When I read Light Opera it is rare for her to share intimate details of herself. But she seems transparent to me....One of the things she has shared is this quote.
"One of the most valuable things we can do to heal one another is listen to each other's stories." -Rebecca Falls
My first AA meeting in Dallas was a Tuesday night in the summer of 1978. I remember it clearly. There were four of us there. I met a girl named Sharon. Later we grew close as strugglers do sometimes. Sharon had violet eyes before they made color contacts. She was a beautiful girl/woman. My memory fails me when I try to recall her age, it is possible I never knew her last name. I do remember that her beauty was marred by a scar on her neck. Sharon told me once that a tarot reader named Jeffie Murphy had warned of the growth in her neck that had recently been removed. Years later I met Jeffie, and she told me my life.
Before Sharon got a year sober she went out on a Fiday night and got drunk. She died in a car accident in the early morning hours of Sunday. I did not go to the funeral because I could not bear to lose her.
Jack G. was at that meeting. He folded himself on to a chair and started talking. Jack was always a talker. Jack is still my friend today. We were not that close in the old days, but he is one of the few remaining. He was there for me and they are almost gone now. There is no way to express or explain how a group of people saved my life. Graditude is forever, but you have to pass it on.
So sometimes I help Jack with his computer, or a lease contract for his rent house. His son has just returned from Iraq, so Jack's spirits have lifted. He is an old man now. Funny back then I thought he was old, but he must have been around the age that I am now.
Then I met Rennie. Rennie was from West Texas. She shared herself without pretension. She talked about shooting jackrabbits under the West Texas stars when she was drunk. She was loud and sure of herself. She had strong opinions about everything. But when she talked to me her eyes changed, they got softer. After a few conversations with her and watching this phenomonon I came to understand that you could see the compassion move across her face. It started in her eyes and it always reached her voice. She was loud and funny and took no prisoners, except when her eyes changed.
I guess Rennie had about 15 years sober when I met her. Years later she told me that if I was in it for the long run, I could easily die with 50 years sober. I remember little things about Rennie...she was a Virgo. She disliked snobs. She believed her drinking was the cause of her daughters health problems as an infant. In almost every talk she stressed that the medical community would prove her out...she was talking about fetal alcohol syndrome. She loved parables and she loved to laugh. Rennie was wrong sometimes, but she lived and told her truth.
She was married to Smitty. He was a retired Colonel. Smitty had been shot down twice. Once in Korea and once in Viet Nam. He wasn't supposed to be flying missions in Viet Nam, but Smitty couldn't resist getting closer to the action. Rennie knew at both moments that Smitty was shot down.
Smitty's wounds never healed. He lived for years with chest wounds that required many trips to the hospital. Rennie changed the bandages daily. Smitty was always sick, Rennie was always pulling him back to her. In a twist of fate, Rennie died first. She would have it no other way.
If there is such a thing as soul mates it was Rennie and Smitty. They were both tall and intense people. He was quiet and educated. She was loud and folksy. In any room they seemed aware of each other. She often stared at him with that soft look. She was always touching his sleeve or brushing imaginary lint from his clothes. He gave her the floor and laughed at her jokes.
Of the 35 or so members of Casa, at that time, only about 7 were women. At least 2 of them died of the disease within my first two years. Sharon in a car accident and Dottie drank herself to death in her nice East Dallas house.
I was listening last week to an AA tape and heard Rennie's voice. The years slipped away and one more time she reached me. Rennie did not come to the program to become a better person. She wanted to get well. AA is a social movement not a religion. And when I hear the moral judgements and the specific religions pushing into meetings I am saddened, but no longer angry. I still travel the broad road. I do not want my God in a box. My higher power still is larger and greater than a bible or a book. It was Rennie that first showed me this truth.
Maybe I was impressionable. I was certainly young. Back then, these people, who ultimately became my extended family were all larger than life. In any family, the members slip away one by one.
Today when I shut my eyes I can bring them back to me. Because they shared themselves their stories became a part of me. In no small measure, it was the transparency of these people that touched my soul. They were so willing to expose themselves to help others. In AA, I sometimes say that this is the place where we can learn from the experiences of others. So I guess I talk to dead people. I still hear their voices. I still remember their stories.
