Page 44 of When People Leave

Morgan

M organ shifted in the plastic chair but couldn’t get comfortable. She’d never seen so many people at an AA meeting before. A few latecomers didn’t have seats and had to stand in the back of the room.

Morgan had been attending as many meetings as she could since she’d almost fallen off the wagon. Still, she hadn’t felt comfortable sharing, which was ironic because AA meetings were where she felt the safest to be vulnerable. She thought about ducking out, but something told her to stay.

When the meeting started, the first speaker shared for fifteen minutes.

Three other attendees followed. When there was a momentary break, Morgan began to stand up, then sat back down again.

When the hour was almost over, and the meeting seemed to be ending, Morgan, with her pulse racing, pushed her feet firmly into the floor and stood.

“Hi, I’m Morgan, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Morgan,” the others responded.

Morgan couldn’t help thinking she would be judged by what she was about to reveal, although AA had taught her that she was the only person in that room who was judging her.

Morgan continued with her eyes cast down. “After recently getting my four-year chip, I’m embarrassed to say that I got very close to drinking last week. I would have gone through with it if my sisters hadn’t talked me out of it.”

When she looked up, Morgan noticed many people nodding along as she spoke.

“When life gets heavy, and everything seems to crash down on me, all I want to do is hide inside a whiskey bottle. In the past, I got good at convincing myself that alcohol was the solution. I’d drink enough to become numb and hopefully blackout.

I’m grateful that my sisters stepped in this last time, but they won’t always be there, so I need to be able to stop myself.

I’m going to get back into therapy and work through my pain and survive it, which is the only way I know I’ll stay sober. ”

Morgan bowed her head and collapsed back down in her seat. An intense heaviness lifted from her shoulders, replaced by restored energy. Even the chair felt more comfortable under her.

When the meeting concluded after the serenity prayer, several people approached Morgan to thank her for sharing.

They, too, had similar stories, reminding her that every day might be a struggle, but all she had to do was get through one day at a time.

Going to AA fueled her, and when she spoke and people understood and related to her, it filled her heart.

Several friends had called to get together, but Morgan needed time to reacclimate and take care of her mental health. She also had to start working through her grief. Concentrating on her anger had been a distraction from mourning the loss of her mother and the emptiness that had consumed her life.

Morgan made sure she attended an AA meeting a day and found a new therapist. Rachel worked with her to understand that Carla may not have kept their father away for malicious reasons when they were growing up. As their mother, she thought she was protecting them.

“Imagine how stressful a life your mom led, trying to keep such a huge secret,” Rachel said.

Morgan had compassion for her mother, but that didn’t stop the little girl inside her who wouldn’t have cared if her father gambled. That child had been crying for the man she remembered as a doting and affectionate father.

It took a while, but Morgan’s anger lessened. It would be even longer before she could forgive her mom and think of her the way she used to.

When Morgan wasn’t at a meeting or in therapy, she caught up on sleep.

In the past, she’d always been a night owl; if she got to sleep before one a.m., that was an early night.

Now she’d go to bed at eight-thirty and be asleep by nine and then wouldn’t wake up until her alarm went off at seven-thirty.

Rachel suggested that when Morgan wakes up in the morning, she writes down her feelings, hopes, and dreams for the future. Morgan was not one of those people who manifested her life; her life fell into her lap like a car crash.

In the past, Morgan had quietly made fun of her friends when they said they were creating a vision board.

She thought they were a waste of time, but still, she decided to make one.

Morgan pulled out a bunch of old magazines and cut out anything that spoke to her.

The words accomplishment, success, inspiration, love, and relationships were the most meaningful.

She added pictures of people getting healthier through nutrition and exercise, things she had neglected in her own life.

Then she filled the board with images of people that inspired her: Michelle Obama, Oprah Winfrey, and Princess Diana…

Morgan held all these women in high regard for their generosity and giving of their time to various causes.

When she filled the entire board, she glued one last thing on it: 2025.

This would be the year her mental and physical health would be her main priority.

Little by little, Morgan was no longer the woman who hid from issues but the woman who dealt with them.

One rainy Sunday, when thunder crashed outside her window, and droplets the size of marbles were falling from the sky, she grabbed a cup of coffee and settled back in bed. She reached for one of her old journals and read from the beginning.

The one thing that she had written repeatedly was that she wanted to use her experiences to help others. I can counsel people on how not to make the same mistakes I made . I’d be good at that.

She looked at her watch; it was still early. Without thinking, she snatched her phone and dialed. While it rang, she placed the notebook back on the end table. A moment later, she heard her mother’s voice on her greeting.

“Hi, this is Carla. I can’t come to the phone right now…”

“Shit,” she said and hung up, but stared at her phone. “I hate you for leaving me. How can I tell you the good stuff that happens to me or vent about the bad? Why didn’t you love me enough to stay here?”

As Morgan sobbed, her phone began ringing. She wasn’t going to pick up until she saw it was Charlie. She answered but couldn’t say anything.

“Morgan, what’s wrong?” Charlie asked.

“Everything,” Morgan said.

“You were thinking about Mom, weren’t you?”

Morgan nodded as if Charlie could see her.

“It still hits me every night when I get home from work. As soon as I put my keys down, I remember I can’t call her and I start crying,” Charlie said.

“Are we ever going to feel normal?” Morgan asked. “The grief sits on me and won’t move. It’s like this bulldozer that refuses to bull or doze---you know what I mean.” Morgan took her phone into the bathroom to get a tissue to blow her nose.

“I hate to admit it, but sometimes I wish Rick was around to distract me.”

“Please tell me you aren’t thinking of going back to him.”

“No, but right now I wish I’d waited a little longer to end it.”

“Eleven years wasn’t long enough. You ended it at the right time,” Morgan said, throwing her tissue in the trash and taking iced tea out of the fridge.

“So, other than sobbing uncontrollably, how’re you doing?” Charlie asked.

“Let’s see…well, I just called Mom.” Morgan took a sip of her drink.

“Did she answer?”

Morgan couldn’t help but laugh. In the process, she did a spit-take, spewing iced tea all over her pj shirt. “Now look what you made me do,” she said as if Charlie could see her.

Morgan tried to wipe the tea off, but the liquid had already soaked in and felt sticky against her skin. She gave up, yanked the shirt over her head, and dropped it on the floor.

“I’m tired of being angry and sad,” Morgan said, grabbing another shirt from her bedroom. “I want to feel like me again.”

“Wouldn’t you rather feel like someone better than you?”

“You can’t see this, but I’m sticking my tongue out at you,” Morgan said, and she knew Charlie was smiling.

They talked for a while, trying to give each other moral support.

After they hung up, Morgan sat at her desk.

She placed her glass on top of a file folder that had a stack of papers sticking out of it.

Then she remembered what was inside that folder and opened it.

She combed through all the research she’d been collecting on how to become an addiction counselor.

She had gone over the information many times over the last year but hadn’t moved forward.

She signed on to her computer and contacted the admissions offices at a few different colleges around the country that had substance abuse counseling programs. She was ready to move into the future and create the life she wanted for herself.