Nine Lives, Plus One - GONE

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There's a woman in one of my meetings whom I've seen only a handful of times. She's a multi-addict who recently went out and is back. Her recent chapter resulted in catastrophe - no surprise - and her loss of everything. EVERYTHING.

She was describing it, and out of the air popped the words to me, "...I lost my cat. They put my cat to sleep. Now, to some of you, that sounds unimportant..."

And she couldn't go on.

That was the only loss she really cared about.

You could have ripped my heart out of my chest, at that moment, because I knew her pain. I knew it.

There is something about the care-giving of a pet - that we feel extraordinarily responsible. They are innocent lives, completely dependent upon us. Completely accepting of us, and trusting. They offer what many people cannot get from other people around them: comfort, on an as-needed basis - freely given, freely available at all times.

And when the care-giver is an addict - who typically are isolated, shunned, abandoned, and desperately lonely - that animal is their family. Their significant other. Their daily affirmation of purpose.

Their comforter.

Their bridge to humanity, ironically.

And to pull out from the fog one day, back to sobriety, to realize that your sojourn resulted in you effectively murdering your closest loved one...

Well... I can only imagine the guilt.

I've had occasion across the years to euthanize three pets. Three family members, who shared the same roof as I and kept me company through all circumstances, 24/7. I had them euthanized under controlled circumstances, where it was clearly in the best interest of the animal, to end suffering.

I held them in my arms, each time, and petted their face, looking into their eyes and gently talking to them as they looked into mine, until the lights faded in theirs, and I broke down sobbing.

To play God is a heavy chore. And not one I personally can do without guilt, even under clearly correct circumstances. Even for all our co-dependent, controlling tendencies, there is something primordially instinctive within us that recognizes unequivocally that another's life is not ours to tinker with; it's hands off. We just know this, even when it's an animal's life. To give or take a life is clearly not our domain, and we know it.

I cannot imagine sending a beloved "family" pet to be euthanized when there is nothing wrong with them, except that their addict care-giver disappeared. I cannot imagine the guilt Cat Woman is dealing with, knowing her cat would live, except for her relapse. Would be there to curl up and comfort her in her recovery, a warm body, except now the cat is cold and dead. Cat Woman has paid a dear, dear price, once again, to her disease.

She was across the room from me, and I didn't get a chance to talk to her. But since that meeting, I have thought about her constantly, and her pain and GUILT about her beloved pet being put to sleep because her evicting landlord didn't, frankly, know what to do other than that while Cat Woman was AWOL, in arrears, and flying high.

So, yesterday, I was in a meeting, and late (like about 1/3 through) into the meeting she walks in, and sits -- where -- right next to me, in the next chair. And I'm thinking, "God, this is it, isn't it? You want me to talk to her, tell her I GET her pain, and GUILT, about her cat."

I was all ready to reach out, after the meeting.

Except, then, she got up and left early, about ten minutes before the meeting was over.

I wondered about that, and then had to let it go. I had been willing.

Oddly, another woman was at that meeting, the first time I had ever seen her. She shared, shaking violently, rubbing her arms in nervousness. We were on Step 11, and she was expressing how she hadn't prayed in 3 years, she had such rage at God, for taking her mother, 3 years ago.

Later that day, I ran smack into her at the bank. Two towns over, from where the meeting location had been. We both tried to get through the same doorway at the same time, she coming in and I going out, and when I looked up, I recognized her.

I reached out to her, instead.

You never know what God's plan is. It's rather like surfing through life -- you have to stay limber on the board, ever ready for a shift underneath you, ready to compensate for change with your balance.

I feel a peace, that I did not get the opportunity to talk to Cat Woman. If God wants, he'll present the opportunity. Maybe she wasn't ready to hear that from me, or maybe it isn't to be. But, I'm willing, to reach out to her, because I GET her pain, and GUILT.

And, whatever God's plan is concerning her grieving her cat, I'll Accept it. Whether I'm part of it, or not.

-The Traveler