An Inconvenient Meeting
A group of AA men finds openness and acceptance
Several years ago, my sponsor, Michael, told me about
a meeting he and another friend of ours had started
and "asked" me if I would like to be a part of it. The
meeting was at the home of Steve S., an AA whom I'd seen at
a few meetings, and was being held
at noon every Wednesday. Steve was relatively young—in his early 40s—and had been sober for just about
a year when he learned he had a progressive neuromuscular disorder, the first
stages of which confined him to a wheelchair.
I would like to say that I enthusiastically jumped at the chance to carry the message to
someone who was nearly homebound. However, few things could be further from
the truth. My first thoughts were of myself and what an inconvenience it would be for
me. Thoughts
like: I work from home and Steve's
place isn't really very close. It's right
in the middle of the workday. Think
of the money I'll lose by being away.
Couldn't someone else do it? ran
through my mind. Thankfully I had
learned a little bit about restraint of
tongue and pen in my time in AA
and chose not to give voice to those
thoughts (although I scribbled many
of them in my journal). Like so many
other things my sponsor has suggested, I begrudgingly agreed to be
there when I could.
I didn't even consider until
much later how difficult it must be
to be confined to a wheelchair, facing a future that—from a purely
physical standpoint at least—was as
grim as one could imagine, or how
lonely it must be to be stuck at home
with only a caretaker for company.
And this was all during Steve's early
sobriety, too.
There was no way of knowing
at the time how that meeting would
grow and evolve over the next six
years—and change all of us for the
better. I think it would be accurate
to say that the cumulative effect of
those Wednesday meetings has been
the most profound and enlightening
of my 22 years in AA, and possibly
my entire life.
Steve—or Siggy, as he liked to
be called—had a naturally outgoing personality and made friends
as easily as anyone I've ever met.
He always greeted us with his huge,
trademark smile, and it was easy to
see he was delighted to have us over.
It didn't take long for that feeling to
become mutual.
We dubbed the meeting the
"Siggy One Group" and referred to it
as "the best damn meeting this side
of the Mississippi." It was a men's
meeting—or, as we liked to joke, "No
gurls allowed"—and could go from
being vulgarly irreverent to shockingly sublime in the blink of an eye.
A depth of sharing and an openness
and transparency developed among
that group of guys that I've not experienced in any other group setting.
One meeting in particular is memorable. A member of our group shared,
in tears, about learning that his wife
had been diagnosed with cancer and
that their dog had gotten sick and
died. The level of acceptance and
love in that room was healing and
inspiring for us all.
Because of space limitations,
it was a small group—there were
usually between three and six attendees. Once, this past summer,
it was just Steve and me. He was
bedridden then and unable to talk,
so I read from the Big Book and
"Twelve and Twelve" and then sat
in the silence between readings,
presumably to allow his spirit to
communicate with mine. I've had
very few of what I would call 'spiritual experiences" during my time in
AA, however, that day sure seemed
like one.
It was also this past summer
that Jeff, who was Steve's sponsor,
shared with us a truly inspiring
story. Apparently when Steve first
learned of his illness and was given
an idea of what to expect, he told
Jeff that he was going to do whatever it took to stay clean and sober
throughout the ordeal. In my view,
if any recovered alcoholic ever had
a legitimate reason for drinking
again, it was Steve. Last August,
while confined to his bed and unable to speak, he celebrated eight
years of sobriety.
During the last few months,
Steve's health deteriorated ever
more rapidly. Save for the occasional
smiles, which were priceless to us by
then, he was unable to communicate
at all. It was extremely difficult to
watch a friend suffer like that. Then
one Monday I got the call from Michael saying that Stephen had passed
away peacefully that morning. Even
though we knew it was inevitable,
and I was happy that Steve was relieved of his suffering, I was stunned
beyond words.
Over the next few days, I offered
up many prayers for Stephen, his
family and all of the members of the
Siggy One Group. And on Wednesday, at around noon, I found myself
nearly overwhelmed with the emotions of having said goodbye to a
dear friend and the tremendous appreciation for the gift of the fellowship of the spirit.
As I recall how much I struggled
with the idea of attending that meeting in the early days, and weigh the
effort (a couple of hours a week) with
what was gained (immeasurable), it
becomes once again obvious that I
don't know what's best for me. I'd be
happy to tell you what I want, but I
don't know what I need. My life is
no more manageable by me today
than it was when I first got sober in
AA. Yet if I can remember to ask for
God's grace to help me get out of my
own way, and give up the business
of managing my own life, I'll have a
shot at experiencing the joy of good
living that our literature talks about.
That's an invaluable lesson, thanks
to Steve and the rest of the guys at
the Siggy One meeting.
Joe S.
Shawnee, Kan.
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