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Bonus Articles
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The Holiday Spirit
Who's got time to go to a meeting?
Why I decided to go to an AA meeting that
Christmas Day in 1988, I don’t remember. I didn’t make a
conscious decision about it; I just kind of murmured to my wife that I
thought I’d catch a noon meeting and that I would be home shortly
afterward, never expecting the events that lay ahead.
Now, it wasn’t as if I had nothing else on the
fire, so to speak. Our children and the grandkids were due to arrive for
dinner at two in the afternoon, my mother was bringing the usual sweet
potato casserole, and I wanted to visit with her. Besides, I love
professional football and television programming was going to be full of it
that day. There were a lot of things to occupy my time besides AA, and yet
noon found me climbing the steps at my home group.
Evidently, several others had gotten the same idea; the
hall was full, including an Al-Anon meeting in the big back room. The AA
meeting was about to start when the door opened and there were two
red-headed ladies: One was leading, almost dragging, the taller of the two.
“My name’s Rachel,” she said to no
one in particular, “and this is my friend, Melinda. She needs a First
Step meeting!” This last statement seemed unnecessary, as it was
apparent, even to the untrained eye, that this creature was in a bad place.
Her baggy jeans and tattered sweatshirt were filthy. She wore no socks and
her dirty canvas sneakers had no laces. Her arms were covered with open
sores and bruises and her dark red hair was matted with what appeared to be
dried blood. I still remember her ashen complexion and sunken eyes. She was
horribly thin. And she smelled — her clothes reeked of dried urine
and other, less unidentifiable, odors. She seemed embarrassed about it,
preferring to stay by the door.
Someone asked for volunteers for the First Step
meeting. I raised my hand as I always did. I enjoy First Step
meetings, since they help me reflect on my past and remind me of how far I
have come and just how fragile this thing called sobriety is. Experience
has taught us that there is nothing more effective in dealing with the
alcoholic than one drunk talking with another.
At any rate, someone handed me the basket, and four or
five other people joined me and the two red-headed women. The newcomer,
Melinda, was chain-smoking, and someone brought an ashtray from the big
room for her to use. I opened the meeting with the AA Preamble and reminded
everyone that this was a First Step meeting and suggested that Melinda
listen to the others tell of their past experiences and see if she might
relate to something they said, and then we’d like to hear from her if
she wished to talk.
One by one, the others began to share their
experience, strength, and hope. When it was my turn to speak, a sudden,
overwhelming thought came to me: “If this lady doesn’t get help
here and now, she will surely die!”
Urgently, I began to try to convince her to give AA a
try. I remember explaining that we suffered from a disease; that we
weren’t bad people needing to be good, but rather sick people who
needed help recovering. I talked, I pleaded, I almost begged. Finally, when
I had said everything I could think of, I concluded, “You know,
you’re just going to have to learn to trust someone one of these
days!”
Things were quiet for a second and then she said
something I’ll never forget. If I close my eyes, even now, I can see
her saying, “I’ll trust you.” That hit me like someone
had punched me in the chest, and it took awhile for me to respond.
“There are some things we can help you
with,” I finally told her, “and some things we can’t. You
have some physical problems that need to be addressed first and then we can
work on the rest.” It turned out that her husband, because he was in
the Air Force, had good health insurance, and I was able to convince her
that it would be best at this stage to seek professional help for both her
physical and emotional problems.
We took her to a local treatment center without much
difficulty, and I told her I wasn’t going to just drop her off and
forget about her. If she needed someone to talk to besides her friend,
I’d be available for her. I gave her my home phone number.
Thinking no more about it, I went home and relaxed with
the family. At 3:00 a.m., the phone rang and it was Melinda. She was lonely and scared. She
said she thought she was making a big mistake. After much urging from me,
she decided to stick it out that day. She called the next day, and the
next. When she stopped calling, I became concerned.
A few weeks later, while attending a Big Book meeting,
I looked up and there she was. She appeared to be a completely different
person. Dressed neatly, her hair combed, she had a fresh-scrubbed look
about her. She beamed when she saw me.
She told me that she and her husband had worked things
out; she’d been busy getting reacquainted with her little boy and
starting a new job. Several weeks later, she told me that the Air
Force was transferring them to a base in Alaska, and she was excited,
although saddened at the prospect of leaving family and friends.
A good many years have passed since that episode, but
it is the first thing I am reminded of when the subject of Christmas comes
up, rather than memories of family or childhood. I find it absolutely
fascinating that I had to come to AA to find the true spirit of Christmas
and be reminded not of anything I might have done for her, but what she did
for me.
Roger H., Merriam, Kansas
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