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Addiction Recovery Program: How We’ll Be Spending the Next Two Years
About a month ago, just as Neil and I were preparing to move Erica to college, we received a call to meet with our Bishop. Neil had recently been released from his church responsibility and I felt for a long time that a change was coming for me, too. I had been teaching the 4 & 5 year olds for several years. When the Bishop met with us, I have to admit that my mouth literally fell open when he told us that we were being asked to serve a Church Service Mission over the Addiction Recovery Program in our area.
A few years ago, our church adapted (with permission) the Twelve Steps of the AA program and developed a 12-step addiction recovery program to encompass all addictions and addictive behaviors, not just alcoholism. The church made some slight changes to the steps, which I will cover a little later.
These meetings are FREE of charge and open to everyone, not just to members of our church.
For the next two years, Neil and I will be serving as missionaries over the program. We will be holding three different meetings: one for pornography, one for all other addictions, and one for friends and family of those addicted. If you or someone you know would like to attend, please know that everything is being done to ensure your anonymity at the meeting. Everything that takes place, including your attendance, is confidential. Please email me at [email protected] for more information, or send me a private message on Facebook. I can also help find you a meeting in your area.
*****
I will be sharing a lot about the actual program on this blog. Let me get started by showing you the difference between the first three out of twelve steps of AA and the first three out of twelve step of the ARP (Addiction Recovery Program). The goal of the program is to work on the solution, NOT to focus on the problem.
STEP ONE:
AA: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives had become unmanageable.
ARP: Admit that you, of yourself, are powerless to overcome your addictions and that your life has become unmanageable.
STEP TWO:
AA: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
ARP: Come to believe that the power of God can restore you to complete spiritual health.
STEP THREE:
AA: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
ARP: Decide to turn your will and your life over to the care of God the Eternal Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.
*****
The meetings begin this week. In the meantime, you can access the manual HERE.
Two More Suicides: An Open Letter to My Daughters
I love you so much. As you both know, there were two separate suicides this past weekend involving Duke University students. I cannot begin to understand why this keeps happening. I do not know these kids. Agee, I know you knew one of them and I am very sorry for your loss. I know that whatever interaction you had with her was full of happy and positive thoughts and feelings because I know that is the kind of person you are. You are happy all the time and you spread joy wherever you go. Riri, college life is so new to you. You won’t be immune to these terrible stories. Unfortunately, it is probably a given that this same tragedy will affect your campus while you are there.
I want to remind you of a couple of important things.
It is okay, and even part of God’s plan, to experience joy and pain in this life.
If we never experienced pain, we would never understand happiness, and vice-versa. So please remember that pain passes. It goes away. Time really does heal all wounds. You have parents and grandparents and aunts, uncles, and cousins that love you more than words can express. Any one of us would do anything at any time to help you or your friends.
Erica’s Senior Prom, April 2014 |
A sixth-grade Erica in the summer of 2007 when it was just a dream |
Love, Mommy
The Passing of Time is a Beautiful Gift
I don’t want my baby girl to ever know that after I said goodbye to her and I watched as she walked along the ivy-covered gates back to her dorm room, I cried uncontrollably. Even though I had already decided to stay in the city for nine days so that I could make sure she was settled, I don’t want her to know that I cried so hard it hurt my throat. I don’t want her to know that I could barely order my food that night because I couldn’t speak through the sobs.
comfort food from Burger/Burger |
When I visited her the next day in her dorm room, I didn’t mention that I used an entire box of tissues the night before. I didn’t want her to know that I felt like I was cheating on her when I watched our favorite TV show without her. As I lay on her bed with her and she cried, I didn’t let one tear fall as I listened to her fears. I didn’t give her any inkling that I was ready to pack her up and take her home if only she uttered the words that she didn’t want to stay.
On the third day, I didn’t see her. She was busy with orientation meetings.
I spent the morning in the Temple, the only place on this earth where there is true peace.
On the fourth day, I was in her dorm room for about two hours. I didn’t see her for more than ten minutes, though. You see, she was busy playing cards in another room with a bunch of girls while I tried unsuccessfully to install her printer.
On the fifth day, I checked out the closest Target in case she ever felt like she needed a fix. I wanted to get the route down. I tried to meet up with her to help her do her laundry, but she didn’t have time.
On the sixth day, I met her at Columbus Circle and 59th Street. Two of her friends from high school, who also are attending school in the city, met us for dinner. Her first Friday night in the Big Apple was spent having dinner with friends.
On the seventh day, she had a meeting in the morning. I met up with her later in the day, and we bopped around Chelsea and the High Line. Then she and her older sister, who had flown in for the long weekend, went back to school to hang with friends.
Artichoke Basille’s Pizza |
On the eighth day, I was informed that I needed to go to church on my own. It would have been too weird to have her mom with her at church on her first Sunday in her new YSA Ward. Later that day, both girls joined me at my hotel (which was a forty-five minute train ride away) for a sleepover. We journeyed to the 9/11 Memorial, and this time we shed tears of sadness for a different reason.
On the ninth day, we shopped and shopped and ate and shopped. The three of us spent the day just as if nothing were different. Their good friend met us for some pizza and more shopping. I went back with them to the dorm room and finally did her laundry. I said goodbye that night as they walked me to the subway entrance. I had to catch a plane for home the next morning. As I gave her a kiss through her thick, dark hair, she was fine. I was fine. Time had passed, and we knew that everything was going to be okay.
But He WAS Getting Help and He Did it Anyway: How What I Learned from My Friend’s Suicide is Helping Me Cope with Robin Williams’ Death
It’s so ironic to me that my last post was about a definitive movie from my daughters’ childhood and how that movie helped me decide to peel back my layers and write about things that really matter to me. I mentioned that one of my upcoming posts would be about my friend’s suicide. All day today another quote from a different movie from girls’ childhood resonated in my head:
“Genie! Of! The Lamp!”
photo: http://chicagoreader.com |
I can hear Genie from Aladdin (a.k.a. Robin Williams) saying it over and over and over again. A little more than twenty four hours ago Neil told me that Robin Williams died. He killed himself.
I immediately told him to put on CNN and then I watched and listened and watched some more. All of the talking heads were discussing Robin’s battles with addiction and kept mentioning the fact that his publicist released a statement in the wake of his death saying that Robin was seeking help for deep depression. The pundits encouraged anyone watching who was currently battling similar demons to seek help…suicide is not the answer. However, even though they said Robin was seeking help and they were encouraging others to do the same, they never acknowledged the fact that even though Robin Williams was seeking help, he killed himself anyway.
Does getting help matter? Does it make a difference? Does it change a person’s mind once that person’s mind is made up? Let me tell you my experience.
When my daughter Adrienne was in fourth grade, she was diagnosed with mono and missed about one month of school. Every day after school, I would meet the school bus to pick up my youngest daughter Erica and at the same time, I would exchange folders with one of Adrienne’s classmates: she handed me the work Adrienne missed that day, and I handed her Adrienne’s completed assignments. She was so kind to turn in Adrienne’s make-up work and to pick up the stuff Adrienne needed to do at home. As a result, our family became friendly with this lovely little fourth grader and her parents. She was an only child and her mom and dad were wonderful. Once Adrienne recovered and began attending school again, we would often meet for smoothies after school with them. We bonded.
Summer came and my friend and her daughter travelled overseas for a month while the dad stayed home. We were about to leave on vacation when it was time for them to return. I called the dad to say goodbye and that we were sorry that we would be missing his wife and daughter upon their return; our vacations overlapped. He informed me that his wife and daughter wouldn’t be returning until the end of the summer. His wife met another man and filed for divorce. Just. Like. That. I was so confused. Obviously, the family I thought we bonded with was not the family I thought they were.
Shortly before school began, my friend returned with her sweet daughter as a completely different person. She had a lover, she started smoking like a fiend, she divorced her husband faster than anyone I had ever known, and she informed me that the lover whom she had just met was leaving his life behind in that foreign country to come to America to marry her. Whoa. I didn’t know how to comprehend any of this.
As the school year progressed, the mom’s behavior became strange. She spent money like crazy. She threw lavish parties. She gained weight; so much so that I asked her if she was pregnant. She planned a wedding before the ink was dry on her divorce papers. She would show up at my front door unannounced. I felt like I was being swallowed by this woman. She was not the same person I met at the bus stop just a few months earlier. It was okay with me that she became a different person, but what I didn’t like was that she assumed I would go along on the ride with her. She changed, but I didn’t. I was still the same person, but she wasn’t. She morphed into someone I never would have befriended or allowed into my life. I tried to give her what she needed. I tried to be a good friend, but I will be the first to admit it was difficult. Fifth grade ended and so did her contact with me.
Sixth grade came and went without her speaking to me. We would see each other at school events and she would barely look at me. She was rail thin. I knew something was wrong with her, but I couldn’t bring myself to take hold of her problems. I couldn’t allow myself to let her back into my life. I always desire to be a good friend to people, but I have to draw the line if and when the relationship is detrimental to my health and to my family’s well-being. (I was enduring my own problems at the time, which I will write about one day.)
As soon as sixth grade ended, I began a math class as part of my master’s program. It was a two-week long intensive course that went all day every day for two weeks. My girls went to “Grandmom and Grandpop Summer Camp” at my parent’s house every day while I was in school. Neil would go there for dinner every night. The girls were having a great time, Neil was eating a healthy dinner, and I was able to be free to attend the class and do all of the work involved.
One night Neil told me that my dad and my brother were really late to dinner because they were caught in a really bad traffic jam. A train had derailed and it was causing all kinds of chaos.
The following evening, I went to my parent’s house for dinner after my class. I was outside by the pool with my girls when my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor, who coincidentally had a friend who lived next door to my former friend’s now ex-husband. I dropped to me knees when she told me the news because I immediately put two and two together. I wanted to vomit. The train accident that had delayed my brother and my father the night before was because of my former friend. She parked her car at a vegetable stand. A witness saw her walk onto the tracks. The witness saw her make the sign of the cross. The train didn’t stop in time.
Several times during our friendship she told me that she had contemplated suicide. However, each time she mentioned it, she always ended the conversation by saying she would never follow through because one of our daughters’ classmate’s father had committed suicide and she said she never wanted her daughter to endure what that poor classmate had to endure. I listened. And listened some more. When she told me it was something she would never do, I did not have any evidence to support the fact that she wasn’t telling me the truth. I screamed when I heard the news because she told me she would never do it. She lied.
I talked to a professional about the situation and he gave me some very helpful insight. He told me about the time during his training that he spent observing suicidal patients. He said that most patients who attempt suicide don’t really want to die. They want to come back to life and talk about it. They are happy they lived. However, he also told me that when a person makes up his or her mind to do it, nothing can stop it. He said that even people on 24 hour suicide watch have successfully killed themselves.
What I took away from all of this is that the mind is a part of our body unto itself, just like an organ or an extremity; a hand, a liver, a foot. We can’t physically see the mind, so when it is broken, it is difficult to fix. Just think about all of the thoughts your mind has in one split second. It isn’t surprising to me that so many minds are broken. They try and try, like Robin did, but no matter what they do, the mind wins. I don’t know the answers. All I know is that everyone has a cross to bear in this life; some seen, some unseen. I learned that even if I continued our friendship, I have no guarantee that she wouldn’t have walked onto those tracks on that hot summer evening. Her mind was in control and I will be the first to admit that I couldn’t do anything to help her stop it. Her mind won, and so did Robin’s.
He was seeking help, but he did it anyway.
(If you know anyone who can benefit from this experience, please feel free to share on Facebook by clicking on the little Facebook “F” icon at the very bottom of this post, under the “You Might Also Like” section.)