Body Parts

I had one of those moments Mary Karr talks about in the optometrist's office when the lens right clicks over and something comes into sharp focus.

I was listening to someone whose spiritual path I respect. He was talking about Haiti, but I couldn't help but think that what he was saying applied as well to alcoholism.

He was trying to answer the question "why." If there is a God, how could he let this happen. Or more generally, its the question as old as Job. Why do bad things happen to good people?

It's a question I've been hearing a lot lately, particularly in the blogosphere. Garnet wrestled with this question a few days ago and found comfort in a post by Mr. Sponsorpants. I have my own beliefs about this, but I've never known how to answer this question to someone else's satisfaction. I suppose that for each of us, the answer is different.

But listening to my friend, something clicked. He said that Haiti happened because we live on a living, dynamic, molten planet that has plates that are constantly in motion. But if the planet were not always changing and dynamic, we all would die, he said.

Did God cause the earthquake? No, he said. Earthquakes happen because this is the world we inhabit.

I can answer the question of "why?" he went on. But the more important question is "what are we going to do about it?"

In the case of disaster, whether its Haiti, Katrina or something else entirely, it's often said that we are all responsible to one another because we are all related. The people in Haiti are our brothers and sisters.

But my friend believes that this isn't quite right. We're not all related, he believes. We are all part of the same body. All of us. Some of us are eyes, some ears, some toenails. All of the parts work together, according to their purpose. They do not get together and decide the elbows are most important. That we should all be elbows.

If a piece of glass becomes imbedded in our foot, our body parts don't get together and vote it off the island. When we injure our foot, we care for it. Because a hurt foot can hobble our whole body.

White blood cells are dispatched. Nerves fire. Eyes guide fingers, which work together to pluck out the glass.

We don't help the people of Haiti because they are our brothers and sisters, but because they are part of us. We offer what gifts we have been given, according to our purpose. For some, that's time. For others, money. Still others can only pray.

So what does this have to do with alcoholism?

I used to spend a lot of time wondering why. Why the alcoholic drank. Why God allowed alcoholism to exist in the first place. Eventually I understood it's a moot question.

Alcoholism exists because that's the world we live in. I called that acceptance. The more important question is what to do about it.

I learned early in Al-Anon that I couldn't cure my daughter, no matter how much I wanted to. Nor should I try to vote her off the island. I couldn't do this anymore than I could remove a toe. Instead I had to learn to care for her in a way that would not cause additional harm. This I called detaching with love. I call it letting go and letting God.

But I could deploy what skills I have to aid the response to this disastrous disease.

Some of us are communicators. Some are healers. Some of us are strong. Like the backbone, they hold us up. We do what we can. We chair meetings, set up chairs, support each other.

We don't try to vote our alcoholics off the island. Instead, we love them. Not because they are our brothers and sisters, but because they are a part of us. And when they are hurting, our whole families, our whole society, suffers.

Am I an Alcoholic?

Shortly after I joined Al-Anon in earnest and began working a program, my sponsor suggested I attend open AA meetings to help develop compassion for the alcoholics in my life.

I attended the first meeting as an Al-Anon. I attended the second as an alcoholic.

The question had always plagued me. My parents were alcoholics. My daughter found her way to Nar-Anon. Did I think I was immune? Why shouldn't I be an alcoholic?

I had history. Years of binge drinking. Black outs. Things I did under the influence that filled me with shame the day after. My husband and I drank every day.

My AA meetings quickly became my favorites. They were raucous affairs, with much laughter. Coffee and cookies were served. By contrast, Al-Anon meetings seemed somber affairs. Instead of cookies there was Kleenex on the table. There was a lot of crying.

But I was also aware that I didn't fit the pattern. My first assignment from my sponsor was to read the AA Big Book. At the AA meetings I attended, parts of the Big Book were read at the opening of every meeting.

Everything I read about Al-Anons seemed to fit me to a tee. But the readings at AA didn't. For one thing, the AA literature said that alcoholics grow worse, never better. That wasn't true of me. I had to go back 30 years to relate to periods of heavy drinking and feeling out of control.

I had six months of sobriety in AA before my Al-Anon sponsor said she wasn't convinced that I was an alcoholic. She encouraged me to explore the possibility. She put me in touch with other Al-Anons who had partied heavily but who were not alcoholics. I re-read the Big Book and the Merck Manual. It was true. I didn't seem to fit.

One Al-Anon and a friend in AA both suggested "the test" in the Big Book. Non-Alcoholics, it said, could go out, have a drink or two and then quit. A "true" alcoholic couldn't. I knew I could do this. I had done it many times. I had quit drinking for years without missing it. But I tried the test again. I had no problem having a drink or two and stopping.

I quit introducing myself as an alcoholic at AA meetings. Finally, I had an answer. I was not an alcoholic. I felt comfortable in that for the first time in my life. I was not an alcoholic. For some reason, that part of the disease had passed over me. How lucky was that?

Just one more thing to be grateful for.

A Deadly Disease of Denial

Alcoholism is a disease of denial. Alcoholics die from this disease every day. And so do Al-Anons.

It took me years to admit that I'd been affected by the disease of alcoholism. I grew up in an alcoholic home where there was violence, abuse and instability. At age 15, I tried to fix things by washing down a handful of pills with a tall glass of vodka. The pills were sleeping pills that belonged to my boyfriend's mother. He stole them a few at a time so she wouldn't notice. I hid them in my closet.

My boyfriend and I had a pact. We plotted a double suicide. We even set a date, a day when my mother wouldn't be home for an extended period. But my boyfriend changed his mind and called to try to get me to see things his way. I felt betrayed. As soon as I got off the phone, I pulled out the pills and got a glass of vodka. The next thing I remember was waking up in my room. I remember my mother telling me a friend was there to see me and I feeling too ashamed to see him. I made a decision then. I could continue to blame my parents for my problems, or I could take responsibility and make different choices. I took responsibility.

When I moved out of the house at 18, I thought I left all that behind. I refused to be ruled by my past. What mattered was the present.

Years later, another friend showed me a book about adult children of alcoholics. There was a list of qualifying questions on the back of the book. He asked if I recognized myself. I told him I didn't. I didn't have a lot of patience for people who wanted to blame their problems on the past. I refused to listen.

Still more years later, I found myself in Al-Anon at the suggestion of a friend. I had seen yet another romantic relationship crash and burn, and I was trying to figure out what my patterns were. She thought Al-Anon could help.

I enjoyed going to meetings, and I certainly qualified for membership based on my family history but I didn't think the problems I was having had anything to do with that and quit going. I only understood later, several years later when I tried Al-Anon again, that it had everything to do with alcoholism.

When my daughter started having problems, she used to tell me that I was the one who had the problem. She was fine. Of course, I didn't believe her. She was the one with the problem. Anyone could see that, right?

I've heard it said that Al-Anons act crazier than their alcoholics. I believe that now. But it took me several months of working the program in Al-Anon to see that my behavior had been at all irrational. After all, it seemed I was doing well. I attended college and got good grades, worked at a profession I loved and was good at. But I felt like a victim. I just didn't see that I was the one who was holding myself prisoner.

I don't know what the magic moment was when I realized my disease. It was more a process than a lightening flash. But I know it came from hanging around the rooms of Al-Anon long enough.