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We are also interested in essays about pagans in recovery. We invite input from counselors, priests, rehab center staff and others who wish to share their perspective, if they are in recovery or not (or pagan, or not). In the very near future we will be looking for the same for a book on pagan recovery. Points to consider:
2. What conflicts did you see between paganism and the prevailing spiritual beliefs? 3. One need not be pagan; in fact, a pagan friendly viewpoint from a non-pagan professional is welcomed 4. Length of 30,000 words or less
Pagans in Recovery (Version 2.6)
Like many people in the helping professions, I grew up in a dysfunctional family, the child of parents who grew up in severely dysfunctional ones. I had a number of unpleasant things happen to me as a child and became an anorexic (yes, it happens to boys too). I've got most of the personality characteristics of people from such backgrounds: low self-esteem, a fear of both failure and success, a tendency to attract and be attracted to people from similar backgrounds, compulsive rescuing, a terror of making mistakes (which leads to thirty years of writer's block), an unwillingness to ask for what I need, a habit of reinacting my childhood abuse and my parents' dysfunctional behaviors, etc. For a few years, my co-dependent, enabling behavior towards a best friend's alcoholism almost destroyed A.D.F. In 1990, my son Arthur was born and I became determined to break the cycles of dysfunction. I would guesstimate that if we added up all of the Neopagans who are current or recovering alcoholics or drug addicts, adult children of alcoholics and/or drug addicts, adult survivors of childhood abuse (physical, emotional, spiritual and/or sexual), have eating disorders (such as anorexia or compulsive overeating), who are sex and/or love addicts, etc., that we would wind up with 95% of the entire Neopagan community - and 150% of our clergy. Of course, these figures are true for many American religious communities, we probably just tend to hide it less. I know someone who used to teach a workshop at Pagan festivals called, "Why oldest daughters of alcoholic fathers become high priestesses." She said that she had modified it only slightly from one she had done previously for women who become nurses or social workers. I suspect that most of us in our overlapping subcultures - Neopagans, science fiction fans, renn-faire roadies, medievalists, computer techies, Mensa members, etc. - suffer from Asperger's Syndrome ("A.S."). This is a multi-syndrome subtype of mild autism, characterized by: * high intelligence and creativity, When you combine all those characteristics, A.S. seems to equal I.N.S. (or "Incipient Nerd Syndrome") and much of the bizarre personal behavior and miscommunication that plagues our communities suddenly becomes understandable - not to mention the oh-so-common "cluelessness" that characterizes many of our best known members! Many people with A.S. (or just plain A.D.H.D.) do what's called "self-medicating" with alcohol, drugs, or other endorphin-raising activities, because they have no access to (or no understanding of the need for) appropriate medications that could be administered under the supervision of a healing professional. Unfortunately, that self-medicating can be a very slippery slope indeed, often leading to addictions and/or obsessions that can destroy lives. A major irony, of course, is that other forms of self-medication include meditation, prayer, and other spiritual disciplines. Here's some definitions I've found useful: "addictive behavior is the compulsive use of destructive substances or behaviors to relieve, temporarily, the psychological pain that arises from abuse, or deprivation of basic needs, in early childhood" (from a group called W.E.B.S.) "Toxic shame is the core of addiction" and compulsive/addictive behavior is "a pathological relationship to any mood-altering experience that has life-damaging consequences." (both from John Bradshaw, Healing the Shame that Binds You.) Our community's Dionysian reaction against the Apollonian asceticism of the mainstream religions has been used by many of us to excuse substance abuse and compulsive/addictive behaviors. This reaction was justified, but the dualistic extremes which many of us reached have caused great pain to ourselves and our loved ones. Before Matthew Fox, the heretic Roman Catholic priest who invented Creation Spirituality, was officially "silenced" by the Vatican, he wrote and published a brilliant open letter to Grand Inquisitor Ratzinger called, "Is the Catholic Church Today a Dysfunctional Family?" (Creation Spirituality, Nov./Dec. 1988). He showed just how easy it is for a religious organization to become as crazy as an alcoholic family, when its leaders and members don't pay attention to their personal power and control issues. It's not surprising that they defrocked and purged him later, and it's even less surprising that the Catholic Church's reaction to current scandals has been primarily denial and the blaming of their victims. Dealing with these issues has become increasingly important, not just to me, but to the entire Neopagan community. Thinking about all of this finally got me to join a "Twelve Step" group. I'd been familiar with the Twelve Step programs, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Overeaters Anonymous, Al-Anon and Alateen, Sex Addicts Anonymous, etc., for several years, having some friends involved in them. Participating from the inside was a revelation. I discovered many other people who couldn't remember most of their childhood, who were filled with inexpressible emotions, who could never find the right Mother's Day or Father's Day card to send because they all seem inappropriate for the dysfunctional parents they remembered, etc. There are definite problems with the Twelve Step programs as they currently exist. Perhaps the major one for a Neopagan is the fact that, despite an officially "nondenominational" position, most interpretations of the program use mainstream monotheistic language when talking about the divine. The overwhelming majority of Twelve Steppers talk about an omnipotent, transcendent, single, male deity as their "Higher Power." The underlying theology is guilt-based and emphasizes the powerlessness of the individual in the face of addiction and/or obsession. Most programs end meetings with Christian prayers, despite the fact that, officially, they aren't supposed to. These problems have long been used by some Neopagans to avoid getting the help they need. I won't go into a missionary trip about the Twelve Step programs. They have their weaknesses (mostly polytheological), but they are nevertheless the most powerful and effective systems I have seen for healing the inner child and giving the adult appropriate life skills. I believe that all of us, especially the clergy, could learn a lot from them. In time we will create our own versions that are more in keeping with Pagan principles and beliefs. Meanwhile, there is nothing better available for those of us who are in pain from addiction, obsession, and/or victimization issues. There are plenty of Pagans working with the programs now. In fact, just about every festival I've been to in the last several years has had Pagan Twelve Step meetings. These are usually multi-program meetings (people from A.A., O.A., N.A., Al-Anon, etc.) devoted to discussions of how the Twelve Steps can be adapted by Neopagans. There are even support groups meeting in local occult stores. Anodea Judith, author of Wheels of Life: A User's Guide to the Chakra System (which I highly recommend), has done much research and writing on "A Pagan Approach to the Twelve Step Programs." Many Neopagan organizations are now dealing with issues of addiction and obsession, and/or requiring their clergy to learn about these issues. So I can't recommend highly enough an unfairly obscure (one might almost say "Anonymous") Neopagan publication called Pagans In Recovery. This quarterly newsletter is now defunct, but carried many articles and stories of value to the Pagan 12-Step community. I hope to set up a P.I.R. section here someday on neopagan.net where the best of their publishing run will be available online, along with new materials--yet another plan that needs an intern! If you know of other Pagan-based recovery groups and publications, be sure to let me know about them. If any of you would like to write an article on how Neopagan polytheology can work with a recovery model, send it in to your favorite Neopagan publication, and to me. To those of you who are struggling to resolve these issues in your lives, remember: you are not alone.
Recovery and Religion: A Pagan Speaks Out
One major emphasis of the Twelve Steps is the use of prayer. For the Pagan, for whom deity is manifested within as well as without, listening to the self is indispensable for making healthy decisions and choices. Pagans may practice prayer - for what is prayer but a way to talk to the gods? - but do not rely upon prayer alone. Another primary principle of the Twelve Steps is that "We are powerless over people, places, and things." As a Pagan I feel this to be inaccurate. Pagans are aware of the operation of karmic law, by which their actions and choices affect the universe; and as practitioners of magick, we are aware of our ability to cause change. Thirdly, the language of the Steps refers to deity exclusively as singular and masculine. To read and participate in this language, a person used to the Pagan worldview must continually perform a sort of mental "translation." However in my experience the language is not a significant obstacle. What creates perhaps the most difficulty for the Pagan is that members of Twelve-Step programs can be extremely intolerant of religious differences, as reflected in our society at large. Nor do members practice its traditions perfectly as intended by the movement's founders. The Pagan in AA may be faced with a form of informal discrimination that says, "You must practice our religion to get sober." Well, any alcoholic hitting bottom, Pagan or no, may be open-minded enough to try this. They may find, as I did, that there are problems caused by religious difficulties sooner or later. I rendered much service for AA during my first years, and it is partly to this that I owe my continuing sobriety. I thought that perhaps I might someday convert to Christianity, and become involved with a church as so many others in AA had - but I never once felt inclined to practice Christianity, either in addition to or instead of my deeply held Pagan beliefs. For years I was entirely silent about my Paganism. What helped me was that my first AA sponsor, though not Pagan per se, was actually interested in Paganism. I cannot help but see the hand of the Goddess placing this person in my life at a very critical point. When I told her I was Pagan, my sponsor was interested in learning more. She later told me that what I had said had influenced her own religious practices. Even while heavily involved in AA, I did not stop being Pagan. Paganism is not just something you practice; it's something you are. For me, the God so frequently mentioned in AA was always Goddess. In sobriety I have since renewed my Pagan practices and embraced a more pantheistic worldview of the God, the Goddess, and their different aspects. Even this is not a matter of conscious choice; it is the way I experience deity. When I attend an AA meeting, I am aware that my own beliefs sometimes differ greatly from those stated - but I must participate as if they were the same in order to avoid disturbing those present who may be in dire need of help. AA traditions state that controversy and religious dissent are to be avoided, especially during meetings. The program was also designed to reduce problems for agnostics by making deity less specific, or non-mandatory as it were. For example, there is an informal saying in AA, familiar to many, that for the newcomer any higher power will do - even a "doorknob." But even so, the Pagan is left to resolve the discrepancy between the Christian and Pagan concepts of deity. I've heard that Pagans sometimes fear an unintentional slip of the tongue that will expose their differing concept of deity. This is always a possibility for a Pagan in a Twelve-Step program, but it happened to me only once during a meeting. With the issue of religious tolerance on my mind, I discussed how important it was to me to have the loophole of "God as we understand Him" in the AA program. However, a Christian friend of mine had evidently heard something in my words to remind her of an experience she'd had in a city where some Pagans live. She said that she'd been at a meeting where Pagans were present - and that their god was a "doorknob." She did not say it kindly. After nearly ten years of participation and active service for AA, I was left with the feeling that my spiritual life - and therefore my very self - was still unacceptable within it. Practicing Christians in AA tend to look upon others who stay on neutral religious ground as "spiritual kindergarteners." These Christians apparently believe that those members who eschew the term God for higher power are people who have simply not yet formed a relationship with the Christian god. My second sponsor in AA evidently believed this of me. One day I told her that I was Pagan, but she seemed confused by the term and did not ask for any explanation. I have recently heard some discussion among Pagans as to whether the gods may be considered manifestations of another religion's "One True God," an idea I find condescending and with which I cannot agree at all. I tend to base my beliefs on what I experience personally, and I simply do not have any monotheistic perception of deity. I have intensely personal relationships with certain gods and accept these individual experiences just as they are. I prefer not to over-interpret these experiences for myself; much less would I permit someone else to define them absolutely. But it is also true that my experiences of the gods are similar to the experiences of other Pagans. It is for this and other reasons that I identify myself unequivocally as Pagan. Despite religious differences, AA can and does work for any number of different kinds of people. I am one of them. I do not count myself unique in this regard, and do not ask why I was chosen to be one of the people saved from alcoholism. I simply thank my higher powers, whom I call the gods, from the bottom of my heart. And then I am faced with creating a solution. Can we change AA? AA tenets and AA language are almost too entrenched within the movement to be challenged. Confronting religious preaching in AA is risky business, without significant support from fellow AA members. It's the same reason why Pagans in general often choose to practice their religion hidden from view - to avoid pervasive misunderstanding or bigotry in the larger society. I believe one solution to be the formation of a network of Pagans who participate in AA, lending support to one another: exchanging phone numbers, holding meetings together - where they may comfortably discuss their relationship with deity. I have been successful in beginning a few alliances that will hopefully become the beginnings of such a network, if only in my own "backyard."
This is an oversimplification, of course, but it is essentially true. With a few exceptions, the martial arts techniques that I practice as a black belt are the same as those I learned as a white belt. The only difference is that I practice them faster, harder and in more diverse combinations. But all of that comes simply from continued and diligent practice of the basics. The same holds true in recovery. There is no "Advanced Sobriety." The person with 20 years clean and sober stays that way by doing exactly what the person with 20 days does. We joke that the person with the most sobriety is the one who got up earliest on any given day, but there is more than a grain of truth in that joke. What really sets apart the person with long-term sobriety or the experienced martial artist is not possession of arcane knowledge. Rather, I believe that such people have practiced their chosen "craft" with such diligence and dedication that they have truly come to "own" that craft, uniquely, individually and personally. Most such people would deny this, and insist that they are still struggling with the basics. But to those of us who watch them on the mat, in a meeting, or in the course of their daily lives, their mastery is readily apparent. My ju jitsu Sensei told me, at the time of my promotion to 3rd degree brown belt, that the real challenge from that point forward was to "make the art my own." And it took quite a while before I began to understand what he was suggesting. He wasn't urging me to go out and start my own school, or create my own "style." Now that I was reasonably competent at the basics, Sensei was suggesting that I focus more of my energy and attention on fully integrating those basics into my own body-mind-spirit complex. Just as no two people stay sober the same way, no two people execute 'o soto gari' (greater outside reap) in the same manner. And yet, as beginners, we are guided by more experienced practitioners to do it this way, not that way, because the more experienced people have made all the mistakes we have yet to make, and they know, in a broad sense, what does and doesn't work for the majority of beginners. So, in effect, we first learn how to do things somebody else's way. In time, as our competence at the basics increases, we begin to make small changes that make things work better for us. I was blessed to have a Sensei who didn't insist that there was "one right, true and only way" to practice ju jitsu. Yes, there are boundaries-you can only change something so much before it becomes something else entirely. But within broad parameters, Sensei encouraged us to adapt techniques so that they worked for us as individuals. You see, Sensei was more interested in results than in slavish devotion to rote tradition. What good is it to mimic an "ancient and venerable" technique perfectly, if that mimicry is ultimately uncomfortable and unreliable in a real-life self-defense situation? Sensei felt it was better to make minor changes so that the technique worked when needed for each individual, than to worry about "preserving tradition." But please don't think that Sensei is an iconoclast - he remains very devoted to his tradition. He merely tempers that devotion with pragmatism and concern for the survivability of his students. Similarly, I have been blessed to have a very enlightened sponsor in recovery. While, in many ways, he is an "AA Fundamentalist, " he also acknowledges that we are all individuals, and that a sustainable recovery program comes from harmony, not antagonism, between that individuality and the "suggestions" of the 12 Step program. It is the cultivation of that harmony that marks "Advanced Sobriety, " not the revelation of hidden truths. I see the Craft in much the same way as I do the martial arts and recovery. While there are Mysteries, there aren't any mysteries. Everything you will ever need to know to practice the outward aspects of Wicca you can get from a good selection of books from your local metaphysical bookstore. Of course, that doesn't guarantee that you will be Initiated into the Mysteries at some point, but then some people dedicate years to the serious study of the Craft within the structure of a coven, and are never Initiated. The Initiation I refer to is not that granted by a coven, but rather that Initiation that can only be conferred by the Gods. Similarly, the Mysteries cannot be communicated in words, but must be experienced by the Initiate. As someone once said, "When It happens, you will know It!" This is analogous to the sublime moment in each martial artists life when they execute "The Perfect Technique, " or the moment in recovery when someone "Gets It." You can talk about it all you want afterward, but you will never be able to adequately capture in mere words the sublimity of that moment. People have accused me of being too "Zen" about the Craft. I suppose there is some truth to that. My approach to the Craft is certainly colored by years of exposure to Zen and Taoism. I find that, for me, "less is more." I still enjoy a "full blown" ritual every now and then, but for the most part my private rituals tend to be pretty minimalist. And yet, I find them quite powerful and moving. For me, "Advanced Wicca" is not about bigger, more intricate rituals. It is about coming more fully into harmony with our chosen way, and how does one "teach" that? There is no way that I am aware of, other than to insist that the student practice the basics over and over and over again, until they are absolutely sick of them, and then make them practice some more. In some areas, we call that "discipline." Some Pagans don't like that word, because it smacks of "power over." But the discipline with which I practice the martial arts, recovery and the Craft is not imposed on me from without, and I don't practice it for somebody else's benefit. It is something I have chosen to do for myself. If there is anything that I think our Elders need to teach openly and strongly in the community, it is the importance of balancing a disciplined commitment to the basics with an "individualization" of the Craft. Rooted firmly in the basics, with room and encouragement to grow into her or his True Power, the novice will blossom into a fully integrated Witch. Personally, I'd like to see a little more emphasis on dedication, discipline, study, work and all those other nasty words that the bulk of "Wicca 101" books seem to avoid like the plague. Nor do I automatically fault the authors. I think a good deal of the responsibility lies with the editors and publishers. And, to a point, I can understand that. When you are trying to sell to the widest possible audience, its financial suicide to alienate that audience by taking a hard-line stance on anything that might be controversial. Like hard work and discipline. On the other hand, one benefit that lies in the huge number of Wicca 101 books is that the chances are pretty good that anyone who is interested can find a Path that appeals to them. But no path, no matter how attractive, will get you anywhere, if you don't put your boots on and start walking. In Their Service... RuneWolf
I knew Chub was an honored "old-timer," but only recently did I find out that he was a founding father of Oklahoma's Narcotics Anonymous. In those days it was illegal for convicted addicts to meet. Fortunately for all of us, they did. Their early efforts established the foundation for the thriving recovery community we know today. Chub has probably done more for us, but we wouldn't hear it from him. What mattered to him most, I believe, was that we got through the day clean. I didn't know him well, but I knew him anyway. We were addicts. We were family. On the few occasions that our paths crossed, and we shared our recovery experience, I saw what true humility was all about. Humility was a part of him, not something he did at meetings. I'm still trying to figure it out, and maybe I'm thinking too hard. We first met in 1989. He didn't have to say anything to make me feel welcome; his presence was enough. Then a few years ago I had a chance encounter with him in a physician's waiting room. I wondered if he would treat me any differently, in the real world. Of course he didn't. Chub was still Chub. I told him that I had recently relapsed, but was back in recovery. I wanted advice, something to hang on to, but didn't know how to ask. I didn't need to. All you need is a little bit of willingness, he said. You'll do fine. In recent months, on days when I considered skipping meetings for some stupid reason, I remembered Chub. He carried those awkward bottles of oxygen around, but it didn't stop him from going to meetings. So what was my excuse? I went to the meeting, and was glad, each time, that I had. On January 3, I learned from Larry's e-list that Chub was in the hospital. It didn't sound good. I knew I had to go see him. I drove to the hospital, not sure what to expect. I remembered other times, other hospitals. It was twenty five years ago. No, dammit, it seems like yesterday. Time starts getting weird and fleeting once when you realize you're almost fifty. When I was nineteen I knew all there was to know; I was immortal. Then all of my friends started getting sick. No one knew what the hell it was, not even the doctors. As the weeks turned into months, purple bruises, benign at first, began spreading like leprosy. They all had the same fatal pneumonia, and it was slowly suffocating them. Then, one by one, they started to go blind. They must have had the same strain; why didn't I? I was still healthy. Through those terrible nights, when all I could do for them to just lie down beside them and hold them, I became aware of a growing dread. This was not going away. Within months, they had all died. I was welcome at only one funeral; that was when I learned that funerals were for the living, not the dead. I had already said goodbye by being there when it mattered. The first wave of AIDS peaked in the mid-eighties. The hospice work I did later, for a few years, was an act of self-preservation. For a long time afterward I bragged to others about how compassionate I was, but to be totally honest, I was full of shit. I did it to keep from going insane, or to keep from killing myself, take your pick. My using accelerated to astronomical levels, but that's another story. Years later, after I was ordained, I was frequently called on to be with others who were dying. Somehow I knew what to say to the grieving friends and relatives who were unable to stay in the room for the final moments, or didn't arrive from the airport in time, or whatever. I understood. Our culture generally ignores death, and when it lands in our lap most people don't know what to do, say, or behave. I am fortunate that my experience has prepared me to help others. And when I finally allow myself to cry I know I helped a little, but I keep it in perspective. The heroes are the ones who go through it. On January 3, my higher power presented me with the opportunity to be of service again. I arrived at St. Francis around 3:00 p.m., and once I figured out the spelling of Chub's legal name a nurse directed me to room 2314. His was the only bed. His eyes were closed, and I didn't want to wake him. But when I touched his hand, his eyes opened, and he looked at me, a little surprised. I told him who I was, a friend in the program. A chair was right there, and I sat down, and held his hand, which he gripped fiercely. I was about to say that we didn't really know each other, but I knew better. Of course we knew each other, at least a little. We were addicts. He couldn't talk. That was fine, I could talk for the both of us. He was watching me with clear and understanding eyes, aware of everything. But I had a strong feeling it wouldn't last, that soon he would begin to slip away. So, while I could, I shared an experience I'd had once. One violent, drunken night I fell over my apartment's second story railing to the concrete sidewalk below. My head hit something hard. I welcomed the sudden darkness and peace. Then I saw myself lying on the sidewalk, eyes open, not breathing. Blood was spreading in a pool around my head. I wasn't alarmed or surprised. Just grateful that the pain was gone. I allowed myself to drift like a balloon into the night sky, aware I had the choice to do so. I entered another place, and turned to face a bright white light. It surrounded me. It was perfect healing, perfect comfort. Like a hot bath in a cold room. I wanted to stay there forever. I hovered in this wonderful light of pure love. Then bubbles of white light drifted towards me: souls of people I had loved, and relatives I had never met. Then they left, and the white light told me gently to turn back. It was not my time yet. I wanted to stay, but couldn't. My near death experience was everything they said it was. And I remember thinking, this is so corny and predictable I must be watching the Discovery Channel. But I wasn't. It was real and frightening and beautiful. And I told Chub all about it. My next memory is of coming to in the emergency room, face down on a table. A doctor was suturing up the back of my head, which had hit the concrete. But I was lucky, it could have been much worse. When I finished sharing this experience, Chub was still looking directly at me. I have no doubt he understood what I was telling him, and the spirit in which I offered it. This is what happened to me. I know only a little. I speak only from my experience. Take what you can if it will help you. Sometimes when people know that their time has come, they have a sudden crisis of faith. No, not sometimes, almost every time, at least in my experience. Usually its very brief. Or not. Either way, the doubt explodes out of nowhere, a sudden red-hot fear that their carefully nurtured beliefs regarding Heaven and the afterlife are myths, that death was the end of existing, nothing more. It can be a terror beyond description. So it is a blessed gift to be able to say, honestly and from personal experience, that that there is another existence on the other side. That I have been there. Words fail when I try to describe it in detail, so I use as few as I can. It is a very real, and wonderful place. First you feel the love. Then you become the love. I was there once, but I came back. Don't be afraid, friend, its there. Its real. Before I left Chub that afternoon, I told him I would be back. I had to take care of a few urgent matters that couldn't wait. I didn't know who would be with him, and I didn't want him to be alone. When I returned I found three friends there with him, and I was reminded again how difficult this can be when it was someone you really loved. I still had the luxury of some detachment (even if it was getting a little iffy). One of my friends was going to stay all night, and was really glad to see me. I was glad to see her. I decided I would stay too. I have worked nights for almost twenty years, and seldom get to sleep before five. If not for President Ford's funeral, I would have been at work. Things just fell into place that allowed me to be of help. So we had a marathon meeting; I had brought all of my NA books, but ended up reading out of "Just For Today." I thought "surrender" was a suitable topic, and we took turns reading. Chubb was not really with us any more, it seemed to me, though I knew he heard us. I hope that our intrusion on his passing helped him in some way; I know that I would want to hear these words, though I was saying them for me and my friend as well. When we were finished with "surrender" we continued with "acceptance." Nurses came, tended to Chub. I made sure every one of the nurses knew how important Chub was to us, what he had done for the recovery community. They'd had no idea, but were glad to know. I couldn't resist a little bragging, and it seemed the thing to do. Others in the program came, and shared, and I got to meet some new people. I knew that when I see them again our connection would be very special. For the first time I didn't have trouble remembering names. My friend went to sleep on the hard, couch-like object, and I stayed up. Chub slept. He was hooked up to monitors in the nurse's station; they kept careful watch the whole night. I walked the hallways, on a floor filled with the terminally ill. Chub was the only one who had someone with him. They were all alone, and I fought back a wave of tears. The lights in his were dim, so I read with a reading light. I needed batteries. I asked the nurse where the gift shop was, when it opened. She said she would get me some, not to worry, stay put. And she did. They were magnificent. The sun rose on a cold, clear morning. But Chub was slipping away. The beautiful sadness of the moment moved me to read Psalm 23, then Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3. By now it was in doubt if he could hear, but you can't know. Human beings are made of some pretty tough stuff, and are full of surprises, even at the end. The shift changed, and I helped with one of the treatments. By midmorning his close friend and primary care giver arrived. She had needed the rest, and was rested, as needed. Soon I would need to rest. Then Chub's blood family arrived, and we left the room to give them some privacy. Suddenly, I was amazed at what was happening. Chub's strength had diminished through the night, and he was mostly unconscious. On some level he was probably aware of the of the loving clan who continued to stand by and shower him with love. But even in his last moments he was sharing one more recovery tool. It was the lesson acceptance. And he doing it with the only thing he had left, his own transition, his last few moments with us. Teachers don't get better than that. By noon I felt like I had done what I could, and decided to go home. I was punchy. I needed rest. Chub had everyone he needed now, and it was getting kind of crowded in there. When I got home the phone was ringing. It was another friend, in tears. Chub had passed away around one p.m. that afternoon. I told her it was ok to cry. The pain would be there as long as it needed to be, but it would go away. Don't be afraid to grieve. Then I let myself cry.
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