His sobriety birthday was more important to him than his real birthday, or our wedding anniversary. He wouldn’t have had a life had he not stopped drinking. That’s true for most of us who have struggled with alcohol. He often said I wouldn’t have wanted to know him as a drinker. I’m grateful we met when we did … and that we spent 30 sober years together.
First things first: You find your medical team and plan your treatment.
After that, you lean.
On each other. On nurses and doctors. On Dr. Google. On science. On faith. On counseling.
On your friends.
Our friends wrapped us in their arms and didn’t let go, even when most of Mike’s treatment took place during Covid. Friends sent painted rocks, books, flowers and plants, lobster bisque, and fancy cheese.
They brought meals, pillows, and prayers.
Our friends made it possible for us to bear the unbearable.
They still do that for me.
He never liked staying with family or friends, much preferring the autonomy and privacy of a hotel. But even hotels weren’t as comfortable as home.
When I met him in 1993, Mike’s non-professional interest was “who killed JFK.” He read the Warren Report. We went to Dallas. His conclusion? Oswald acted alone.
Throughout our years together, he was always studying something in addition to psychiatry. Politics took center stage when Obama ran for President. When Trump “won,” his interest in the Christian mystics and meditation really took root, having begun a few years earlier.
He needed to feel grounded; the mystics did that for him. Little did either of us know he was preparing for something far more impactful than who occupied the White House.
