Something written in honor of a lady and her walk towards the end of life and the twelve step program, as I understand it.
M's Essay
By Nix Winter
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2003
This story is just a tribute to a woman.
M's name has, obviously, been changed.
M had a black cat. It had one eye and a protective temperament. M liked to read novels and she carried the Big Blue Book everywhere with her.
She had her twelve year sobriety token. I cried the first time I gave her morphine, slipped the eye dropper into her mouth and squeezed the bulb. It was the end of her sobriety in a way, more than an omen foretelling the end of her life.
A slender little woman, wearing size three jeans and pretty tops, a silver chain on her glasses, M J. had not wanted to come to the facility I work in. I count the months, March, April, May, and the first part of June. They took her cat last month. The family wanted it put down, but we, found Sheba a new home. I've only heard M ask for her cat once, fuzzy from morphine, she asked where Sheba was, the remembered and sighed.
When M first came here, she was a smoker. Only now, instead of living in her own home, she lived here, and if she wanted a cigarette, someone had to sit with her. She had to ask, then wait till someone had time. Perhaps that was the lose of her sobriety, the break with her higher power. And her candies. Bright red cinnamon candies called Hot Tamales, those were kept locked in the central storage. The aides ate them last week, because M can no longer swallow.
When she would come to breakfast, I would palm her five or ten. She'd stick them in her pocket, illegal sugar that she could eat when ever she wanted.
I asked her to be my sponsor, when she still came to meals. She said she would, but didn't ask me what my addictions were. She was my sponsor and I'd read to her from the Big Blue Book and we'd recite the Serenity prayer.
She hasn't come to meals in a while. She can barely swallow. The slightest fluid in her mouth makes her afraid, terrified that she will choke. And tonight, it's 02:30, the middle of the night and I'm the only one here. I repositioned her on her side, put lip moisturizer on her lips. She asked me what the nasal canula in her nose was, and leaned over and whispered that it was to help her breathe. She hasn't tried to take it out in a week or so.
Her smile was so slight, just the absence of a frown, but she whispered to me, "You're a nice lady."
That life should extinguish so gradually, and yet be there so brightly still. Tonight, I realized that M J. has not lost her sobriety. It is exactly as I told her, she has nothing to make amends for, no reason to apologize. As her very life slips away, following her house, her cigarettes, her candy, and her cat, leaving uneaten jars of orange marmalade in the storage, she is as bright as her Higher Power can lift. "You're a nice lady."
By this time in a person's life, when rolling over is something we wait for someone to help us with, all that's left is what is really there. M J. has worked the steps until all that remains is the beauty of her soul and her concern for others. She's the only Sponsor I've ever had and the most powerful that I could imagine. No matter what one's life circumstances the impact one has on another's life is always there and that the programs works, right up until the last night of our lives. I don't know if I'm a nice lady. I think I'm just Nix W. and I'm trusting my Higher Power.
As I read this it just tugged at my heart strings. Tears rolled down my face and then I smiled. Knowing that you will make it one day at a time. This is how we truly life our lives until the end. One day at a time.
What a wonderful testament to your sponsor. I once read, "People come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime." The season you shared with your sponsor will later reveal the reason your paths intersected, and no doubt impact you somewhere in your heart for a lifetime.
Now, find a sponsor who you will be accountable to, and continue to live life "one day at a time."
Bless you!
Gloria Lewis Vaughn
author, "Lessons Learned on My Way Home"
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