Keeping Busy Through Difficult Times.

During this period of my grieving for my friend who is terminally ill, I've been receiving easily twice as many calls for help from sponsees, and other people in program wanting some of my time to "reason things out with someone else."  Seems as though I barely finish with one before another is calling or emailing. Ordinarily, I might feel overwhelmed, but not now - now I'm intensely grateful to be taken out of myself and my feelings, to focus upon helping another person. Perhaps my HP is giving me this comfort of feeling helpful or useful to balance the helpless inadequacy I feel in the face of my friend's suffering.

Every time a sponsee arrives at my door for their weekly time with me, I feel blessed to be given this comfort of their company, getting into an intense discussion about them, and what's going on in their life, sharing moments of abandoned laughter about how nutty we co-dependents can be.

When your sponsor tells you that he or she gets more out of your relationship than you can imagine, believe them, believe when they say that your work together is a gift for them.

Strive To Be Always More Loving.

One aspect of sponsorship which I found rather disconcerting when I began to sponsor people in Al-Anon, was that I always seemed to be asked by people who had the same character defects I do (his hasn't changed) so I would receive a perfect reflection back to me, of my own rationalisations, justifications, twisted reasonings, and motives. It's what makes me of any help to my sponsees in some areas, the fact that I know pretty much exactly how their thinking on something goes, and as a result am able to discuss it with shared understanding.

What I hadn't expected is that though this process, because I have no judgement of my sponsees for what they think, say and do, I have become considerably more accepting of myself for what I think, say and do. I don't leap to berate myself quite so quickly, or if that habitual response does arise, I can respond to it the way I do with the wonderful people with whom I work in program - by suggesting that blame of self be laid aside - reach for self-acceptance first, then let's just root around in here, and see what we find.

I strive to be always more loving to those around me, the ones I know and the ones I don't. I don't always manage this, not by a long shot, but when I do, the feeling of peace and serenity is as beautiful as sunshine.

My little dog has had 3 improved days in a row, and her perky goofy personality is rising to the fore again. I like that silliness in dogs, a friend says it's God's way of making sure we laugh every day, those of us fortunate enough to share our lives with dogbrain.

Fighting Fear.

Today my friend (who has just undergone major surgery to remove cancer tumours) was finally well enough that I could go to the hospital to visit him. When I walked into the hospital room, I had a second's pause of my mind utterly refusing to believe that this ghostly pale, thin. weak man was my wonderful, loving friend. Only a month ago, he was still a vibrant energetic man. Now he's lying in a hospital bed too weak to speak much above a whisper, with IV's in each arm, and various drainage tubes, catheters, pain medication feed lines all running into and from his arms. I didn't break stride, and I asked God to please grant me the strength not to let the shock show in my face, or body language. I bent to hug him as gently as possible, and kissed him, saying how lovely it was to see him, and agreeing that the view from his window wasn't too bad, since he could see mostly trees.

He patted the side of his bed for me to sit, so I did, and was joking with him, teasing him lovingly, talking about gardening and my little dog, while the shock of seeing him looking so dreadfully thin and ill resonated through me like a cold ache. I stayed for a half-hour or so until he said he was beginning to tire, then hugged and kissed him again, went out into the hallway, took the elevator back to the ground floor, and walked slowly back out to my car.

 I'm still feeling that shock of my first sight of him, and the prognosis, told to me by his partner, and by my friend himself - he has been given 3 months to live because the cancer has metastasised to his liver in "hundreds of places" according to the oncologist. When I was sitting there with him today, he looked at me, and said softly, "I might not make it."  I gave him the little silver ankh I'd brought for him, the Egyptian symbol of everlasting life, and reminded him that doctors are just trained people with opinions, and that he has a ferociously strong will and life force.

I'm writing this while wearing a leather vest he gave me not long ago, it somehow brings him near to me, and reminds me to keep on praying for him. He's been a source of love and kindness for many of us in his 61 years, one of those special people with a loving generosity of spirit.

I wish that I could find a way through tears to break up the stone of aching grief in my chest, but I can't weep. I'm feeling bottled up, trying to find my way to acceptance through praying for my friend, and for my little dog. I love them both so, and I can do nothing in either case, it's beyond my control, I can only live with however it will be. I am grateful for the live that each of them has given me, and for the love I've felt for them. Love is a precious gift, and I've been blessed in my life.

Progress.

I want to thank all who have sent good wishes and hopes for my little dog. She's resting in her crate right now, so she won't hurt herself being "Defender of the Household" when the telephone repairperson arrives to fix our phone.

She seems to be feeling better - this morning I had to stop her from trying to stand on her hind legs to welcome me when I woke up and went out to check on her in her pen in the livingroom. Her ears were up, and her tail was wagging madly. She's still cautious in most of her movements, because of the pain, but I see definite signs of improvement, and it lifts my heart. She's such a loving and sweet little creature - a friend says that "dogs are the embodiment of a HP - always loving, always forgiving, and just wanting to be near us to be content."

From today's reading in Courage to Change:

"Al-Anon gave me Twelve Steps with which to rediscover myself. Making a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself and sharing it with a mutual friend (Steps Four and Five) were especially helpful. It was the first time in a long time I had paid so much attention to myself! I also learned about myself by listening in meetings - when I identified with others, I gained insight into my own thoughts and feelings."

So many of us come into program with every bit of our attention focused like a laser upon someone else's life. We can recite in detail what the alcoholic thinks, says and does. When we're asked to turn our attention back to our own lives,  there might be not much self left upon which to focus, because we've been stifling our own natures to obsess over theirs. I was very angry and opinionated when I came into Al-Anon, but in many cases, my opinions weren't really mine at all - it isn't as though I'd sat down and given whatever topic much thought or care, I simply picked up and wore whatever coat of thought came to hand and I could fit into - "I think this about that."

In Al-Anon I learned that my ideas, thoughts, opinions matter, but that I haven't the right to try to ram them down anyone's throat, no matter how hard I tried to justify that desire because of the alcoholic's drinking. The alcoholic is also a child of a Higher Power, and deserves my respect. A relationship may be severely damaged due to years of drinking, but I  believe that where there's life, there's hope, and it's never too late to find ourselves, and in that journey to ourselves. gain understanding and compassion for others

May Already, And Faith.

My little dog being hurt has placed me into a situation where I must rely on faith that she will improve. Her breeder and the vet tell me that they've both seen dachshunds recover and go on to lead a normal life after back injury. I'm told that time, steroids, pain meds and crate rest will heal her, because we are very fortunate, and she has no neurologic deficits,  her only symptom is pain and that this fact suggests the possibilty of an excellent outcome. I'm willing and committed to do whatever I can to ease her suffering and help restore her to health, and I'm receiving a lesson in faith while I do so.

Faith requires that I let go of what I want, and accept what is now. I have much for which to feel grateful - that we can afford the vet, and the medications to ease my little dog's pain. I'm grateful for enough time in Al-Anon that I no longer spend the time railing at my Higher Power for what is happening in my life, which used to consume me in fury and frustration before 12-Step.

When I awoke in the middle of the night last night, and immediately my thoughts leapt to my little dog and her suffering, I had a choice in that moment as to whether I would take the path of worrying and stress and anxious horrified imaginings, or would I ask my HP for help to let that go?

I've come to believe that for myself, anxiety is lack of faith, because if I truly trust my HP, what do I have to be anxious about? Do I trust that I will be looked after, or don't I? If I do, then I let it go, and ask to have my character defects removed so that I may enjoy my life. Well, do I believe that my HP cares for me, but not for my little dog? She too is one of his creatures. No, I believe that she is loved as I am loved. Then I do what I can to look after her, and let the rest go. Don't obsess over whether she seems better than yesterday, or worse, accept.  Do the next thing there is to do. Be loving. Live in the moment, because the now is all there is. I have to live in the day, and in the moment, this and this and this are happening.

Don't let my thoughts become my master. Shake them off and seek serenity. That's what I have to do.

Don't Take It Personally.

My little dog is worse today, even with the steroids and painkiller, she's in pain.  I'm trying to believe what the vet and her breeder are telling me, that her prospects are good, that she will improve, that this is early in the injury, but it's distressing to see her suffering.

A few days ago, I sat quietly listening as someone spoke of how he didn't understand why anyone would spend so much money on "just a cat or a dog." He wasn't aware of my little dog's illness, so was quite forthcoming in his scorn for these foolish owners - why didn't they put the sick animal down and get a healthy one to replace it? Why spend all that money on an animal?  A friend (who is aware) glanced over at me, worried that I would be feeling upset.

As he spoke, I'd been thinking about the fact that I understood that sort of blanket-coverage opinionated statement very well, because I'd been a distributor of them myself, before Al-Anon. I was a strange mixture of very poor self-image with very strong opinions.

What I've learned in this marvellous program is that not only is it not necessary for me to give my opinion in every situation - many times I can just listen, or interject only a small joke to lighten the mood - but that it most circumstances, I don't need to possess an opinion of any sort. I can be neutral. If asked, I can reply that I don't think anything much  about it, or that I see both sides, and care to join neither.

If I do have an idea, I can easily and happily keep it to myself, I no longer feel the need to foist it upon other people. I don't feel personally slighted or offended if we disagree. I don't take the world personally in the way I once did. That sentence encapsulates my miracle in Al-Anon - I don't go out into the world every day "loaded for bear." And as a result, the world turns a much softer, more loving and accepting face back to me.

It's Not My Fault.

Last night I was working with someone, and feeling what I always feel - blessed and honored to be given the opportunity to share in another's program growth. Also, thankful to be taken out of my self-absorption -  I'm having a hard time keeping clear of worry because  my little dog seems to be getting worse instead of better. Each time the feelings threaten to overwhelm me, I try to remember to turn them over to my Higher Power, don't awfulise, do what I need to do for her, let it go. When tears spring to my eyes to see her so diminished from her usual bouncy joyful self, let them fall, don't try to choke them off, push them down, fight my grief.

I'm getting lessons in self-acceptance and self-knowledge through this. Thoughts keep coming into my mind suggesting that I am somehow to blame for her illness, that I "should have done something differently" "wasn't careful enough" even though the rational part of me knows this isn't true. I guess it's my ego which struggles so with being powerless, and wants to make it my fault because then I will have some power in the situation, and I have none. I seem to prefer guilty over powerless.

I'm taking her back to the vet in a while, and will hope for the best, it's my only choice in a situation like this. I've plenty of experience in fearing and dreading the worst, it's an awful way to live.