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Stealth Bomber
Sometimes it is the immediacy of the moment's emotions that demands this space, and that's what spills forth right now. The best I can do is just lay it out; if I think too hard, I'll bury it in a neat and tidy column, and you won't know what I'm …Read more.
Vigilance: A Mouthful
Suddenly, I'm enamored with going to the dentist. I even welcome his prying at my teeth and poking into my gums, which need repair. Bring it on, I say. Except when he's got his tools in my mouth propped wide-open. Then I utter nothing.
My new …Read more.
My Hero Mel, Twice
It's not often any of us can claim one hero twice in our lives, and for different reasons.
In my life, that's Mel Schulstad. He died this month. He was 93. This past week, I had the honor of offering a eulogy at his memorial service in Everett, Wash.…Read more.
Back at Me
My most memorable moment with a boomerang as a kid was tossing it in defiance of the large plate-glass window across the street from where I was standing. Mine clearly was not designed for sport; those, if thrown properly, return to the thrower, at …Read more.
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Ties That BindThe line stretched down the hallway outside the sanctuary at Mile Hi Church, in Lakewood, Colo. Almost 1,000 people had come to listen to me share my story. Now it was my turn to listen to them, many dozens or so who had been drawn to that place out of a need to share pieces of themselves, too. "What your daddy did to Goldwater was wrong, and I don't agree with your politics, either," announced Jim N., a city engineer. But right or wrong, his political assumptions were moot. "My daughter needs help, your help." Jim spit out their story: "I raised her good, and I love her like she loves me," he said, oblivious to the people shuffling in place behind him. "She's deserving of a good life. Alcohol's got her by the throat and is dragging her down, taking her out. She can't get up. I can't get her up, either. What can I do? Tell me." It's always tough to give somebody clear guidance on the spur of the moment without all the facts, especially when he is just one of many in a crowd. Fortunately, several experts representing other treatment programs were there, and Jim quickly was connected to a place in Denver that was ready to help. "Take care of yourself, too, Jim," I told him, and he melted away. Marinda was next. "Remember I e-mailed you in April about my husband?" No, I told her, I get too many e-mails to remember them all. But how's he doing? "Well, here he is," she replied, sweeping her arm skyward with the same aplomb as one of those game show models on "The Price Is Right." "William, meet Dan, my sober husband." Dan, 33, did not quite share his wife's enthusiasm at that moment; staying at home was probably his preferred option that night. "I'm still new at this — 50 days sober now," he volunteered. "Not sure I could do it without my wife's support. She's the one making me go to (recovery) meetings and aftercare groups." I reminded Dan that nobody can keep him on the straight and narrow.
I cannot recall the name of the woman who stood before me a few minutes later. The photographs in her hand and the words out of her mouth are what I never will forget. "This is Steve with his triplets last Christmas," she said, spreading on the table photos of a smiling man with his hands full of toddlers. "He was a drug addict in and out of treatment. He couldn't do it. He struggled. Then he did find sobriety for almost a year." Now she was crying. "He overdosed last month. His children will never know their father." There was a long pause. I wasn't sure what to say or what she wanted. Then she told me. "Thank you for sharing your story tonight, because I understand that his addiction wasn't my fault any more than your parents are to blame for your addiction." Two women who knew me but did not know each other were near the end of the line. One was an old schoolmate who now lives in Denver. She wanted to hear my story because it helped her to understand her father's alcoholism, a problem she had masked behind a kinetic academic, athletic and social schedule at Garden City High School. The other was a woman I had been told had died 10 years ago in a relapse. But there she was, smiling and sober. "I finally got it before it was too late, but it was almost too late," Katherine said. "I was too proud to call myself an alcoholic — pride that convinced me I could handle it my way. Then I made the connection, and now I'm proud I am an alcoholic — a recovering alcoholic." From the hopelessness of a daughter's struggle to the tragedy of relapse to the promise of recovery, it is by connecting these dots that a cord runs through the lives of people I meet. This is the bind that gives them and me the strength to hang on, no matter what. William Moyers is the vice president of foundation relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com. COPYRIGHT 2009 CREATORS.COM
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