For those of you who don’t know, I recently brought home the nice gift of Covid-19. While my wife, Nina, and I caught Covid once before, there was no telling which one of us brought it home. We both work in career fields where it is highly likely that we will encounter people who are infected with Covid. Either one of us could have brought home that first gift.
This time, there was no doubt. I went to a rather large funeral for one of my cousins, and at least one person at the funeral managed to infect my mother, my sisters, and several other relatives. Nina was working that weekend, so when she came down with all of the symptoms, there was no doubt who gave her the gift of Covid.
I am not sure what effects of this disease has on others, but along with a persistent cough and fever, I get incredibly lethargic and so cloudy headed that it is hard for me to keep my mind on one thought. The result is that I end up sitting on a couch, coughing almost nonstop, through whatever television program I am watching. Then, I realize I have no idea what is on television, and would love to do anything else, but I can’t force myself to stand up for longer than three minutes. Nina suffers a very similar fate, so the “gift” of Covid is really no gift at all. It is exactly the same idea I had about the “gift” of service work when I was so green in recovery, my sweat still occasionally smelled like bourbon.
Service Work is for Suckers?
When I first began attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, I instantly realized that service work meant one thing: free labor. Okay, truthfully, I secretly thought it was a hazing ritual to get you into a higher level of A.A., but alas, that wasn’t true. The reason for my misconceptions was simple. From what I could see, the only “service work” that happened involved the new guy wiping down tables and washing coffee mugs at the end of meetings. I heard experienced members of A.A. discuss how “putting in service work” made a huge difference in their sobriety. But, I wasn’t falling for that load of crap.
The people who had been around a while probably felt they had some seniority. They could order their sponsees and other new comers to do the jobs that they flat out didn’t want to do. I was not going to be the next in a long line of suckers who somehow believed they could mop their way into sobriety. Not this guy. I was on to their game.
Meetings took FOREVER when I was 50 days sober. There was no way I would show up an hour early to make coffee, sweep floors or greet people at the door. And, I certainly wasn’t sticking around a second longer than I had to when meetings were over. I puffed my chest out thinking of how I would absolutely refuse to help. If one of these so-called “oldtimers” had the audacity to ask me, they were in for a rude awakening. I paid my dues by dropping a dollar in the collection plate for the five cups of coffee I drank at every meeting. Let someone else scrub the toilets.
The Gift of Change
The problem I had at the time, was literally time. I had no job, no prospects, and nothing to do with myself other than thinking about not drinking. So, I began to show up to meetings early. At first just 15 minutes early, and I saw groups of people standing around socializing. Then, I showed up 30 minutes early, and found smaller, more approachable, groups, but still groups of people. And, they were all infuriatingly happy.
These people would talk about their day at work or the previous night’s college or high school basketball game. They might mention some news they heard about new construction in the small town where we lived. Ocassionall, they talked about the weather, hunting or fishing. They rarely mentioned drinking, which was the only thing I could think about. On the rare occasion drinking was mentioned, it was usually a part of some very old, and hilarious story. After the laughing stopped, usually one of the group would simply say, “thank god we don’t have to live that way anymore.”
This smaller group was full of old-timers, and in between smoke breaks, they were making coffee, cleaning up the meeting room, discussing improvements that could be made in furniture, signs, or copies of the 12 steps and 12 traditions that hung on the walls. Then, like magic, one of these improvements would be made before the next meeting. There was no discussion of cost or who would do what. Suddenly, there was a brand new table to replace the one that was falling apart.
Service Work Sucker
One day, I came to a meeting waaaaayyyyy early. I had been nearby and had nowhere else to go so I decided to pull into the parking lot a full hour before the meeting and sit there. With the constant battle of avoiding a drink raging in my mind, it was the only place safe enough for me to sit and wait for the meeting to start. But, low-and-behold, there was an older guy toting chairs from inside the meeting room to the porch so people would have a place to sit when they got to the meeting early.
Curious, I got out of my car and went to help him. By help, I mean I held the door open. He smiled shook my hand with a grip so tight that I could feel the bones in my hand cling to each other in fear.
“How ya doing,” he said. “I was just about to make a pot of coffee you are welcome to have a seat or join me.”
This older guy would become one of my three Wiseman of sobriety. However, on that day, he was a guy I could talk to, and he remembered my name. So, I followed him. I watched him make coffee, and wash a few stray coffee cups that missed the prior night’s cleaning. All the while, he kept up a conversation by asking me questions about me, my favorite subject.
Soon we were back on the porch, coffee in hand and smoking cigarettes. Within the next few minutes other people arrived, and joined us on the porch, most getting a cup of coffee first. By the time the meeting started, I didn’t feel anxious or wish it were time to go. I just felt like I was hanging out with a bunch of friends.
Gift of Change
From that day forward, I always tried to be an hour early. I would help set out the chairs or make the coffee. I came to the building on non-meeting days to help mop floors, sweep or dust. Without realizing it, I found myself not only participating in this service-work ritual, but also excited about it. I was helping my new friends, and I felt useful. If I was just a sucker who had become unpaid labor, I was a sucker with a purpose. I saw my work as a way of paying forward all the time and energy others had spent making sure a meeting was available when I needed it.
After a couple of months, I found a job and found myself hating days when work made me late for my service work at my home group. I mentioned the problem to the Wiseman. He smiled and reminded me that we get sober to live, and most of living takes place outside of meetings. While I didn’t argue, I didn’t truly understand what he meant. Over time, my understanding of getting sober to live has meant many different things. It has meant a return to a career that I thought was lost forever. It meant changing everything about my life. It meant falling deeply in love with the perfect person. Still, I didn’t see how living outside of meetings had anything to do with service work.
This weekend, I finally, fully understood what the Wiseman had meant all those years ago. My parents who are 86 and 90 need help each day with preparing meals and other household chores. Since I have the most structured work schedule of all of my siblings, my two oldest sisters take care of my parents’ needs most of the time. This weekend, I was called in from the bullpen to give them some relief.
Unexpected Help
Both of my sisters were out of town, and Nina would be working all weekend. So, I had the chance to be of service to my parents solo. (Yes, it was a terrifying thought for me, too.) For the first time in my life, I spent the night at my parents’ house purely to help them. I cooked every meal, cleaned, took my dad out to run errands because he gets antsy if he is at the house too long. I spent time hanging out in the living room watching TV with them instead of darting off to another location. Moreover, shockingly for me, I was completely grateful the entire time.
Service Work at Home
While I was cooking Sunday lunch, I thought about all the meals my mother prepared that I took for granted as a child and later often skipped as a young adult. I thought about the day she took me to a treatment center driving three hours one way to take care of her only son. I thought about all the times my father asked me to run errands with him, and how too often, I was “too busy” to spend time with him. He, on the other hand, would spend a full day at work and then throw baseballs or footballs with the middle-school version of me until it got too dark to see.
I could never find the space in my thoughts or heart to be grateful back then. And, in active addiction, I could never be truly grateful for anything. Everything I did had an angle. Sometimes I helped people or went beyond expectations as a way to cover any ill will when I inevitably screwed things up by being too drunk. Other times, I worked hard to make up for something I had screwed up when I was drunk. Almost every action I took, I took from a state of obligation or guilt. I assumed the same was true for everyone else. I never understood taking action from a state of love.
Grateful for a Chance to Serve
This weekend, I didn’t do everything perfect. I had a hard time adjusting my schedule to that of my parents. However, I wasn’t frustrated or unhappy. I was grateful. I was grateful I could help, grateful I was sober, and grateful that I could stay in the moment and enjoy the company of my parents.
Much like the service work I do for A.A., there is no way I can pay back everything that has been done for me. However, this time I did feel like I gave a little, albeit very little, back to the people who have loved me unconditionally all of my life. The time that I have lost with my family while I was in active addiction either drinking or thinking about drinking will never be replaced. However, I can continue to be of service whenever I have the opportunity whether that is helping other alcoholics, my family, or people I meet along my way through life.
Service work, I have decided, is not about the work at all, really. It is simply about learning to do something for others without an expectation of a reward. The gift I get is the feeling that comes with helping others. And, I will forever be one of those people in recovery who talk about how much service work helped me stay sober. Without that meager start of making coffee and putting chairs on a porch, I may not have been able to enjoy the gift of putting my priorities to the side and helping my parents this weekend. And for that, I will always be grateful.
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