The Sweet Smell of Whiskey

My heart was broken last night. Visiting a little too long outside before finding a seat at my home group, I rushed inside. I was glad to see one fellow member there that I had missed seeing lately, and it was obvious that he was hurting. I automatically took my purse off the chair beside me and set it on the floor, then patted the seat to indicate that he could come sit by me. As soon as he sat down, I knew—whiskey. Whiskey had entered our meeting with my friend. Only the previous meeting, I had shared that the surefire way that I could experience overwhelming, sincere gratitude was to remember how I felt my last day drinking.