The Devil's Countdown

The month of October had traditionally been an exciting and festive time of year in my life, dating back to childhood. I savor the memories of planning Halloween costumes, going on hayrides, watching scary movies with friends, and apple picking excursions. In my college years it was all about homecoming, the first chilly morning runs, and the best parties on campus. Later in life, as a dad, it was the month two of my children celebrated birthdays- I would take them to haunted forests or we’d hike through autumn foliage.

At age 49, October took on a much, much darker element. 

On October 19th 2016, I lost my father.  That month my drinking derailed me as I began my my final alcoholic death spiral. I went on the most severe bender of my life, which would ultimately lead to the death of my old existence and resurrection into my new one. While my sobriety date may be celebrated every November 4th, preceding it are the series of cascading events which would eventually lead to Implosion Day.  These memories  are relived- every.single.year.

On October 12th I saw my father for the last time in hospice. On October 16th I missed my son's birthday party, remaining in my basement tomb, claiming "illness." Four days later, on my daughter's birthday, I did the same. Three days after that, while working a shift in the ER, my brother called me to notify me of dad's death. After a couple more days I drove up to New Jersey- alone and drunk- to attend his funeral. I gave the graveside eulogy- drunk. I was out of my mind. For the next week I stammered and sputtered in alcoholic hell, holing myself up in the basement, missing work, missing family events, missing everything.

The road to my four-year sobriety chip, just like the previous three years, requires that I pass through these other "anniversaries"- these very real, horrendous days that the residual ego in me wishes had never happened. But I MUST relive them, even if briefly. They are crucially important to remember. The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous exclaims "We shall not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it."  Damn. I would love to shut the door on some of these black milestones, and forget them forever.

But I cannot, must not. They are part of my story, and without them I would not be where I am today. They spawned my gift of desperation, so critical to my rebirth, and life beyond my greatest hopes. The past is like a rearview mirror- moving forward on the road of life, we must sometimes, albeit briefly, glance at it to keep us on the straight-and-narrow. 

Fortunately, my Octobers get easier with every passing year. The first time around the devil tortured me all month. The next year he poked at me with a blunt stick. Last year he showed up late and hurled a few lame-ass halfhearted insults before vanishing. This year, well, he is just sting there in the hunched in a corner, glaring, aware of his impotence over me, with a distressed look on his face, wondering why I don't appear intimidated. I stare back, unafraid to lock eyes with him- feeling stronger, almost confident- and chillin' with my good 'ole HP. I'm wrapped in the chainmail of my Program, with my story now immortalized in a book...and I'm feeling pretty damn solid. My devil is transparent and fading.

So,

Every October for me I pass through a "devil's countdown" ritual of sorts. And it appears its impact is lessening with each go-around.  This year, profoundly so.





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