"My name is Jay and today I did the most
unnatural thing an addict can do: I didn't use."
The above quotation was obtained first hand by me from
Jay the first time back when rocks were still soft—a long time ago. Over the
years at various events Jay and I attended, at workshops and meetings where the
first-name "Who's here?" goes around, Jay always introduced himself
that way.
This is not an obituary, so calm down. Jay only moved
away from Maine and went West. I consider Jay a valuable friend both for who he
is and for his recovery. He has been through the mill several times and
survived without using drugs, but by using the program of Narcotics Anonymous. So, I miss him.
But then, not long after he moved away, I noticed a
strange thing. At NA meetings I attend, several times now I have heard addicts
introduce themselves with "My name is (so-and-so) and today I did the most
unnatural thing an addict can do: I didn't use."
The first time I heard it, I asked the very young man
if he knew Jay. He didn't. Then I asked him why he introduced himself that way.
He had only weeks in recovery and was brand new to Maine NA. "That's how
my new sponsor introduces himself," explained the newcomer. "It
sounds good and it's something important I need to remember." Jay's
recovery has effects that reach down to persons he has never met.
It reminded me of the closing ceremony at one of the
Miracle conventions I attended years ago. Neil, a very good friend of Jay's and
a man who I loved and respected, was at the outside meeting. There were perhaps
ninety addicts in the circle either sitting on the grass or in a variety of chairs
from those molded plastic things to camp chairs and folding chaise-lounges. It
was a beautiful sunny day with a light breeze, and birds singing in the trees.
Neil had shared at an earlier meeting that day that he had been diagnosed with inoperable
liver cancer, and I had been thinking about that. Then it was my turn to speak.
On my way to the podium, I noticed Neil was only a
few places away to the right of me. There was something I had seen many years
earlier at a high school graduation that really impressed me, and it seemed
like an ideal time to try it out on an NA meeting.
I asked Neil to stand. His face reddened as he stood
and said, "Oh, shit," wondering what kind of gag I was going to pull.
I don't know why, but I seem to have a reputation as a prankster.
As I stood there looking out at that large ring of
recovering addicts, wondering if what I was about to do would have the effect I
wanted, I asked everyone who respected and had learned from Neil's shared recovery
in NA to stand. It looked to me that around thirty persons in the circle stood.
Then I asked everyone who respected and learned from the shared recovery of any
of those who were standing to stand, as well. All of those still seated in the
circle got to their feet. Everyone in the circle was standing. "That is
how it works," I said and returned to my place.
 |
Denis Hall is where the We Are A Miracle convention
takes place. In front of this building is where I said good-bye to Neil |
Neil and his shared recovery had affected everyone at
the convention, and right there was the visible proof for all to see, especially
including Neil. As the meeting broke up and Neil was about to leave, I hugged
him, he got into his vehicle, and drove off on his way to New York. That was
the last time I saw him. We learned a few months later that he died.
We don't often realize the good we do in recovery,
the extent of it, the valuable lives we help save. In my own case I find that
those who leave the program, relapse, and die tend to occupy my attention while
the successes occupy a minor "They're safe" bin in the back of my
brain.
It is a good thing to recognize those successes we see
around us at every meeting, and when one of those miracles lets us know how
much we mean to them because of our words, or our actions, or recovery, don't
brush it off with a quick "Great," or :"You too." Do that
unnatural thing addicts often fail to do properly. Be aware that you have been
instrumental in saving a valuable life, and let the person who shared how much
you have meant to them know their message has been taken in by saying,
"Thank you."
What the hell. Throw in a hug, too. It is a big deal.
After all, that person being in recovery is part of an ongoing miracle that you
helped keep working.
Disappointed
and thinking that she hadn’t prayed hard enough, she prayed again, this time
getting down on her knees in the snow. “God, please let me win the lottery!
I've lost my business, my home, and I'm going to lose my car as well.”
The
night of the next drawing came, Vel held her breath and crossed her fingers
waiting for the announcement, and, sad to tell, someone else was the winner.
The next morning the repo man came and took her car.
“Yes,”
said Francis, “and every time I prayed I picked up a hoe.” 
