Twentieth Anniversary

Six Ten a.m. My hair is washed, cake is in the oven. Coffee's made and I'm writing these events of the day here in my journal. The black smack has yet to penetrate my system. When it does, if it does, who knows how it shall effect my work. For twenty years now, I've been getting my congratulations from this group. Twenty times on anything isn't all that much; but when it's once a year, taking twenty years to do this thing at the rate of once a year, it's a long time ago since the first time. In two decades, I've mellowed. My acceptance speeches are shorter and smoother than the year before. The full impact of twenty years of sobriety has not taken away my sense of awe standing in this miracle. I cannot remember ever taking it for granted though I've had concern of others around me who might. Today, I might use a phrase I heard last night, "passing the torch." The symbol of passing the message from one alcoholic to another; the light which represents hope; the Olympics of great warriors in the battle against slavery to addiction. Not only for ourselves but to pass it on to our children. It was very dark this morning, only now does it look a little brighter. So my guess is that we might be getting some of Gilbert's backlashes in the form of rain. The cake is out of the oven now, so I think I'll go to the office. Maybe walk down the hill, always with the expectations of how well financially the night went. When we have a good night, my gratefulness runs rapid. And when we have a not so good night, how soon I forget that the cup is half full. Well, it was a good night, so lucky for me one cake is made. I rushed home and put the carrot cake in the oven; after preparing it, of course, I'm not that fast. My car was dead, so I walked my cake down the hill. Talked to my neighbors, cake in hand, on our progress with accepting or not accepting unacceptable behavior from our new neighbors. I did want to make this run myself, but due to no car, I will have to share my ride over with Mum and Sis Lynne. It comes to my mind the year that Jay came, maybe I was three or four years sober, he was impressed. I'm a bit nervous, even more so than last week when I was at Dick's funeral. It's odd, I will be with my peers today, it may be there's no fooling another alcoholic, so my speech better be good. Lynne and Mum picked me up. Mum drove, I was in the back seat. There were quite a few cars, so we found a spot, then we went in. To my sisters and friends who came to witness this ritual, the building might have looked like a warehouse. Inside, where they sold the raffle tickets, was a lot of gray cement with no windows. In this setting stands my beautiful granddaughter. Kim was beside her. Allen and a few of the familiar faces were sitting at the card table where they solicited the crowd to buy tickets. I myself over the years rarely bought one, yet when I did I won a lot. The place was jammed. I found a seat next to another old familiar face and sat down. When I looked to my left, there was Sean and a friend from Block Island. Eileen, I knew, was coming, she was sitting right behind me. My sister Lynne, the one who looks the most like me, couldn't find a seat, so she stood at the entrance to the hall where she kept getting mistaken for me which resulted with lots of hugs and kisses for her anniversary. The meeting was a typical meeting. The chair person gave us our orders to sit down and be quiet. The first speaker was informed by his sponser to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. So he had nothing to say. The second speaker was so nervous when they called her name and to add to her already frightened state, someone yelled from the back, "Raffle Time!" So she timidly sat down like she had done something wrong. The third speaker was my favorite. He had been sober six years but had only just started to speak. He wore sun glasses and looked like one of the Blues Brothers. He had to stop a lot to remember where he was in his story. I thanked God for him because he was so funny. Seemed to me that clock wasn't moving at all. Finally it was 10:55. The first presentation was given to a young black fellow. It was his second year but first cake. I was asked earlier, who I wanted to give me my medallion. I said, "My granddaughter." You're daughter? But she's giving you you're cake." Right, my daughter's giving me the cake, my granddaughter the medallion. He finally figured it out . Nicole, my granddaughter, is shy. In back of the podium, there is a large closet big enough for a desk. It was in that space where my granddaughter and daughter were to come from. Nicole was to come out first. I sat in my seat until she presented me with the medallion. It didn't look like she was coming out, I was getting a little nervous. She did, and said,"I want to give Ruthie Mahoney her twentieth medallion." That was my cue to get out of my seat and walk up to the podium. I was about to give my acceptance speech when Kim came out of the closet with less hesitation and gave her very sincere serious, speech. The candles were getting shorter, she finished, and I blew them out. She could take forever up there for all I cared. It wasn't so long ago that I prayed to God, if it was His will, that my daughter find her own peace from this illness. My speech was a short one. With three generations now all on the dais, there was little else to say about how thankful I was. The night before, I had heard a woman on a t.v. documentary about 42nd Street say something about passing the torch to the next generation. I was able to get that in as my reason for not attending the business meeting immediately following the ceremony. I could see Tom out there, his face looked small, and like a camera, I caught him crying. That was the first time in over 35 years that I've known him that I'd ever seen him cry. I also spotted Jay in the audience. My acceptance speech was over, I took my seat once more with some of God's brethren, and said the Lord's prayer. Someone grabbed my hand, I do not know who. When this was over, more handshakes and kisses. I then spotted even more members of my family. Somehow I found my way out of the maze of good people, and we all went to Kim's for a great brunch. Much later, much, much later, the reality of what took place that day came to me. A family had come together, some by boat, some by plane to witness a miracle.

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney 17-Sep-88