Remember Vanessa: A visit to the 9/11 Memorial in New York City

She was just two years old.  On the way to bring her to my mother's so I could go to work, I had a flat tire.  Her father came to meet me and fix the tire, while I entertained a two year old by the side of a country road in Lyman Maine.  The tire fixed, I got her buckled into her car seat.  The radio came on when I started the car and its then that I heard it.  I had been listening to Imus in the Morning.  Don Imus was talking about how many people worked in the World Trade Center, how many could be affected, how many hurt.  No one knew how far reaching this was going to become. 

We all have our memories of that day.  I wasn’t born when Kennedy was shot.  I was too young when Armstrong stepped onto the moon’s surface.  I have a vague memory of Nixon’s resignation, only because my father told me that I’d read about it in my history books. 

My little daughter doesn’t remember that she was asleep on the couch when I sat with my parents in their living room and saw the south tower crumble.  I can recall my father’s long low whistle, the one he uses when he sees something incredible, natural devastation or an unfathomable horror.

Here we are, so many years later, and watching the story unfold again as the anniversary nears reminds me not only of how fortunate I am to have been able to sit safely with my parents that day, with my little girl, my vibrant, sweet, healthy little girl, asleep within sight.  I’ve been able to watch her grow up and have enjoyed the every day things with her.  I have lived my life seemingly unaffected by the day.

But aren’t we all affected?  Its not just the changes in airline regulations or the New York skyline, yet those are regular reminders.  The mindset of the world is different.  We as Americans came together to mourn and then set out for restitution.    

In August, our family vacation was off to a wonderful start.  A beautiful Saturday morning, we left Maine, heading for New York.  We had plans to visit Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, and with enough time, the 9/11 Memorial site.  We found out that although free to visit, you must make reservations to enter the grounds.  We took to ferry from Liberty Island to Battery Park and walked the few blocks to the site.  The line to enter the Memorial wound around and through several security checkpoints.  Once cleared, the clamoring of the crowd in line was hushed in reverence.  Entering the park like setting is unsettling in a way.  How can one person possibly absorb everything this space means?  The waterfalls that mark the footprints of the buildings seem to have been designed so that no matter how tall, a human cannot see the bottom of the falls.  It just pours endlessly.  I think that the sound of rushing water is an appropriate diversion from the sounds of the city around it.  How else to create a silence of sorts?  Piped in music would not have worked here.  Who could decide what would play?  What is right for one is not for another. 

We walked around and read names.  Someone had left flowers near one of the victims names.  It made me wonder whether that was a regular occurrence, whether somewhere in a room at the Port Authority offices, there is a collection of items left in remembrance.  

The names of all of the victims who were killed that day are there; the people in the buildings and those who went in to save them, those in the Pentagon and those killed in Pennsylvania.  Some of the names sounded familiar; perhaps they had been singled out for their actions or their strength. 

The names that made me stop and take a breath were trailed by “and her unborn child”, like this one.  Many women died here.  Many of them were mothers.  None so clear to me as those women. 

Maybe to me, it helps to find one story to focus on in this post.  This is what I found out about one of the women who died “and her unborn child.” 

 Vanessa Lang Langer was 29 years old and from Yonkers, NY. (Born: Bronx, New York). Vanessa worked for Regus Plc on the 93rd floor in the South Tower of the World Trade Center.

On September 11, 2001, Vanessa, who was four months pregnant, escaped from the South Tower. However, her quest for survival had fallen short. She ran as the South Tower collapsed. She did not make it. Her body, and in it the small body of her unborn child, was pulled from the rubble of the fallen tower on September 24th, just ten feet from an alley between Towers IV and V.

Vanessa's husband, Tim, fell into a spiral of alcohol abuse after the death of his wife and unborn child. He died of liver failure in 2005. He was 34.

The phrase "and her unborn child" follows the names of the expectant mothers -- who also include Monica Rodriguez Smith, 35, of Seaford, who was working her last day before maternity leave when she was killed in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, and that of Jennifer L. Howley, 34, of New Hyde Park, who was expecting her first child in January 2002 when she died in the towers.

Vanessa’s story is so sad in so many ways.  Not only was she killed as she was so close to escaping, the story goes on to destroy her husband as well, years later.  Vanessa’s mother has been a vocal advocate for the 9/11 commission and investigation of the disaster.  How far does the web of pain thread in her family, amongst her friends?  What might her child have gone on to do in his life?  How would this world be different?

Today let’s honor Vanessa, her child and her husband for all that might have been.

Five small years

 

Indulge me if you will.

Humor me while I pat myself on the back. 

Today is a day of celebration.

It’s a day that for a long time I couldn’t even imagine.  Couldn’t fathom.  

Today marks five – count em’ – five years of sobriety for me. 

Yayyy me!

So today, I’m going to put my camera down, wander away from editing, and stop for a moment and thank people and think about the past five years.

I first have to thank my husband.  He wasn’t my husband when we started this journey, so many many years ago as friends.  We had partied together, with our respective former spouses, and always maintained a connection through the years and through divorces.  When I called him, what was it, seven years ago, and told him that I was now single, I had been drinking that night.  It was a classic drunk dial.  But I did remember him telling me that he had quit drinking and had celebrated two years sober just a few months before that.  I couldn’t believe it.  I wanted to know why.  But not why, like what happened to bring you to this decision, it was more like why the hell would you want to do that?

Fast forward.  This man put up with a lot of the usual alcoholic behavior from me.  Lying, manipulation, deceit, heartache.  But he was there that day that I woke up and said that enough was enough.  And he cheered me on at every turn.  And though it’s been a long time since the thought of a drink had me firmly in its clutched fist, we still talk about it.  We even joke about it.  Despite his argument to the contrary, I don’t think I’d be sober without him.  He’ll probably never read this blog.  He doesn’t care much for sentimentality.  He just knows.  He gets it.  He gets me. 

My parents have been cheerleaders, too.  When they let me move back in with them so that I could start down the path to recovery, I doubt they knew what they were in for.  I detoxed and put together a few days, then a few weeks of sobriety, making an effort to go to AA meetings, and appear sincere, and then I’d relapse.  Some trigger or another had me off to the store.  It was a horrible, desperate time for me and for them.  How to win the battle?  I know they were relieved when in a final frightening weekend, my now husband asked me to move in with him.

It was supposed to be for ninety days, or for whatever it took for me to get sober.  I had to commit to rehabilitation, which I did.  Finally it felt like I was doing this for me and not to please others.  I couldn’t keep living the life I had been.  Those ninety days were hard days.  I went to meetings daily, to intensive outpatient treatment and tried to help others, giving rides and making phone calls.  My husband says that he know when I moved in that he was going to marry me.  He was right. 

So, because I got sober so many things have happened that I must be grateful for. 

Set aside the love story, which intertwines throughout.  I was able to repair the damaged relationship with my parents.  I worked on the financial disaster I was in and took responsibility for myself.  I learned to stop blaming others for my actions.  I have this absolutely wonderful daughter who is growing into a very cool teen.  I love that she is here with me in this house we bought and that we have a home and a life together. 

I renewed my passion for photography and picked up my camera instead of a drink.  In the past five years, I’ve grown this little business and have learned so much more about my craft and about the business of photography. 

I’ve traveled to places I would have never dreamed.  Of course you think of places like Orlando when you’re a kid, but I didn’t have a clue about Mexico.  I’ve snorkeled in the Caribbean and rode the tallest and fastest roller coaster on the continent. 

I make a mean guacamole and ran a 10 k.  I saw the Lion King on Broadway and Blue Man Group at the Charles Theatre in Boston.  Cozumel.  Phillipsburg.  Hollywood.  Virginia Beach.  Tampa Bay.  Bar Harbor.  My own backyard.  Planted gardens and flowers. 

All in the last five years. 

I sit on the couch at night and watch TV with my family and it’s all perfectly normal. 

This morning I took photos of frosted leaves and snow in my driveway before going to work.  Simple little things like that are things I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to experience had I continued drinking.  Hell, I don’t even know whether I’d be alive.  I’m certain that my daughter would not be living with me and my husband wouldn’t be my husband.  That much I know.  Where I would be no one knows.  It’s surprising and wonderful the paths we take and where they lead us.

So today, today is yet another day that I won’t drink, and I will love and be loved, trust and be trusted, give and be given to.  Today is another reason to celebrate.

Recovery Topic: Cracks in the pavement

Cracks in the pavement. That’s what you’re looking for.




You can’t force sobriety on anyone. A good friend told me that a few years ago. Staying sober is a decision that only can be made by the person doing it. Getting sober can happen many different ways. If you love someone who is suffering from addiction, you can help them get clean and sober, but only if you can find that cracks in the pavement.



When I was practicing active alcoholism, I had built that wall pretty thick. It was well plastered with being plastered. I couldn’t see beyond it and felt trapped by it, but I was afraid to step around it. Getting sober meant changing and that’s a frightening thing. It’s much more comfortable to stay with what you know. Becoming aware of just how bad it had become was one of the first times that I actually thought that there might be a problem. My family did the best they could, but it took another alcoholic to show me that there was another way of living. I went to Mercy Recovery to get sober, but it took a long time for me to stay sober. I would relapse then get sober, relapse then get sober, over and over again.

Seeing that a person could live without alcohol, and live happily, allowed just a little bit of sun to shine through that thick wall of fear I had created. It was enough to feed the roots of an idea that was beginning to grow. Soon, that idea was nurtured further by meeting new sober people, hearing their stories, and learning that I was not alone. I needed to see how I could live a sober life that would be better than the one I had. I didn’t think it was possible until I got a glimpse of it.



Last week, by friend Bill told me that a friend of his is in the hospital, in critical care. He had been vomiting blood for days and had collapsed at home. Bill said that he had been drinking heavily for years. A man now in his late fifties, he began drinking at age eleven. Bill told of a time that he and his friend had been out running errands when his friend demanded that he be taken home so he could have a drink. I just shook my head in understanding. The need is so strong. Bill is not an alcoholic and doesn’t know why his friend wouldn’t “just stop” drinking. He has hopes that when his friend realizes how close he has come to dying, that he will quit drinking. I suggested that he try not to be disappointed if that doesn’t happen. This is a powerful disease.

What he can do is suggest to his friend that he check out an AA meeting. He can offer to drive him to one and attend it with him. He can provide friendship and an alternative to sitting home wanting to drink by taking him somewhere, anywhere where there’s no alcohol. He can be there for his friend. The truth is that the best person to help an alcoholic is another alcoholic. All Bill can really do is suggest recovery.



It certainly wasn’t my intention to drink myself to death, but at the end, I was dying. I was caught in the cycle of addiction. When I went to Mercy Recovery, I did not go willingly. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to get sober. I couldn’t fathom the concept of never drinking again. No cold beers on a hot sunny day. No pretty little cocktails at fancy restaurants. The truth is that I had long gone beyond drinking that way. I was at the end and had run out of options. My parents were willing to help me if I went. They would help with the care of my daughter and would let me live with them afterwards. I could no longer afford my apartment. I had no license and my job. I had no choice. I went. I went to meetings and found out that there are more people like me out there. There were people with whom I could identify. Mothers and wives and daughters and sisters who needed help to get sober. Then I started meeting people who were all that AND sober. Then it clicked that I could still be me, but better. I could be a better mother, wife, daughter, and sister and all I had to do was not drink today. That’s all it takes. Don’t drink today. Tomorrow is another story. I got to know that there was another way.

Once you’ve been exposed to recovery, it kind of seeps into you like those weeds that come up through the cracks in the sidewalk. They get in against all odds. So does the message of recovery. Someone once told me that once you know, you can’t not know.

He has said over and over that AA ruined his drinking. By that he means that just knowing that he didn’t have to live that way was enough to change how he looked at his drinking. Someone asked him “have you had enough?” That’s what it takes: Being sick and tired of being sick and tired. Knowing that things can be better makes it more difficult to continue that current pattern of behavior.



But they have to want it. No one else. That is what will KEEP a person sober. So what can I tell my friend Bill about his friend? How can I help him help him? Perhaps the best thing I can do is to try to impart a little bit of understanding about this disease, and that it is a disease. It is not a matter of willpower. An alcoholic cannot “just stop” drinking, no more that you can stop vomiting and diarrhea when you have the flu. In fact, withdrawal from alcohol is more dangerous that from many other drugs and is best achieved with professional help. I recall my mother saying that my participation in a 28 day recovery program “had to work” as if treatment was as simple as that. I can’t say what “worked” for me. Over time, sober time, I started to get the message, and little by little, I thought about alcohol less. The cravings eventually ceased. The compulsion to drink left me.

What I have now is like they say. It’s a life second to none, one that I would never have expected as I sat in that hospital bed more than five years ago. The difference is that now I want sobriety and live a sober happy life. I think that the best thing I can do for another alcoholic is to stay sober and show her the possibilities.

Recovery topic: Missing out?

“Do you feel like you’ve missed out?” The question was raised at a meeting last week. When directed at me, I replied as honestly as I could and said that no, I feel like sobriety has given me more than I feel that I’ve missed. I’ve been thinking about the question, and its resulting conversation and my response since then. Does the fact that I cannot safely drink alcohol mean that I miss out on the things in life that I would otherwise enjoy?

Tomorrow is my 45th birthday.  I spent my 40th birthday in rehab. I had just reached 30 days sobriety. Joe had been sending me cards and letters, but we were not yet a couple. One of the girls and I had spent the afternoon in the house kitchen making me a birthday cake, orange chiffon. They all made me a huge birthday card and wrote the requisite congratulations and birthday wishes. Not long after that birthday, I “graduated” from the program. The months after are filled with good things like falling in love with my friend, Joe and some bad things like relapse and disappointment. I was on the edge of life, wanting so desperately to be “normal” and be able to drink and party like I had been. The other side of that edge was I life I could barely see, but was at its beginnings. It gleamed on the horizon. If I squinted hard enough I could see a life of calm, an end to chaos and fear, days filled with what the “real” world considers “normal,” like taking my kid to school and making dinner for my family and being loved more than I could imagine and actually believing that I was worthy of that life and love.

Here I sit five years later with no question in my mind that I am worthy and deserve what I have. Do I think I’ve missed out on anything because I couldn’t drink through the last five years? Would my life have been better if I could have had beers at the barbeques that I have been to? Or pina coladas in the Caribbean? Or champagne at my own wedding? I honestly doubt that it would have enhanced any of the experiences I’ve had. In fact, when I really examine how it had been, the reality of it is that it’s unlikely I would have been invited to the barbeques. Nor would I have gone to the Caribbean. Getting married would not have happened either. If I had continued to drink as I had been, there’s a question as to whether I would have even made it to this day alive. I feel quite certain that Nola would not be living with me. I know for a fact that Joe would not. My parents were nearing the point that they couldn’t deal with me. The friends I had at the time, the few that were left, had grown tired of my antics and drama.

As to the question of whether or not I’ve missed out, I add – Missed out on what?



Okay – yeah I missed out. I missed out on going to court and losing custody of my daughter because it would have been unsafe for her to be left in my care. I missed out on getting caught driving while intoxicated because “I was fine”. I missed out on who knows how many fights with my ex-husband about who knows what because active alcoholism requires drama and self loathing and being a victim. I missed out on the loneliness and desperation. I missed out on a lot of crying. I missed out on having to apologize to people after having drunk dialed them, and then remembered it in the morning. I missed out on all the cringing and wondering exactly what I had done and said. I missed out on crashing my car and hurting myself or another person. I missed out on missing Joe after he had had enough of me. I missed out on staying in that crappy apartment and struggling to get through every day. Yes, I guess I missed out on a lot.

So as I round the corner into forty five years on this planet my worries and concerns face forward. I am not mired in regret. What did happen happened and not one tear is going to change anything. What did happen is that I got sober. That triggered a series of events that have made my life as wonderful as it is now. The amazing gift of balance and serenity has seeped into all other areas of my life. My wonderful daughter has the mom she needs, who can support her and love her and laugh with her. My husband has a wife who can truly be a partner as well as a friend and lover and a fun date. My parent’s daughter emails and calls them just about daily about the little good things. Being sober allows me to be all of this and more. I’m a co-worker that others can depend on, not gossip about. No one shakes their heads and wonders when I’m out sick. I’m a photographer with a clear focus not only on the business I’m building, but on the images I create and the image I cultivate. I’ve got gifts I couldn’t have imagined that day in rehab five years ago. I’ve done things I hadn’t even dreamed about. I have possibilities and determination, and no reason to believe that I can’t achieve whatever it is that I want.

The fear of “missing out” on the good stuff has a counterpart in “missing out” on the bad stuff. Talk about balance.

Recovery topic: Finding Balance

A busy weekend behind me, I look forward into the week spread before me. My date book tells me that I’ve got an appointment with my chiropractor on Wednesday and I’ve got to take my daughter to her guitar and singing lessons. Not much scheduled. Pretty easy week.




My to-do list, however, tells a different story.



Rarely do I find resolution or closure there. It never ends. There is always more to do. You might note that my Friday blog entry, where I have been writing about travel in the state of Maine, and look forward to doing so, never got written. It was on the list. The pies I wanted to make on Saturday didn’t get made. The photos I need to take for some cards didn’t get taken. The laundry’s not folded and I haven’t finished writing the story I want to submit to a writing contest, deadline last Saturday.

I wonder daily how to do what needs to get done in the small hours I have each day.



When I got into recovery, I thought that it would solve all of my problems. Bit by bit, many of my troubles disappeared. Now, a few years into sobriety, most of the bad stuff has gone away, either resolved by my perseverance or time itself. When it comes down to it, things are pretty good.



But how to find balance? This is a question I hear from many women, in recovery or not. How do you find the time to do what is required of you, whether that requirement is self imposed or demanded by others? How do you live life on life’s terms?



Maybe there’s something in those AA expressions. Take it easy. Live and let live. Easy does it. Let go Let God. Maybe those who have gone before me have found that if I allow myself to become discouraged and disillusioned, I will be more easily led to a drink. Maybe balance is more easily achieved with less on each spinning plate.

Perhaps I should think about what I did accomplish on the to-do list. Blogged 4 out of 5 days. Took Nola shopping for her friend’s birthday party gift. Shot photos for the 365 project I’m doing. Coordinated the prints and cards order I needed. Planted spinach, lettuce, and broccoli, daylilies and tiger lilies.



In looking back over how I spent the last week, there are things that never make the list. As far as accomplishments go, they are some of the most important. Spent some time with my husband. Enjoyed steaks and laughs with some friends. Snuggled on the couch watching American Idol with my daughter.

These things just don’t get scheduled into my life but they make my life complete. They are the reasons I smile everyday. They are the LIFE in life’s terms.



What makes you smile everyday and makes all the other stuff worthwhile? What balances your life?

Having Fun: Then and Now

If you would have told me six years ago that I would go to the Caribbean and not have a margarita or pina colada, I would have laughed out loud at the thought. My vision of a day on an island would have most certainly included tropical drinks and a mid afternoon nap in a hammock to sleep it off. Mimosas and Bloody Marys to start the day. Fruity cocktails to keep it going. My days would have revolved around tiki huts and beach bars. When I thought of the Caribbean, that’s what came to mind.




In all honesty, drinking was on the agenda no matter where I was.



My first trip to the Caribbean was to St. Maarten and it was very early in my sobriety. Perhaps 90 days sober when we went, those welcome cocktails at the reception desk and the tray full of passion punch on the catamaran snorkel tour we booked were hard to look at, knowing that I had to decline them. I was really tested on that trip.

Since then, though, we had been to many places and events where alcohol was not only served but encouraged. In Mexico, at our resort, a tequila cart wheeled around at dinnertime, and Kahlua was set right next to the serve yourself coffee. Booking an all inclusive resort, we worried that since we didn’t drink, we wouldn’t get our money’s worth, and even commented, at dinner one evening as that tequila cart was offered to us, that the resort would be losing money if we were drinking. Our in room refrigerator was stocked with beers and champagne and a bottle of tequila had been left as a gift. I had requested that the management remove alcohol from our room, hoping that we would be stocked with more bottled water and sodas. Our neighbors in the villa benefited from the gifts.

I’m a parrothead. That hasn’t changed either. I’m a sober parrothead, though and for me that’s a big change. For the uninitiated, a Parrot head is akin to a Deadhead, back in the days of the Grateful Dead, only in this case, a Parrothead is a fan of Jimmy Buffett. You know Buffett, of Margaritaville fame. If you’ve ever been to a Buffett concert, you know what it’s like. It’s a parking lot full of grass skirts, coconut bras, and blenders whirring. I have now been to two shows sober. And I had just as much fun. Being sober at a Buffett concert didn’t mean that we didn’t participate in the frivolity. We wore the grass skirts and brought a cooler full of food and a jug of frozen concoctions. We walked around the venue and surveyed the activities; the swimming pools and the barbeques, the huge margarita glasses and the drinking games. What’s different about my experience? I can make it through the show. I’m not lost and wandering around the parking lot. I didn’t throw up. We saw plenty of that there. We had VIP Parking so were near the entrance to the venue and watched many a drunk guy or girl make their way through the gates, pouring out the last of their cocktails near the door. Some were held up by others. Some were singing. Some were crying. Some didn’t make it into the show at all. I watched, bemused and grateful for my clarity.

At times it is difficult to live a sober life in a society drenched in alcohol. I am writing today to tell you that you can have fun without drinking. There was a time that I would have baulked at the thought. I believed that everything that was to be enjoyed was to be enjoyed with drinks. All of my favorite things to do back then included drinking, whether it was a picnic, getting together with friends, working in my garden, or just hanging out at home. There was always alcohol. Now having been sober for a few years, I can honestly say that I don’t miss drinking. Those favorite things to do are still some of my favorite things to do and are just as fun doing them sober. More fun in most cases because I remember them. I don’t end up bruised and wondering what happened. I don’t get into arguments and find myself crying. And I’ve discovered new things. Things I love to do now would have not been on the radar back then for one reason: I couldn’t drink while doing them or they would cut into my drinking time. I’m talking about snorkeling, riding zip lines and roller coasters, long hikes and nature walks with my husband, daughter, and friends. I run now. I cook with out burning stuff (most of the time). I can see a project through to the end. Before getting sober, I would have been too anxious doing these things. I would be preoccupied with the whens and hows of my next drink. Sobriety has given me a freedom that I didn’t know before. I am no longer obsessed with alcohol, acquiring it, consuming it, coveting it. The compulsion to drink has left me.

Yes, I made changes to accommodate my new life. In some ways, I changed everything. In reality, yes, my attitude changed, and along with it, so many other things. Today my life is better than I could have imagined. It’s peaceful and happy. Gone is the drama and anxiety that active alcoholic behavior had me entwined in. But I didn’t have to give myself up. I didn’t change my taste in music or my sense of humor. I didn’t alter my style of dress or my love of cooking. My daughter, my husband, my writing and my photography are still my passions, and if anything, the ability to nurture them is increased. A tropical drink is still delicious even without the rum. It took a while for me to be comfortable in situations that had been notoriously intoxicating. I am thankful I had such great support from my then boyfriend now husband, who had been through it and knew about triggers. If you’re new in sobriety, or if your old playgrounds are unsafe for you, don’t go there. Don’t tempt yourself unnecessarily. Don’t put yourself in situations that will make it difficult to stay sober. I’m telling my story so that others might see something useful in my experiences and recognize that life is very far from over when you get sober.

But for the grace of God, go I

It is in the most ordinary of places that I am reminded of the importance of my sobriety. I was in the convenience store on Friday, in the late afternoon. I was in to buy lottery tickets to feed my hope that someday I’ll win big and be able to travel the world with my family. In front of me in line was a man in his late thirties purchasing a single Mike’s hard lemonade. A roadie. That was my first thought. A drink for the ride home. When I finished my purchase and was walking back to my car, I saw him, sitting in his, twisting the top off the bottle between his legs. This man is going to drink and drive.




Did I make this assumption because he looked like he had worked a hard, sweaty, contractor kind of day? Could my assumption be driven by the many contractors I’ve known? Of course it is. But the truth is that my own past behavior is the biggest contributing factor. I hate to admit this, but I drank and drove more times than I can count. More times than I can remember. Even before I was drinking alcoholically in the dark last years, I would go out to bars with my friends, swill a few beers (or more) and drive home. I would do like so many others and convince myself I’m fine. More often than not, it didn’t cross my mind. Of course I’m driving home. How many people drinking today are on the road regularly? Not just the folks leaving the bars at night. That’s obvious. I know I’m not the only person out there who would go out to lunch, have a couple of glasses of wine with the meal, and then return to work, driving myself there. I know I’m not the only one who went out after more wine when it ran out at home. I know people, in and out of recovery, to whom the purchase of a beer or two for the ride home is part of their daily routine. I knew guys who would stand around in the parking lot of their place of work at the end of the day, pulling icy cold beers out of the coolers in the back of their trucks, drinking, laughing and joking, “relaxing” before the drive home to their wives and families. We would count the distance of a road trip as a six pack drive or a two beer trip. Multi state ventures required a full cooler and many stops. This is just what we did. Does this mean that everyone out there on the road with a beer between his legs is an alcoholic? Absolutely not. But that guy IS drinking and driving and putting himself and others in danger. And it could be someone you don’t suspect, like me, a mom driving an SUV.

Today, seeing a police car behind me still makes me nervous. Why? I’ve been in recovery for over 5 years and do not drive (or do anything) drunk. I don’t worry about having to stash the sippy cup of wine in my cup holder or whether any cop would find the weed in my purse. That is not part of my life now. But it was, and it was for a long time, and old fears and responses are hard to shake.

Seeing that man the other day reminded me of how arrogant and selfish I was when I was drinking. I wouldn’t get caught. I wasn’t that bad. Truthfully, that was my main concern, when I did think about it, that I would get caught. I didn’t think about others and that I was a menace on the road. I didn’t think about killing others. It wasn’t my intention to hurt anyone. When I was stopped and charged with operating under the influence, I had rear ended another car, and thankfully, no one was hurt. That is not to justify my behavior whatsoever.



Recently, a suspect was arrested in a manslaughter case here in Orono, Maine. Last winter, a 20 year old student was killed as she walked on a side street near her home. It was late at night. She was found in the snow in the early morning. The police defined the accident as a hit and run. She was a childhood education major and she’s dead. The man who is in custody and charge with the crime is a young man from Berwick, in the southern part of the state, who was visiting his cousin. They had been partying, drinking, and he chose to drive. He hit the girl and drove away, onto the interstate and heading south. He went off the road twenty or so miles down the highway and was arrested for OUI. His car was impounded and he never returned to claim it, knowing that the police were looking for that type of car in connection with the accident in Orono.

When I heard the story, I recall thinking “but for the grace of God, go I”, a phrase that comes to mind often when I hear about drunk drivers killing themselves or others. I’m not a religious person, but the statement fits situations like this. It could have been me driving drunk on a snowy side street at night. What would I have done? Would I have fled, like the man from Berwick? What would you do? To say that you would do the right thing and turn yourself in immediately is noble, but difficult to believe. It’s easy for me to say that I wouldn’t put myself in that kind of situation, now that I’m sober. How many of us alcoholics are really just fortunate that nothing worse happened when we were behind the wheel intoxicated? I consider myself just that. Fortunate. Not better than anyone else. It just didn’t happen to me, but it very well could have. But for the grace of God.

Courage to change

I think that I would like to make Monday be the day that I write about recovery.

For the past few weeks that I have been writing this blog, I have enjoyed finding photographs from my portfolio that could accompany the topic at hand. This time, it’s probably good that I don’t have any photos that are directly related to this subject because, though I lived it, I don’t always want to look at it. Having photographs of alcohol would mean that I had been up close to some, which I haven’t. Photos of alcohol never tell the whole picture. The shining bottles can’t possibly provide the viewer with a clear image of the destruction in its path.



Last night I watched one of those Hallmark Hall of Fame movies. Now usually I steer clear of them. I like their cards, not so much into the movies, and that’s because they’re usually sure to be those tearjerker movies with way too much melodrama and the requisite “feel good” ending. This one was different, and leads me into today’s recovery discussion.



It was called “When Love is not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story”. The sappy title would have had me changing the channel in a flash had I not heard the part about Lois Wilson. Lois Wilson was married to Bill Wilson, one of the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous. She began Al-Anon, the worldwide fellowship of support for families of alcoholics. You can read the book or rent the movie to get the whole story. I want to focus on just one line.



An average of no less than four people are pulled into the vortex of an alcoholic. I find it an interesting image, the vortex, a swirling, sucking, pulling force that claims those in its path, despite attempts to grab on to anything to keep from drowning. I can see how this would be an appropriate comparison to the life of an active alcoholic. My parents, Nola, my ex husband, my boyfriend at the time (now my husband), were all in danger of being drawn in and brought down by my own destructive influence. They were trying desperately to help me and were all living each day based on my actions and the drama I created for each of them. Even when I got sober, for quite a long time, they would ask each other “how is she?” Translate: has she been drinking? I felt paranoid for a long time. It seemed like everyone was just perched on the edge, waiting for the next time. Fortunately, there hasn’t been a “next time” for nearly 3 ½ years now. For me the last time was enough to teach me that I cannot drink, ever.



I vowed to repair the damage I had caused, and in many ways, I have. My relationship with my parents is loving and good. My daughter lives with me and is my biggest fan. She hardly remembers any of the drunken behavior. My ex-husband, well, that’s okay these days. He can no longer use my drinking against me. Continued sobriety has given me incredible gifts and one is the confidence to stand up for myself. It has also given me a life second to none, as they say. Happily married to another sober alcoholic, we hold meetings at home. Bill W. said that any time two alcoholics get together and talk about their experiences, a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous takes place. The same must be said for those now safely out of the vortex, the families and friends of alcoholics. The same discussions that used to feed my paranoia were important to their own recovery, and therefore would constitute a meeting of Al-Anon, wouldn’t they?



I’d love to hear from anyone who has experienced the benefits of talking to another person who has suffered from living in the vortex of an alcoholic.

Uncover Recovery

Any one who knows me knows that I am usually quite open about my recovery. Joe and I joke about it at home. Comments that begin with “if I was still drinking. . .” whatever it might be, drift around our kitchen when we make dinner. We talk about beer ads and how I would probably love Lime Bud, given my attraction to that particular citrus. I’ve often commented that it’s a good thing that mojitos came into fashion after I quit drinking because that combination – lime and mint – well, some of my favorite flavors – would have been dangerous for me. Around the house and with our friends and families, our alcoholism is fair game for discussion, sarcasm, and reflection. My disease is not a secret.




Why, then, after nearly four years at the same organization, have I been hesitant to tell my coworkers? When I started working at my current day job, I was relatively new in recovery. I disclosed out of necessity that I had been arrested for OUI and noted “continued sobriety” in the comments on my job application. I have told my co workers that I don’t drink, but haven’t really discussed recovery and alcoholism with any of my office mates. I have to ask myself why. Like other areas in my life, my current position requires that I be diligent and focused, honest and responsible. Unlike those other areas in my life, the consequences for missteps affect an institution, not only those in my small circle of life. While I am confident that I am able to fulfill those requirements at my job, I fear that misconceptions about alcoholics will color my coworkers’ opinions. The bottom line is that most people have been affected by alcoholism, and generally not favorably. I worry that people will think that I’m “on the edge” all the time, clinging to sobriety tenuously, rather than firmly entrenched as I feel I am. I don’t want everyone to feel that any discussion that touches on alcohol, whether it be enjoyment of or lamenting over, has to be prefaced with a “sorry, Celeste”, prior to continuing the conversation.



It’s like postal workers. They all get lumped together as a group that is just about to snap, when in reality, that’s not the case. They even coined the term “going postal” to describe a person who just loses it. I don’t want to be lumped into the group of “alcoholics” because most people just don’t understand the disease of addiction. I worry that rather than seeing me as having overcome adversity, I will be viewed as having moral fault, and transactions that I’ve proven that I can handle will be put into question.

The alcoholics I’ve met along the recovery road have been some of the most honest and responsible people I’ve ever encountered. I’m proud to be part of that group. It’s unfortunate that those practicing active alcoholic behavior are part of the image conjured when some one is labeled an alcoholic.



Perhaps I should have faith and give my coworkers the benefit of the doubt. We’re not a group of strangers. I have certainly established my competence. We laugh and joke about our lives and given that being in recovery is a daily part of mine, why not roll it into the fabric of my at-work persona? Maybe someone is struggling with alcoholism and I could help. One of the biggest comforts I found was in knowing that I am not alone. If I could put myself out there as an example to others that people do live happy lives in recovery, then perhaps it might propel another to seek help. If I could save one person, just by being open and honest about my recovery, any uneasiness I may suffer with disclosure is well worth it.