I haven't been around here much.  Actually, I haven't been around anywhere much.  I'll pop in to read messages and leave some comments every so often, but for the most part my online recovery life has been virtually non-existent.

And it's not for bad reasons. 

I'm doing well.  In January, I started back to school full-time, studying Business Administration.  I'm also teaching some basic photography classes to kids, and trying to stay active in my own professional life, booking shoots where and when I'm able.  A full-plate, you say?  Absolutely.  But I'm loving it.  I really, truly am.

It's interesting.  Despite having all of this going on in my life, it seems as if I've had more time to put true THOUGHT into my recovery program.  I've always been good about attending meetings (or, relatively good), and working my steps ... but lately, it seems I've been able to really delve into some subjects I needed to address, and figure out where I stand once and for all.  It hasn't exactly been easy (I've put distance and silence between myself and a few people, and am moving towards letting go), but I can feel the growth.  And I almost feel ... dare I say ... calmer?  Alright.  Maybe just moments of calm. :)

And I guess that timing couldn't be any better.

For all the good that's going on in my life, my health doesn't appear to be following the agenda.  I've struggled with various issues for the past few months, and it seemed to all culminate this afternoon when I had a doctor's appointment.  I got some mildly unexepected and seemingly upsetting news, that ... I guess ... indicates I'm on a bit of a downward spiral.  I don't know.  I haven't really processed it too much, and wasn't going to (at least tonight), until I mentioned it to a friend.  (Albeit a very small mention.)  It got me thinking, and ... well ... I guess I came here to put down in black and white that I'm alright.

I'm okay.

I don't know a whole lot.  I don't know exactly what's going on physically.  I don't know how my finances are going to come together to pay for ANYTHING I'm doing now, or anything I may do within the next few months.  I don't know where some of my relationships stand, or if I'll ever be able to repair some bridges that have burnt along the way.  But I'm okay.  For the moment -- I'm okay.  Because what I do know is far more important than what I don't.

I know that I'm being taken care of.

I know that I'm supported unconditionally.

I know that I'm loved unconditionally.

And with that -- how could I not feel okay?  Sure, fear creeps in .... but it never seems to last very long, when I take the time to talk about it.  And it's never going to be bigger than the love I've been given.  Never. 

I'm not sure why I haven't seen that before.

But, I see it today.

Thanks, guys.

“As television beamed the image of this extraordinary gathering across the border oceans, everyone who believed in man’s capacity to better himself had a moment of inspiration and confidence in the future of the human race.”

                - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Woke up early this morning and from my bed

looked far across the Strait to see

a small boat moving through the choppy water,

a single running light on.  Remembered

my friend who used to shout

his dead wife's name from hilltops

around Perugia.  Who set a plate

for her at his simple table long after

she was gone.  And opened the windows

so she could have fresh air.  Such display

I found embarrassing.  So did his other

friends.  I couldn't see it.

Not until this morning.

     - Raymond Carver

One year ago today was my first day sober, after a three-day relapse that proceeded almost nine years of abstinence.

One year ago today, I underwent emergency heart surgery and actually died on the operating table.  (Thank God for modern technology, huh?)

One year ago today.

My life has taken a thousand twists and turns since then -- from the passing of my mother, to an almost complete mental breakdown [and subsequent loss of job, loss of family ties, etc], moving back to my hometown, hospital visits, getting re-acquainted with the steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, becoming a photographer and having my first gallery showing ... it's been a wild ride.  It's been painful, gut-wrenching, hysterically funny, shocking.  But most of all, it's been real.

I've been thinking a lot about what I've learned over the course of the past year.  And interestingly enough, those thoughts have changed in just the past three hours.  Ironic, isn't it, that I spent the afternoon of this one-year anniversary, trying to carry the message of Alcoholics Anonymous to a dying friend?

Yeah ...

So ... Without further ado [and because I have one helluva headache and need to get off the computer], Five Things I've Learned Over The Past Year:

1.  While you will always be tied to your family of origin, you also have your family of choice.  And, as you grow older, those will be the people that carry you through the most important moments of your life.

2.  Your most important lessons generally come from complete strangers, but always come exactly when you need them too.  (Thanks, Fran.)

3.  Sometimes you have to lose everything, to find everything you never knew you needed.

4.  No matter how disgruntled the relationship, you never get over losing your mother.  Never.

And finally ...

(And this one just came to me today ...)

5.  Life expectancy is merely just that -- an expected predictions.  The numbers don't mean anything.  The LIFE does.

Thank you all for being here.  YOU are the reason I'm able to survive myself.

Love,
Rachel

Dear Joe,

You asked me once why I loved you.  We were probably sitting in your car, cold and shivering in the dark night of winter.  Sometimes, when I think of us, all I see is snow and ice.

...

I love you because my memory is long.

It's because of that night you crashed into my apartment after we'd had our first fight.  I had my pajamas on and was barefoot.  We shouted regrettable things to each other under the dim glare of the streetlight.

It's because I answered the phone once, half-asleep.  You were standing ontop of the bandstand across the street, a delinquent Romeo, waving your cell-phone through the dark.  "Come to your window," you demanded.  "Can you see me?"  I answered yes.  I answered yes, even after I crawled back into bed.

It's because of that night - those nights - when you curled up on my couch, and fumbled for my hand while singing along to a song on repeat.  And we would sleep uncomfortably with our faces squished together and elbows in ribs.  And you snored. 

And I loved you.