…and this is no April Fool’s story…only an alcoholic fool’s story. I had been arrested the night before driving backwards at 5mph in a small southern town I’d never been in before. The arresting officer later told me he had been responding to a barking dog complaint in a residential neighborhood.  He never found the dog; but, he did observe me attempting a t-turn in an unfamiliar neighborhood.  He watched thinking I might be having car trouble until he observed me back across the road and into the wood’s edge. I blew a 0.30…twice.  That’s correct.  0.30. Not proud of it. 

At my court trial the officer testified that I had been cooperative that night.  I remember being shoved around pretty hard by the jailers and called a few names so maybe I wasn’t all that cooperative.  Much of the night is fuzzy.  I recall the morning of April 1 hearing an unfamiliar voice saying “You better move over or you’ll get wet.”  I was confused as I sat up.  I was lying on a small pad with a blanket over me in the shower of the jail common area.  Seems that all the “beds” were occupied when I arrived in the tank so I just stretched out where I could find a space.  How did I know it was the shower?  Hell, I didn’t know anything.

I had lost my job six months earlier and spent all my time drinking and thinking and drinking.  After this second arrest in two years I continued my daily drinking (as in all day) for four more months.  So sick every morning that I had to drink to keep from throwing up; but, the first drink made me throw up too.  After that I could drink the rest of the day. Living to drink and drinking to live.  I would ride my moped to the liquor store and wait for them to open at 9:00am. Seems my supply never lasted as planned.

On August 25, 2000 I was admitted to a hospital for a possible heart attack. I was 50 years old and I knew it wasn’t a heart attack – just my daily alcohol withdrawal and I was an expert at that.  I was just living the lie and playing along with those who somehow still cared about me.  All I wanted was to be left alone and just get that next drink.  I was dying and knew it and couldn’t stop drinking.

I angrily checked myself out of the hospital the next day and late that afternoon my father looked at me and said “You need help.”

My simple and only response was “I know. I’ll do whatever anyone tells me to do.”  And I haven’t had a drink since and don’t intend to.  Notice the word intend. The words that came out of my mouth on August 25, 2000 were not mine. That was a moment of clarity that saved my life.

I did what I was told to do. I got sober. I got a life.  I am grateful for every sober moment. Today life is good.  It has its problems – they’re called life.  But it’s good. Real good. And today I woke up in my own bed and then got in the shower. The little things are really the big things.

Wishing everyone a pleasant weekend.