The following is a letter from me to my grandson, William Palmer (age 19), a patient at Cumberland Heights, a nationally recognized alcohol and treatment center west of Nashville. He is being treated for prescription drug abuse. The accompanying photograph shows my son, Christopher, hugging his then two-year-old son, William. A far better life awaits William, and we intend to help him find it.
Dear William:
I just wanted you to know that I am proud of you for facing up to your problem with drugs and dealing with it. That’s what real men do, and you won’t regret it. It’s not always easy, especially in the beginning stage of your recovery. I know because I’ve been there.
I began going to AA in 1979 in Boulder, Colorado because I was miserable and didn’t know what else to do, but I didn’t really think the 30 or 40 people at the meeting could tell me anything.
I was mistaken. They told me two very important things that saved my life. The first was that there was a power greater than I, “God,” who would help me and second that I should only commit to my sobriety “one day at a time.”
You have already taken the first step in believing that God will help you. The second point about commitment is also vitally important. You may be wondering at this stage of your recovery whether it’s worth it. You may be saying to yourself, “How can I live without alcohol and drugs and have any fun for the rest of my days?”
That’s what I said until my sponsor told me that when I came to him, I didn’t look like I was having much fun. Further more, he said, I only needed to take life one day at a time.
“Just don’t drink (use) today,” he said, “and see how you feel tomorrow. If you want to drink tomorrow, go ahead.” He added that, “I hope you won’t make that choice but, rather, postpone it for another day.”
So that’s what I did day after day until one day I realized that I was no longer interested in the momentary highs from alcohol and other drugs, purchased at such great cost. They didn’t begin to compete with the “highs” attainable through faith, family and friends
Being in treatment is beneficial because it medically confirms or rejects a diagnosis that you are an addict and gives you a head start toward drug free living if you are. Again, its your choice, you can transform your life, which will still have its ups and downs, or you can give in to an addiction that could kill you before you are 25.
I know I can quit drinking for one day and, after 35 years of sobriety, that’s still all I commit to, to the extent that I ever think about it. And that’s what I would ask of you. As I keep telling people, it’s one day at a time. And it’s your choice and your responsibility.
This morning, I had a cup of coffee with Andy Agar, Jake Agar’s dad. Jake, 22, died of an overdose on December 4.
Jake, as you may know, seemed destined for a bright future before the drugs took him. He attended Little Rock’s Cathedral School, Catholic High School for Boys, and, in 2010, graduated Cum Laude from Episcopal Collegiate School, where he served as co-captain of the football team and was also named an All-State soccer player. Later, he attended the Walton School of Business at the University of Arkansas and was a member of the SAE men’s fraternity. He served as rush co-chairman for the fall pledge class of 2012.
Jake, as described in his heartbreaking obituary, “was a leader, protective big brother, and self-appointed social chairman among his friends. He had a love of music that he shared with his mother, Jo Ellen Stover, and was a natural born, self-taught musician who spent hours playing his guitar.”
Andy is fighting back against the disease that killed his son. As part of his initiative, Andy and I are planning to join forces with another likeminded organization in Jonesboro, “Out of the Dark.” Like One Day at a Time, Out of the Dark has a web site that would be useful to you in your recovery. I know you’re dad plans to be involved as well.
We invite you to join our efforts when you get out of treatment. We are especially looking for young people who want to make a difference and to live far richer lives.
Love, Poppa
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