as I possibly can. I am going out there this morning in the gusts of wind up to 80 mph - I am not running outdoors, but I will drive to the gym and run on that treadmill. (my satellite TV signal just left.) And then I will get back home and get dressed for work. I can get to work because I am fortunate enough to be gainfully employed. I am meeting with a sponsee at 5:30 tonight and will start working with her.
I don't know why I am alive and sober when so many other much more deserving people aren't, but I am, so I will thank God for that and try to show my gratitude in my actions.