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True Inspirational Stories
by people in recovery
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Karin's Story
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My adoptive father was my blessing. He was a gentle but firm parent, and a world renowned engineer in government and private sectors. He won incredible honors in his career, but remained humble, with a wonderful wry sense of humor and a joy in living. We fished, talked baseball endlessly, and told each other every joke that we could think of or make up.
He and I had been taking care of my mother for a number of years, a victim of Alzheimer's. At the age of eighty-eight, he began to slip. He was not well for three months, always tired and now falling frequently. We had caregivers at this point, but he was a constant worry. After spending another one of many long days in emergency with him, I was tired, but got him home, just like always. We spent the day talking, not talking, holding hands, and commiserating over the ER wait.
My recovery had now progressed, rather than my disease continuing to progress. I had two arrests two years before, One rehab (voluntary), one extensive aftercare program including five meetings a week, but still didn't get "it." I was sober probably 20 months out of those twenty-four, but it was just not drinking, and I was still raging at my craving. I finally failed to appear in court because of an unrelated, for once, hospital stay, and was sentenced to 27 days in jail and three months in a live in rehab. I gave my head to the process, and finally made the "two foot drop," the connection to my heart. I am in recovery now, rather than not drinking, approximately seven months this day. My father was my strongest supporter, and was ever there with any and all help that I needed. There was no anger from him, except at this disease.
I elected to take a short pre-planned visit the LA the next day to hear a friend play at the House of Blues. By the time the evening ended, I got word that Dad was back in the hospital and that his condition was grave. I couldn't get a flight out that night, so I gave it all up to God and stayed calm. There was an honor bar in my room. I did not honor it. I truly felt that alcohol did not exist in my life anymore as an option.
I flew home the next morning and went straight to the hospital, where he had been moved for surgery. The decision was made not to proceed. His aorta was like paper, and his heart would blow on the table. God sent me an angel, the surgeon, who told me he would not do that to his own father. I knew it would be a week, a month at most, if he stabilized. I walked around Union Square every night muttering "thinking, feeling, urges, and actions" quite unconsciously drawing on the relapse prevention training that I had been given. I went to the East Bay on two evenings for my regular meetings, and talked it out. By day, he drifted in and out, but we talked, I told him what was wrong, that only God knew why and he wasn't telling (one of Dad's expressions for anything and everything),and just sat.
He was stabilized and transferred back to the nearby convalescent hospital here in Walnut Creek for comfort care. I somehow remembered to call our minister, to arrange a communion service that I knew he's like, and then waited, Monday morning I met with hospice, and the nurse told me to go home and get some things and plan to stay. I waited for the minister and my mother to arrive. Dad couldn't talk or swallow, but I think he heard me say "no wine for me, Pastor" because I saw the ghost of a grin!
He took my hand at the beginning of the short service, and then put it down very gently when his turn came. I watched him try to get the wafer into his mouth. At the moment he succeeded I saw him relax and smile, and a golden light, like a veil or a cloth of fine mesh, passed very slowly across his face. He looked young and handsome and joyous again, and I ceased to be aware of anything else in that room. I was transfixed. I saw him looking at something that was not of this world, but way beyond us all, and then I watched him being received. He was entering a land so beautiful that even our greatest scholars could not dream of words to describe it. Then, as I gave him permission, told him that I loved him, and that he was the best dad in the world, he left. It was the most peaceful and profound event that I have ever witnessed. I felt a strange elation, not only from the experience, but from the knowledge that we were complete. I saw the beginning of his journey. Then the light faded and passed on, as did he.
Every day after that day I have been reminded that our entire world can change forever in one day, but we always have the choice of living sober. I carry my 24 hour chip, because that one is the most important to me. I am hearing the Promises now, and they are coming true. And I was waiting to go to pieces, but it never happened. I found myself walking around my house one night, thinking to myself, "They picked me. They picked me! Out of all the creations that fill the universe, I was the one picked to be his daughter!" I am that loved by the Higher Power. I'm not sad. I'm full of His strength and that constant and conscious awareness of the spiritual miracle in us all.
Our favorite joke was about baseball. Two best friends adored baseball, so when one died he came back to tell the other about baseball in heaven. The one still alive said, "Tell me! Is there baseball in heaven?" The other said, "Yes, but it's good news and bad news." The other said, "Bad news from heaven? Tell me the good news!" He replied, "Yes, there is baseball here, I get to play with all the greats on the Yankees and we win the World Series every night!" The first said, "Well, then, what's the bad news? "The second one said, "You're pitchin' on Tuesday!"
My father passed away on a Monday afternoon. And judging from the faint cheers that I heard from far away the next day, I'm sure that 24 four hours after his passing, the first no-hitter ever in the history of baseball in heaven was pitched!
I forgot the most important part, that my father was able to know that I was truly in recovery, after some false starts. That's the bonus that I got from God without even asking, and the most important thing that will ever happen to me. I could have missed it by a month or two! But then again, I've always said that if only one person in the world could go to heaven it would be him, and he certainly was being taken care of, as the events of his passing unfolded. Everything that happened was precision timed. It was a beautiful death.
I sometimes feel a little guilty about having such a great person for a father. Maybe it's akin to survivor's guilt. One of my friends said she has always been envious. She's a MFCC who wrote "The Care and Feeding of the Perfectionist." She had heavy duty childhood stepfather trauma, and has studied and worked very hard to overcome those events. Her name is Dr. Cynthia Curnan - the book was on Amazon, last time I looked. Anyway, at the service I remarked to some cousins that I know that I thought that my father was the best, and they all turned around and started saying that I was right, and he was the best father in the world, and how they wished he had been theirs, and what he had done for them... What a wonderful feeling.
This is for you Dad. You were truly a spectacular human being.
Karin C.
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