Monthly Archives: October 2016

Lost and found

There we were, both of us, four decades later, in the bottom of the lost and found bin in my high school cafeteria. Weathered by the ravages of the paths we’d chosen, we were the oldest survivors in attendance and certainly the most thankful, at least in our own eyes.

It’s one thing to find a lost friend and entirely another to be found by one.

She’d no idea how many times I’d thought about her over the past 40 years as she made her way across the maze of tiny chairs and unsuspecting classmates in the festive room. She reintroduced herself with the only five words I will most clearly remember from that evening and perhaps for the remainder of my life.

“You probably don’t remember me.”

I cut her off at the fourth, said her name, and hugged her like she was my best friend. Truth is, she never really was, but she’d been a long lost acquaintance in the truest sense and I was relieved to find we’d both survived.

It was the 40th anniversary of the opening of our high school with alumni of all years in attendance. And despite the event being prepaid, ticketed and on my calendar for two months, I’d spent most of the day attempting convincing excuses in the mirror on why I was unable to go. Once the social king who wooed factions and cliques for my candidacy as student body president, I’d met her many times, during most of which she was never completely there.

She was 23 years smarter than me, having surrendered her addiction twenty eight against my small handful but what mattered most was that we’d both been lost, but now were found and we both were there to meet again and share our stories, if only briefly.

By her own admission last night, she was high as a kite during all of high school and probably many years prior. I know nothing of the precipitating events which had led her to such an empty young existence but then again, she knew nothing of mine, and it really didn’t matter. That’s the way it is with addicts. Looking back isn’t the way we roll.

A master of disguise at an early age, I had all the makings of an unrealized addict nesting unknown secrets for the sake of popularity, acceptance and political gain. In high school, you don’t see how or when it will all come together, but it inevitably does, and did, at least once each for the two of us and likely for dozens more who were there still in hiding with secrets of their own last night. Sadly so, also for some who couldn’t make it for the sheer fact they simply didn’t make it this far in life. Addiction has an indiscriminate way of taking friends and soulmates to the great beyond well before their years and maturities can catch up.

At my table, the conversation of the dead rattled off the names of countless classmate victims. Two shared their very personal stories of close friends and lovers who found sobriety too late. To my amazement, they shared having read my many testimonies recounting a miserable eight years on meth during their lowest times and the spark of hope and understanding my stories had ignited for their own healing. We made promises to continue the discussion first hand over the upcoming holidays.

And it was at that moment that no one there knew the joy I felt when our two names were not among the casualties.

The lost and found bin of high school is the possessor of both heartbreaks and joys. But as we say in recovery, “Keep coming back and you’ll find it.” And I suspect that’s why we both were there last night, found and intact forty years later.

Surely, I’m not the only one.

Surely, I’m not the only one.

For most of my life, things have always seemed secure and generally routine.  The world’s tragedies were things delivered to my doorstep once a day by the 5am paperboy. More detailed news was something I voluntarily walked to the TV to turn on. There were no remotes. Tragic news didn’t wake me from my sleep via smartphone and even later when I could afford a computer, it didn’t erupt onscreen with images of devastation, tragedy and world corruption without my search or consent.  Fewer and fewer remember those days not so long ago when the world at least seemed more stable and predictable.

It happened again yesterday, twice.

Maybe it was since 9/11 or even a little before, but that seems a good marker for when the world as I knew it changed. The reality that my country, town and family were no longer shielded from the unpredictable became the new order of thinking. Then all the mass shootings, the waves of home invasions, news of meteoric threats to our planet, notifications of natural disasters within seconds of happening and acts of sheer terrorism were suddenly off the charts, occurring in places nearby we all thought were surely off limits.

I was driving home yesterday when the second moment hit.

Same as the first, there was nothing particularly different.  In traffic, music low and about three miles from putting my feet up after a long but productive day at work, it was quick, fleeting and uninvited.  That CVS there could suddenly blow up.  What if North Korea got a hand up this time and one was incoming, destined for the valley in front of me in ten…nine…eight…?  That guy in my parking lot looks suspicious, perhaps lying in wait to gun me down and take my car and my future.  I even shot a glance to the sky when the reflection of a plane-that-might explode mid-air caught my eye. Where are my kids right now?  Did I tell them I love them when we talked last? Crazy invasive flashes of tragedy to paralyze me for a brief instant as I turned down the radio and cracked open my window in hopes they’ll evacuate my mind and fly out.

But I’m not crazy, and surely, I’m not the only one.

Each time, the moment passes. I relax back to finish the drive home and wonder. This is America, but not the same America I used to feel confident affording me the protections against these kinds of threats that must happen a hundred times more often to those in third world countries and nations like Syria and less stable others of the middle east where driving home from work is a daily unpredictable fear and arriving home could easily find it and your family obliterated by tragedy created by evil men with guns and bombs and ideologies.  It’s hard to imagine what a daily reality like that might be like.  Crazy, but I think I’m starting to.

I’m not the fearful type.  My time to go will be my time and I know where I will land afterward.  But the encroachment of evil is happening more rapidly than any time before, a record pace in our American history, and to date, my crazy little moments of doom-wondering  pass, but for how much longer?

Odds are, there will come the day when what I’ve only imagined walks right up to the door of my own home or the corner CVS and knocks or opens fire on my secure little mind, and surely, I will not be the only one left wondering if I was actually crazier to believe otherwise.