Every day

   I’ve always taught my children that you don’t get points for doing what’s right. Character is built brick by brick, never inherent, and always has a price. Being kind, empathetic and loving towards your fellow man has rewards for the soul that no one can put a price on. Being kind, understanding and loving towards yourself will carry you through the burden of your mistakes. The Man Upstairs loves you. He wants you to love you, too.  

   A sobriety anniversary is a lot like marking the death of a loved one. For me it’s important to remember the person I was when I was drinking, ugly as that memory may be. The guy who just wanted to drown his problems and forget about his heartaches drowned a lot more than just his problems. My children suffered. My siblings suffered. My spouses suffered. My life fell apart. I made my Momma cry. I did that, and worse. I gave up.  

   The man I was may be dead and gone these past ten years, but he’s always with me. Right behind my eyes, looking out at the world he’d love to still be a part of. That’s where he’s buried. Every day since July 28th, 2015, I’ve had to keep tossing fresh dirt on that grave. It’s not all that hard. I just have to recall one of the many times I almost set the house on fire, cooking and drinking, left a child stranded at school when I was passed out drunk, bring up the memories of the three times I was incarcerated for DUI, with all of the sounds of metal doors slamming, and the smell of fifty men sharing a concrete and steel pod to help me keep tossing dirt on Old Kevin’s grave. He got what he deserved, the selfish old drunk. 

   You get ten years sober just like the Old Heads in AA say you do: one day at a time. Never worry about tomorrow. There’s only today. And I won’t drink today. I want to, but I won’t. Not today. It’s worked for ten years, but I can’t say it’ll work for another ten. I can just say I’ll make it work today. It’s been easier because I’ve had a wonderful wife, Laura Gail, and a prayerful mother, Mary Belle, and all my brothers and sisters who never gave up on me.  

   It’s not a coincidence that Cynthia “Sam” Stone was born on this day. There’s a connection, and if you read my column regularly you probably know. The mother of my children and the wife of my youth left this world over two decades ago. She was full of life, love and purpose for the short time she was with us. I loved her with all my heart and when she was gone, I wondered if the world would ever have any light again. I remember her every day. I think of her every day. I speak of her at least once every day. The memory is a muscle. It must be used to stay strong. That’s how I keep her memory alive. I’ll never give up on remembering who she was. In that way, at least, she lives on.  

When we give up, we lose. Never, never, never give up.  

God bless Y’all.