A Story of Recovery:
Hope Hatches Amidst Death
Two days ago I walked to a nearby park for a reprieve. My mom had only days, maybe hours, left. Her periods of apnea were increasing and she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for 9 days in her coma state. I’m incredibly grateful that Hospice was able to keep her comfortable, but of course it’s still a gut wrenching process, counting the seconds between breaths, or imagining her waking with complete clarity and fear about death. Thankfully, along side the intense fear was gratitude – gratitude for the program of recovery that enabled me to take one next right action after the other in order to be of service to my mom and family, the fellowship that was and is a constant source of support, and my H.P. who I know is carrying me even though I sometimes question it.
One aspect of this trip I was especially grateful for was the 90-degree weather in which I walked. I found a delightful little park where I could sit and relax for a bit. I excitedly walked to the swings, sat, and noticed a bird about two feet from me. It was a small grey bird sitting absolutely still, but screeching nonstop; a broken wing, or a leg? I couldn’t tell. My gut was already wrenching with impending death around me, and now, this little bird too? I called my husband who told me to let it be because it could try to defend itself. I reassured him I would let it be and sarcastically told him I’m getting used to just sitting with the dying. “It’s all okay,” he told me. I didn’t understand. I know that as long as I just don’t eat all is fundamentally well, but all I thought is, “How can death be okay?”
After swinging for a bit, I continued around the perimeter of the park and discovered a little wetland where I sat and watched fish and dragonflies, listened to frogs, and watched a family of swans. After a while, I left for home. I soaked in the heat of the 90-degree day every step of the way with gratitude. I returned home and as I was completely involved in my mom’s care, I didn’t think about the bird again. My dad and I were giving her round the clock care. Looking back, I’m humbled by the hours I was up through the night and not once did I have to eat.
Two days later, I walked back to that park with my 7-year-old nephew. As I approached the swings with him I saw the same bird, still sitting, still squawking. My gut wrenched with the thought of that poor bird, sitting there helpless for two days. How could I have forgotten about it? How am I going to explain this to my nephew? He is adjusting to the idea that his grandma is not going to get better and will soon be passing. Do we really have to face the idea of this little bird suffering too? He saw the bird, and as he walked up to it I warned him that it might not be flying away because it’s hurt and not to get too close. I decided to tell him that when we got home I’d call someplace to see if they can come to help, and with that, we started to swing. He was fine. Me, I had a stomach twisting over the idea of the suffering bird that I was helpless to do anything for.
After a minute or two went by, JD stopped swinging. As he took a closer look at the bird, he called, “Auntie Shelle!” Aren’t those eggs under the bird?”
I looked in amazement. It was true. Right out there in the open, unprotected, the bird wasn’t injured or dying. It was protecting two eggs!
The bleak picture of impending death instantly turned to hope. I tried my best to hold back tears of gratitude, but my very empathic nephew I knew could tell, from the smile he gave me, how incredibly relieved I was. In an instant I realized how my perception was so wrong. It hadn’t even occurred to me that the picture I saw could have been anything other than what it was. Yet the truth proved that what I perceived as hopeless was the exact opposite; hope born in two little bird’s eggs.
Whenever I judge a situation or person in a negative way, I hope I can humbly remember how limited my perception is. It reminds me of the passage in the AA book that says, “I thought the worst thing in the world would be that I’m an alcoholic, but I found out that it’s the best thing.”
Am I grateful that I’m a food addict? Today I can say yes. It has brought me to this program of recovery that has allowed me, instead of attempting to bury my self-pity, regrets, and fear with food, to turn to people and a H.P. My sisters, father, and I all grew closer during a very stressful time. I have no doubt that if I were eating I would have been so reactive that I would have added stress and drama instead of help. My recovery has allowed me to love, and be loved. It gave me the personality and the strength to show up during the last months of my mother’s life caring for her without resentment or criticism. It’s one of the greatest gifts I’ve received so far.
I’m not saying the past eight months after my mom’s passing have been easy. Nor were the months caring for her. I ended up in the emergency room with chest pain, which turned out to be a thyroid disorder that reactivated due to the stress. I had what felt like panic attacks for the first time in my life. I questioned my recovery. The support of fellowship, my sponsor, and my H.P. carried me through it all and not once did I have to eat over any of it.
I’m so grateful for the fellowship that has gone before me abstinently and has shared their experience. Because of the program of FA, I am growing into greater love, joy, and connectedness to all around me, instead of isolating and believing the lie that eating will make me feel better. No matter how intense the sadness and fear gets, I know that prayer works, and that as long as I stay abstinent, I have hope.