My brother is sober. He has been sober for 7 years now. If you know anything about sobriety, he's beaten some pretty good odds to get here. My brother is also my best friend and favorite person on earth. No one can make me laugh more than my brother. He was this great gift given to me three days after my tenth birthday. An only child of a less than happy marriage, I treasured him. Everything about him was perfection to me.
When he got sober there was quick family chatter about "what would we say?" Antiquated, stupid chatter that one falls back on when trying to decide how to handle situations socially when you forget briefly that you don't really care what other people think about you. I remember thinking I would speak proudly about it. And I do, speak proudly, whenever the subject comes up. He has done this remarkable thing with such dignity and grace and given us, his family, this amazing gift of him being present and with us every day. I also remember my brother saying, "Well, I'm pretty sure everyone was talking about my drinking, I'm not sure why we wouldn't want to talk about me NOT drinking."
Before the dignity and grace of sobriety, there was a rehab. Rehab is his story and he should write it someday, because it is poignant and hard and funny. But the story he told right when he got home stays with me and comes to mind often. I won't attempt to do it justice, but basically it is a pee yourself laughing story of his "exit" plan from rehab on the second night when he realized this was going to take some deep digging and serious attention to getting sober. The story involves a plan for him to walk for miles, penny-less, in the heat of the dessert with a Harrah's card and a money wire as his savior once he arrived at civilization. He stayed at rehab until the light of morning and realized there were some holes in his exit plan. Then he stayed another 30 days. And now he's 7 years sober. We still say often, "you have to have an exit plan" when things get frustrating in my life.
I think of it often because I mostly like to deal with things in the black and white of it all. There is very little gray in my world. Although a 27 year marriage, four children (all girls), 9/11, and 2 bouts of breast cancer and a pandemic have added a little gray. I both curse and applaud God for really sticking with me in instilling the lesson of blurred lines and gray areas. When you are someone who likes to live the in the black and white clearness of life, you find yourself coming up with exit plans often.
Marriage, long marriage, a 27 year marriage, a marriage your are going to go the distance with...has a tremendous amount of gray area. So, in my marriage, my very real marriage, I am occasionally coming up with an exit plan. Not being listened to...exit plan. Didn't do your agreed upon chores...exit plan. Watching Family Guy episode for the 80th time...exit plan. Forgot the lunch you asked for and I made and reminded you about...exit plan. But also in my marriage, my very real marriage, much like rehab you stay until the light of morning, realize there are holes in the plan and then you stay 30 more days and then you are 27 years married.
September 11th it will be twenty years. In the 20 years since that first year, each year has it's own nuance. The beginning years were always both sentimental and a little draining. There were milestone years like 5 and 10 where the remembrance seemed large and theatrical. There were quiet years appreciated and spent with just our immediate family, and there were years where it went fairly unrecognized by the world as a whole, and us, as normal every day life took precedence over the memory of a historic day.
I wrote one year out from September 11th about my perspective of the day. I wrote ten years out from September 11th about my perspective of my life since. Today I look back on 20 years.
Twenty years shares the same difficulty that the day after, one year later, and ten years later had...we are still blessed and grateful for a day that was sad and traumatic for so many who shared my husband's circumstances.
In 20 years...we have sent three girls to college and are getting a fourth ready to so, we added two dogs, we down sized to a latch key condo, Corey started a successful business he loves, I quit a career, we took everyone to Europe, we got an amazing son in law. we enjoyed New York on many trips, we dealt with some health issues, and the list goes on. And at every step along the way...there were exit plans once in a while. Some loud and thundering and some just quietly stupid.
As I finish this article, on a night we gave an interview to the paper, I can hear my husband taking out the garbage to our curb. I said in year one that 9/11 changed my perspective of marriage and life and quite honestly...how and when the garbage is taken out . And it did. I still get frustrated about the garbage and the little irritants of life. I still make an exit plan when things aren't going my way. But I stay until the light of day, see the holes in the exit plan, and I stay. Without 9/11 I don't think I would have had the perspective to stay. I thank God I was given the perspective to stay.
On Saturday, I will enjoy the sober reality of my marriage and 9/11, 20 years later, in Tahoe, because you know...the house didn't burn down (that God he really never let's me forget that there is no black and white).
I am blessed. Corey and I are blessed. My family is blessed. The sober reality is...we are blessed.
This quote was Corey's at ten years. It's still good...
A quote from Corey, my husband: “Never forget September 11th. Never forget those months that followed. Months filled with nationalism, patriotism, volunteerism, bipartisanship, God’s love, giving and unity that galvanized us as one nation. Those qualities are still in each and every one of us today.”
