this is just what its been feeling like for me--

"What he said was that when all is lost and the center will not hold, that you do die an existential death. Like when someone dies or leaves you or in some other way the whole bottom drops out.......that when you're hurt that badly, you do die, sort of, as a means of survival. And you lie there in your grief for as long as it takes, until finally, finally life can pull you back into itself; as if it could give you its hand and pull you to your feet, so that you can totter along again."
from All New People by Anne Lamott

and now I am tottering along, best i can for today.

I went to an institution meeting today cranky. I walked out knowing I am blessed to be a bit further along in recovery. These family members just discovering Alanon haven't even found relief yet. One woman heard the shot of a pistol in the bedroom and how she did it I'll never understand---but she opened the door--- her husband said oops, missed--- she hasn't slept since Thursday. Thats hurting. How will she close her eyes and not see that, not live thru that again? I cannot imagine. A 14 year old boy who can't stand hearing the yelling but keeps getting pulled into the drama. How to give them hope? How to tell them its not your fault---its the disease. Its powerful and unmanageable and I know you hurt but theres no easy or quick cure. How to give hope where there is so little? How did I get to be so lucky to be one of the ones who have stuck it out long enuff for the recovery beyond the relief? How to convince anyone to please give it a chance? Please don't give up so soon--- how? I can't.

As uncomfortable as I was at the AA meeting last nite--hearing his story---he had 38 years of sobriety. Where he was by the age of 29 and the horrors of his life and the horrors he caused in ohters lives. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to shut down and not hear. I wanted to I don't know what I wanted. What I saw was his story was not for me--- it was for that one person in the room who is yet unconvinced that alcohol is his or her problem-- and I suppose it was for me too-- for me to see the disease up close and personal once again and not get so damn complacent. The disease. Cunning, baffling and powerful. I wanted to hate him but instead I found myself able to be of service to help him get out the door with his wheelchair. I just happened to be there--

I'm not sure why the grief is so big the last few days but it is. I'm not trying to stop it or even hold it a t bay. I can't out move it or out run it. I can't out shop or outwork it. Nothing works except to allow the grief until life can pull me up onto my feet again. It hurts so damn bad tho---oh God how it hurts sometimes.