At this point, I’m going to stop addressing the fact that these posts are becoming fewer and farther between. If you’ve been reading along, you should know by now that I do not have the discpline to update this little blog of mine daily, which is probably why I majored in journalism for only a semester before switching to theater. They say the first step is admittance, so I will now begin to work on this flaw of mine, but I make no guarantees.
In other news, February has been a rough, yet oddly wonderful month. Things that normally would be really, really bad, have turned out to be a bunch of mini-miracles and I couldn’t be happier/more sure of God’s work in my life.
For example, I got a call from my mom early last week letting me know Grampy needed surgery, and well, it was one of those “maybe you should come, just in case” type phone calls.
Now would be a good time to let you all know my Grampy is a badass. He appears to be the classic Mid-western, country bumpkin, war veteran, but the things this man has survived, just in my lifetime, are so incredible, a lot of people don’t believe me. Like, when I was in high school and Grampy got kidnapped and driven around in the trunk of his own car for six hours before the kidnapper called the police on himself stating he was Billy Bob Thorton and wanted to have a shoot out. Yes, that really happened, and yes, most people think our family is sick because we all laugh every time we tell that story.
So, when my mom calls and says “this might be it”, we take that seriously. My sister and I drove up to Sacramento that same day.
We spent the next day in the hospital with Grampy, who was high as a kite on painkillers, which brought some much needed comedic relief to a not-so-funny situation. At one point, he called Megan, “Allen”, and when my mom tried to tell him he wasn’t in Missouri, but in Sacramento, he repeatedly stated “you’re nuts” (though we think that may have been one of his more lucid moments). If my family is good at one thing, it’s finding some humor in every situation.
The next day, the day of the surgery, wasn’t so funny. Grampy was miserable and the doctors were really concerned about doing the surgery because he was considered so high-risk. Not doing the surgery would have been inhumane considering the amount of pain Grampy was in, so we prayed, and we said goodbye, and we gave it to God.
As you may have already predicted, Grampy made it out of the surgery and is recovering. In hindsight, I should’ve known it was all going to be okay. At one point, before the surgery, Grampy said “I’m not giving up”, and when this man makes a statment like that, he means it. Even Jesus was probably like, “Whoa, okay, man, that’s cool. I’ll check back with you in a few years and see where you’re at”.
So, what does this have to do with my sobriety? Well, nothing really. I thought one of the greatest men I’ve ever known was going to die. I wasn’t really wondering if BevMo was having their 5 cent wine sale.
I guess, if I start focusing my writing on all aspects and events of my life, it’ll be easier to write more frequently…. maybe. Because, let’s be honest, if I have to blog about sobriety every time, most posts are going to be:
“Woke up. Coffee. Went for a run. Coffee. Watched six episdoes of Scandal, while trying to figure out how California’s unemployment system works. Bed.”
Sobreity plus unemployment is pretty boring. But, I must admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way.