The geese, the chips, and the woman in amber and yellow
When I pushed open the door to the small church rec. hall my first thought was that I had not been this nervous in a long time. And then I wondered just how nervous El must have been, all the times she walked into this room – before she was serious about it and then when she was.
Ellie smiled when she saw me, and I was struck by how lovely she was. She was wearing yellow and amber, and her hair was up in a pretty knot, and she stood next to me and grinned and looked the very opposite of hapless and out of place.
Her husband joined us and we sat in the front row, and at first I thought, “Oh, couldn’t we sit in the back?” – and then I realized that the back was for the people who had a real reason to be scared, and I should give them their privacy and stay up here.
Ellie spoke first, and when she got up and said those words – My name is Ellie and I’m an alcoholic – I waited for every clichéd drunk movie character I’d ever seen to wander through the room: Meg Ryan, Sandra Bullock, Elizabeth Shue, sexy and gorgeous and stumbling. But she said it, and they said, “Hi, Ellie” and I didn’t see a fall, but a rise to an exquisite sort of grace. Ellie, glowing and funny and articulate: telling the story I had been witness to – and some of the parts I hadn’t.
After Ellie, there were others: each with familiar notes of despair and agony, and a descant of hope. As one man was talking — in his sixties, stout, tattooed, the sort of man who’d wander into my life to fix my kitchen sink and never be heard from again – a cool gust of autumn wind blew in the window, carrying the honk of a flock of geese — the sound of coming winter.
I knew then that this was it: this is as good as it gets. Wealth, power, fame, success: meaningless. You have achieved something when you know the despair of the world; when you are aware of and forgive your own basic faults, and those of the people you love; when you love the humanity of others and stop placing yourself in categories above or below, and are reminded of the divine simplicity of your own creation by the sound of geese passing by.
At the end, the presentation of chips. Anyone sober a year or more got to raise her hand. El quietly put her hand in the air, and I, of course bawled.
Anyone sober six months this week? — A chip. Three months? -One? — a young man strode to the front of the room to a roar of applause. A terrified smile and he took his chip.
24 hours? No one stood. See me after if you’re too shy, said the man handing out the chips.
And now the presentation of the one-year chips. Someone lighted the candle on Ellie’s cake, while her husband took the podium. She had asked me to be his backup, in case he flaked. Let me tell you, he flaked. He flaked beautifully. It was raw and sad and lovely, and just when I thought I couldn’t take another word he said, “You know, after seeing all this, I think … alcoholics are amazing people.”
And of course we roared, and wiped our eyes, and then cried again when the amazing person we were there for got her chip.
So I wasn’t called on to speak, which is good, because I don’t think I would have made it – but if I had, here’s what I would I have said:
When you find out that someone you love and thought you knew very well is an alcoholic, you find out that you were in a sick relationship. And it takes two people to make a sick relationship.
I don’t think that the people inside this room are any worse off than the world outside of it. The only real difference is that the circumstances that bring us here give us an opportunity to see what many people never see – our basic flaws and our basic goodness, the goodness in each other, the bad results of our best intentions and the strength to try again. When I understood how sick Ellie was, I knew that I had to grow and change, too. And in that, Ellie was my leader and role model. And she set the bar pretty god-damned high.
The meeting broke. We shared in Ellie’s cake, and told jokes that only alcoholics and their loved ones think are funny. I saw some of the people in the back of the room wander quietly away, and I said a prayer for them; that they would find themselves here some day, having lived through despair and learned that the only way home is through surrender, and friendship and humor.
August 23rd, 2008 at 1:15 am
Beautiful. Congrats to Ellie.
August 23rd, 2008 at 1:30 am
Congratulations Ellie!!!
August 23rd, 2008 at 7:12 am
Congraulations Ellie. Thank god she has had people who love her enough to help her into the room and beyond.
A very well earned cake!
August 23rd, 2008 at 8:27 am
Beautiful. Thanks, Elizabeth, for sharing so beautifully.
August 23rd, 2008 at 9:04 am
Absolutely beautiful post. I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but if you’d like you should submit some of your stuff to Bloggers Annex-a site where only great posts are featured, one per day. Just a thought. Because you’re an excellent writer!
Thank you for sharing this,
Heather
August 23rd, 2008 at 9:11 am
You’re killing me, here. That was beautiful.
August 23rd, 2008 at 10:54 am
***wipes the tears away***
I have an alcoholic friend. I walked away from her. I think you hit a nerve~I KNOW I need to make a call.
Thanks…..
August 23rd, 2008 at 11:04 am
Aww! I’m tearing up here. Congrats Ellie, I am so proud of you! And Liz, love your words, as always!
August 23rd, 2008 at 11:11 am
congrats Ellie
August 23rd, 2008 at 11:22 am
Congratulations Ellie! I’m glad you two have each other. That kind of friendship is rare and precious.
August 23rd, 2008 at 12:06 pm
Congratulations, Ellie. I can’t imagine all that you’ve been through to get to where you are today, and tomorrow and each day to come. That you’ve touched Liz as you have is true testament to your courage, strength and determination to heal not only yourself but those you love.
Beautifully written, Liz. My husband’s grandparents have been in that sick relationship for 52 years. It is heartbreaking, frustrating and, at this point, it just is. I’m so happy Ellie and her husband are healing together.
August 23rd, 2008 at 1:13 pm
I’m cheering. And tearing. Man, you’re so right about needing to hit a low point before you truly appreciate life; it wasn’t until after my first major depression (that I denied for a long time) that I started to finally learn how to become a genuine, authentic me. I’m still working on it, and figure I will forever.
(((hugs to all)))
August 23rd, 2008 at 2:26 pm
Happy Anniversary Ellie and Congratulations.
August 23rd, 2008 at 5:35 pm
Congratulations Ellie
August 23rd, 2008 at 6:14 pm
congrats Liz on your wonderful role model and friend. you hit the motherload with Ellie.
August 23rd, 2008 at 7:56 pm
I’ve heard many folks in recovery explain that being in an AA meeting is more real then being in church. I couldn’t understand until I went with a friend to her AA meeting. It was a Sunday morning, and there was no need to go to church, because I had been to Church.
I’m so glad that El has beautiful people around her… beautiful people willing to be as courageous as her, willing to get healthy like her.
Peace
August 23rd, 2008 at 8:35 pm
Congratulations to Ellie, her family and her friends. Here’s wishing you another year of health and happiness
August 24th, 2008 at 3:18 am
Really beautifully written. I am married to an alcoholic. He is like Ellie trying to stay sober. But its hard. For him and for me.
August 25th, 2008 at 12:26 am
“You have achieved something when you know the despair of the world; when you are aware of and forgive your own basic faults, and those of the people you love; when you love the humanity of others and stop placing yourself in categories above or below, and are reminded of the divine simplicity of your own creation…”
“I don’t think that the people inside this room are any worse off than the world outside of it. The only real difference is that the circumstances that bring us here give us an opportunity to see what many people never see – our basic flaws and our basic goodness, the goodness in each other, the bad results of our best intentions and the strength to try again.”
These two passages above are quoteworthy. I wonder if you realize how rare and wonderful it is that you, as a “non” can not only feel such compassion and understanding, but also express the depths of it so keenly.
Ellie is lucky to have you - and you are lucky to have her. Congratulations to Ellie for choosing the path of recovery - and to you for being willing to support her on her journey.
August 25th, 2008 at 3:23 pm
Way to go Ellie! Congratulations on your 1 year anniversary!
Way to go Liz for being such a great friend.
August 25th, 2008 at 3:35 pm
Thank you everyone for all your supportive comments - they mean the world to me.
I am the luckiest person on earth to have Liz as a friend - she is a constant source of inspiration to me.
August 25th, 2008 at 9:22 pm
yay ellie!!! so happy for you :).
August 25th, 2008 at 9:32 pm
WTG Ellie..
Truly!!:)
August 26th, 2008 at 12:06 pm
Congrats Ellie! You’re an incredibly strong and beautiful person.
August 26th, 2008 at 7:46 pm
One year is an achievement. Every day is an achievement. The struggle never really stops. My partner lost his battle a month ago because by his own admission he lost his AA program. Keep going to those meetings Ellie and work those Steps. I have my Al-Anon program which has given me sanity through the insanity.
August 26th, 2008 at 9:30 pm
Greg, I took a look at your blog. I am so sorry about Arthur. It seems like you are doing a good job of making sure you survive. My prayers for you and for Aurthur, and for the others who have posted here, or lurked, who struggle.
August 27th, 2008 at 2:28 am
Congratulations Ellie!
I think you have such blessings, in your one year mark, in your friends and in your husband and children.
thanks for letting us all share in this.
November 14th, 2008 at 3:18 am
The geese, the chips, and the woman in amber and y……
Bookmarked your post over at Blog Bookmarker.com!…