Gratitude

168. THIRTY YEARS IN RECOVERY

Well… 24 hours later than usual, but no matter. Here’s my yearly post –

I recall a day, actually the exact moment sometime back in the eighties when I made a decision that would change my life forever. I wanted to find out just how much I could drink and not have anyone suspect I was, in fact, totally hammered. Initially it was challenging and fun. Not only that, I was extremely successful, which fed my ego, the last thing in my life needing inflation. Even at the end of my “career” my own father was astonished when I told him I had a handle of rot gut vodka in me. He swore up and down he had no idea. This self-centered and highly dangerous game almost killed me. My closest colleagues had no idea the extent of my disease. I remained productive (at least at work), walked a straight line, and never slurred my speech. By the way, I’m not an idiot either, it’s very possible certain people knew my condition but were either hesitant or unfamiliar as how to approach me about addressing it. It was a game of deception, one that benefited no one whatsoever and, ultimately, it ended up harming countless innocent people. By the summer of 1994 my perception of reality was swiftly bending into the realm of torturous insanity, and the game became an unavoidable 24/7 nightmare. I was totally dependent on alcohol. Too much and I’d pass out, too little and I’d get the DTs.

I talk about my recovery many times on this blog, and to recap, I finally (and astonishingly) sobered up in the summer of 1995. July 28th to be exact. Strangely, in January of that same year I had made a vow to just die and get the pain and futility of my life over with. All I owned and earned was hopelessness. I felt I had no leverage to summon anything but oblivion, so I simply threw up my hands and waited for what I thought was going to be an inevitable outcome. I had no idea that being in a place of total surrender would invite the very thing that was missing from my life, guidance and direction offered and accepted without hesitation. I willingly put my faith and future into the hands and hearts of others. They say when the student is ready the teacher appears. As clichéd as it may sound, this was my experience. I walked into those early meetings a dry sponge. If it was suggested I did it. If it was directed, I did it. Some might suspect I would become a clone of the people who embraced me. Such was not the case. I took with gratitude the best they could give and shaped my own unique life. To this day I treasure and practice their gifts.

I’m glad my fate (and serendipitous faith) have steered me true. Three decades without a drop. It really does feel like I’ve lived two separate lives, and it does not feel like thirty years, thank God. It’s actually motivating that my self-spawned demons of the past are still easily heard and seen. It’s nice to be clear and focused about where I intend to progress, but there’s a strange comfort in constant recognition of what I don’t want, and that’s the greatest gift of life I possess.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

162. 29 YEARS IN RECOVERY

Twenty-nine years ago today I took my last drink, but twenty-nine years, four months, and nine days ago, when I was obviously feeling pretty lousy, I sat down and wrote myself a small letter. It was most likely during one of my countless ten-hour overnight janitorial shifts in either a Marshalls or TJ Maxx clothing store. Even though it’s been almost three decades back, I can still instantly access the pain of that time along with all the feelings of hopelessness I was drowning in.

One might think those memories would be a burden, nightmares meant to be left behind and never revisited, but that’s not the case. Those periods where my future was hanging by a thread continue even now to provide leverage that makes manufacturing my daily dose of gratitude all too easy.

The note I’m referencing was lost for almost twenty-seven years, and a long time passed where I’d forgotten about it. After writing it I carried it in my wallet and read it every day. Although it did not directly stop me from drinking, I do feel it planted a seed. That seed began to grow through a continued groping in the darkness looking for a way out. The missing element which completed my escape was surrender, and by surrender, I mean verbal surrender.

It might sound a bit too ‘metaphysical’ for some here, but I really do believe writing down what we want AND eventually saying aloud that you’ll do anything to find salvation and absolution are two of the most powerful tools we humans have at our disposal. I’ve experienced it as well as witnessed it. 

The letter is a bit difficult to actually read, so here’s the text –

March 18, 1995

The next time I feel the urge to drink I promise to sit down and read this. I feel like shit, I’m depressed, and I want to die. I’m losing sleep and I’m losing my mind. I’m dragging everybody down with me. I can’t eat right and I’m hurting myself. I must change the way I think. I must turn to God and ask whatever is necessary that I may live again before I die. I’m tired of being scared and forgetting things. There is always something better to do than drink. I’m wasting money and I’m pushing my luck. I don’t talk to my friends anymore. I’m ashamed. I want to like myself again. I’m tired of lying. I’m tired of making excuses.

Reading this now, 29 years sober, I’m grateful I can still touch the past, for without it I wouldn’t have the added value that makes today priceless.

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With Love and compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

157. 28 YEARS IN RECOVERY

It’s been an odd year. My last job was so involved that I’ve had little time to attend to my blog. If you’re from Denver, or you’re a South Park fan, then you know about Casa Bonita, which is really a bit of an indoor carnival/Mexican restaurant. If memory serves, it seats up to seven hundred at a time, so it’s damn big. Since the previous menu needed purged and badly upgraded a world-class chef was also brought on board to revamp the menu. Both her skills and her personality are impressive. The food is indeed much better as are the inner workings of the establishment itself. From May of last year to June of this year I was the plumbing foreman in charge of the remodel. We had to sign NDA’s (understandably) and other paperwork that would allow the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, to turn us into cartoon characters if they so choose. It was a huge challenge and I’m glad it’s over.

During this time I’ve been dealing with hyper increased arthritis, which my rheumatologist says I have in every joint now. I can even feel it in my jaw which clicks and crunches, but thank God it doesn’t keep me from being a blabbermouth, at least not yet. Two weeks ago I went in for a pro-op to get my left knee replaced on August 2nd (the right one was done a year and a half ago) only to find out, in their words, I have massive blood clots in both lungs and behind my left knee. The blood thinners I’m on are causing migraines which are pretty disabling, but they are getting better. Also, because of the clots I have trouble breathing which adds to my energy level being pretty low. For now (but not forever, I like to work too much) I’m on short term disability which is a nice safety net. 

One thing’s for sure, other people are definitely going though much worse than me, in fact the weekend I went into the hospital a beloved coworker was in a horrific motorcycle accident. He’s alive but his injuries are extensive. Another of my coworkers has cancer. They are on my mind all the time.

If all these events are a test to see if I’ll turn back to the bottle, then I’m winning hands down. This path never enters my mind as a way to escape. Last night I had a lucid dream where I was using again. I was lying in bed, knowing I was ‘awake’ and asking myself if my wife could smell my breath while I tried to go to the bathroom without looking like I was drunk. These episodes feel as real as anything in life and it always takes me a while to shake off the illusion. I’ve said it before, my occasional nightmares of slipping are a precious gift that keeps the horror close, even twenty-eight years later.

My wife bought me the item in the picture above. It’s nice she cares and celebrates with me.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

152. PAYING IT FORWARD

When I was in kindergarten we lived in a modest apartment in Bakersfield California. The couple who resided above us were older and the husband was retired from an unusual job, he had owned and maintained a variety of vending machines which included those small glass encased ones at the entrances and exits of stores designed to entice kids into begging money from their parents for cheap trinkets and bits of candy or, of course, gumballs. Pennies were easy to talk my parents out of, but silver coinage was another matter, so when I did manage to get my hands on larger denominations, my excitement rose considerably. Nothing I managed to buy was all that thrilling, but it was the anticipation of the unknown which made my eyes go wide at the sight of colorful and usually pointless baubles.

One night there came a knock.

“Good evening, I’m the gentleman who lives upstairs.”

My mother let the man in while I bounded towards the visitor with enthusiasm. My fear of strangers at that age was limited to one-on-one encounters, meaning while in the presence of my parents any such apprehension would never have manifested. As he stood there with his hands behind his back, he looked at me and smiled. 

“I have a gift for your son” and with that he produced a good sized plastic bag stuffed with dozens of gumball machine prizes. I was stunned that an almost total stranger would go out of his way to randomly give me something without really knowing who I was. All my previous gifts up until then had some sort of expectation attached to them. My relatives and parents gave me all sorts of things, but they were always because an occasion such as my birthday or Christmas had arrived. This was the first instance of random generosity I had encountered. He went on to explain where he had acquired his stash of miniature toys and thought I’d be happy to have them.

None of the individual items were all that impressive, but the event itself has become one of my favorite memories. As a result of this incident, I too was eventually inspired to periodically give without expectation of repayment, especially to strangers. Every once in a while when the mood strikes me I’ll take notice of the abundance in my life and the urge to share will strike. If the person does know I’ve done something, and they say they would like to eventually repay me, I always say, “just pay it forward.” I’ve occasionally purchased items when the person in front of me realizes they can’t afford everything they’ve picked out. Sometimes I’ll buy the order behind me in line at the drive through. I’ve also bought scratch tickets for whoever’s next in line, whispering to the cashier to tell them it’s a gift.

Other times I’ll be a total nutcase about it and I WILL ask for something in return, but this is rare.

A few years ago I was walking into a 7-11 and a young woman approached me asking for a dollar. One dollar, nothing more. I told her to wait. As finished my transaction and stepped out I said, “I’ll give you the dollar, but first you have to do this.” and I started doing the “old prospector dance”. After a few steps I stopped and went Ta-Dum! With a  dumbfounded expression she informed me she wasn’t going to do that, and I said with a goofy voice and an overanimated gesture, “Then you can’t have it.” She looked annoyed so I made a compromise, “I’ll tell you what… I’ll do it with you.” She sighed and we both started dancing in front of the store. My goal was to get her to at least smile, which she eventually did when we stopped. I then handed her the bill. “Here you go, not only did you get your dollar, but now you feel better too.” Honestly, I think being a dork is in my genes. 

To this day if I have change (or I can bum it off my wife) and I pass by those machines full of juvenile surprises, I’ll buy a bunch and leave them on top for the next kid to unexpectedly find so they too can share in a tiny bit of the joy I felt as a boy. Maybe someone years from now will remember their random discovery and they too will be inspired to pay it forward. 

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

151. ADOLESCENT SENIOR MOMENTS

When I turned eight my parents abruptly informed me that no more allowance was forthcoming. I was somewhat baffled since I had never really gotten one to begin with, so I immediately demanded back pay. I was serious and they thought it was funny. I suppose it WAS pretty funny. In any case they prodded me into generating my own income by suggesting I contact our neighbors and ask if I could do any odd jobs for them. Thus started my working habits at a fairly young age.

I was raised in the mountains of Colorado about twenty miles west of Castle Rock between 1971 to 1980 from the age of seven. The community we lived in was quite spread out and I really was one of those kids who had to walk quite a ways to the bus stop, often in horrible weather. Sometimes going to see a friend took an hour or more before finally reaching them. I didn’t complain because I never knew any better, it’s just the way I was raised. There were, of course, a few kids my age around, but I was close with only two or three over the years. In time the majority of my friends turned out to be those I sought comic book money from by doing various chores. Most of these people were, in fact, senior citizens.

Their names live on in my memories. Ed, Jack, Darlene, Kathy, Paulene and Paulene, Cecil and others had me doing all kinds of things for them over the years. Shoveling snow was usually the biggest one, but often it was gardening, chopping wood, cleaning gutters, hauling coal (a lot of people still had coal fed furnaces) cleaning trash, and clearing weeds.

Jack, the gentleman I eventually did the most work for, had me accompany him once a month to town so he could have someone help him to shop at health food stores, which were, at the time, rare… and for some reason remarkably tiny. Nothing like Whole Foods existed. I used to buy carob bars ( I know, ick… ) and other weird trinkets when I was out and about with him. One of his stops was around the corner from a used paperback bookstore, which for me, was like hitting the jackpot. Forty-five years later the bookstore is still there but the market is sadly, not. Jack definitely needed help carrying his groceries, but one of the weirdest things he’d have me do was swap out wheels on his pickup when the weather was bad. One set had chains preinstalled on them, the other had regular tires. By this time I was in my early teens so my strength and size were more valuable and I could swiftly handle such cumbersome duties. In the winter the weather was often harsh where we lived, but once we had usually reached a lower altitude, increased traction was no longer needed so his solution was to change the chains in this strange manner. Honestly it made no difference to me, there was no judgement on my part because I took any opportunity to get into town and explore. The money I earned was secondary. The saddest thing I did for him involved one of his dogs, which I of course knew quite well. One of them had crawled under his home and died. Jack needed me to get him out of there so I wriggled into the structural space and crept on my hands and knees through all the spiders and bugs. I got a hold of him by his leg, and dragged him free. It was quite a distance, maybe thirty feet or so. Once outside I proceeded to dig a grave. I buried him with as much dignity as I could and placed a makeshift marker in the spot. I cried the whole time.

One of the Paulene’s I knew was the owner of a car dealership and had two homes, one of which was close to my normal school bus stop about three quarters of a mile from my home. One day she asked me to do something strange. Her house was built in such a manner that the foundation walls were in place for a basement, but the builder had, for some reason, filled it back in with dirt, and most of it was to the rafters of the main floor. There was enough room to go down the stairs to a hollowed-out area where the propane furnace sat, but the rest was inaccessible except for a doorway to the back yard directly across from her makeshift mechanical room. Since it was a walk-out design, there was a way to exit the “basement” without going upstairs. By this point you’ve guessed what she wanted me to do, dig out her basement so she could finish it. It was easily a thousand square feet, and to add complications, the heat from system had dried out the soil (for what was likely thirty years or more) all the way to the mantle. I cheerfully accepted, and for the next several months I spent every evening after school digging out that rock hard earth. I’d end my shift with watering down the top so the following day I could scrape off about a half inch. I did waste a lot of time watching TV upstairs as she was really never there, but I ultimately got it done over the course of several months. In 1979 I made 100.00 off that job and walked away feeling like Midas.

Looking back I now see a common thread most of these people shared. Ed Cummins lived in a trailer and had advanced emphysema. Cecil Bookie had a small home in the valley where she sat, retired. Miss Rodgers was pretty much in the same boat as were several others, and Paulene was a widow. Basically they were all… lonely. It never occurred to me then, but often I spent more time just sitting and talking with these people than I did doing whatever they said they needed. Perhaps that was their primary goal to begin with. And while I enjoyed their company I didn’t label it as friendship until much later in life. Looking back I’m glad to say it was mutually beneficial as well as an honor to have served these people.

My understanding is when I left the neighborhood another kind young soul, a neighbor I knew of but was not friends with, took up my services and continued where I left off, so that’s comforting. I’m glad those who relied on me were not left with burdens they couldn’t handle on their own. These days the culture of youth going door to door to ask for work has vanished. My wife and I  have lived in the same home for twenty years now and never once has there been a knock from someone looking to earn a few extra dollars. Perhaps it’s because the comradery I had grown up with in this country has grown increasingly caustic, full of fear and suspicion. Some are faster to grab a gun instead of wield a smile when the doorbell goes off, but perhaps the real truth is many people want to be left alone these days, and that’s a shame, because those who desire solitude will assume the rest want it too.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

149. GODSHOTS PODCAST WITH LYDIA CORNELL #3 –

 Lydia Cornell 

Here is the third podcast with Miss Cornell. Although it is in video format it does not need to be watched, nothing visually presented is necessary to the content, though I must admit, Lydia is a lot more pleasant to look at then I am…

This is the third one  I’ve done with her. The major topic of our discussion is focused on her passion for what she has labeled as “Godshots” ™ which are coincidences that are highly spiritual in nature.  

Please take a little time to find out more about Lydia. She’s an enthusiastic woman who really does want the best for everyone.  

Links to referenced pages below are in bold, just point and click.  

For those who might recognize the name, Lydia Cornell is a star of the highly successful sitcom from the eighties, “Too close for Comfort”.  Her name under the picture is also a link to her IMDB page. In addition to an acting career, she also runs two blogs, PoliticallyHot and GodShots. Her resume’ includes a wide range of projects, talents, and passions from writing to mentoring and even stand-up comedy. Please visit her links to learn more.

We originally connected on another web site known as Quora. We have common ground in recovery, and it’s here we began communicating our enthusiasm for helping others.   

Listen to previous podcasts by Lydia here.

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Comments are welcome, I will answer in kind. 

With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

148. IN SEARCH OF PEACE

Peace seems to be lacking these days. The idea seems so elusive, so distant. If it could be bought and sold, it would be the world’s hottest commodity. People often say they want peace, all the while disguising their definition of it behind actions of selfishness. “As long as I don’t have to sacrifice my lifestyle, I’ll support those who suffer.” Not exactly an attitude of any religious or spiritual belief, is it? I truly believe the fires of separation are fueled by complacency. As we elect to stay in our comfort zones, we often take the stance of someone watching a colleague on the playground getting beat up while quietly saying to ourselves, “Boy, I feel bad for that kid, but I’m sure glad it’s not me.” A lack of gratitude for all our blessings mixed with a mantra of “what about me?” is an extremely common and toxic mindset these days. This is the pinnacle of an arrogant or selfish attitude. 

The majority of mankind does seem to worship those who are successful in a materialistic sense over those who have an abundance ethics and serenity. We bend our knees in awe of those with power and wealth instead of doing so in reverence for those who embody kindness and tolerance. People often claim they do otherwise, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s almost always an outright lie. Actions always reveal our true focus of devotion. 

I’ve said this for years, and I reiterate here, “The easiest way to tell good people from bad people is that good people get along, and bad people don’t.” A lack of trust and cooperation characterizes the most poisonous, corrupt, and evil people in history. They believe they are right while thinking and arguing that everyone else is wrong. Their actions, which often include third grade childish tantrums and shallow name calling, are designed for personal glory rather than a greater good. If someone disagrees with them, they’ll not only kick them out of their circle, they’ll do so with extreme prejudice. The more public they can paint those they oust as a new enemy, the more they’ll convince themselves of self-righteousness. They want “yes men” around them, they want drones who blindly support whatever nonsense spews out of their pie-holes. These people are NOT interested in peace, they seek domination and worship. Every action is designed to prop up their ego.

We need to stop basing our leadership on outer or superficial qualities and look to those with inner strength and virtues. Humility, as far as I’m concerned, is the greatest principle a person can own. There stands a harsh dichotomy. The people with the best qualifications will most assuredly NOT want the spotlight in any way, shape, or form because such pursuits will not match their belief systems. Yet as elusive as they are, look we must. Worship of people through the lens of their avaricious accomplishments is a worldwide addiction, one that in the end, will erode all forms of cooperation leaving nothing but a path of chaos and destruction behind us.

We do tend to band together for great causes when bad things happen, and this is a good reaction. We do not, however band together when good things are stable. If we did, our comradery and accomplishments would skyrocket in  strength and stability. By ignoring this possibility we throw our ultimate potential in the trash. Why must horror, violence, death, and misery be the only catalyst that bonds us in solidarity? Why must we wait for blood to be spilled before we seek brotherhood? Is this our nature? Can we not rise above instinct and self-interest and reach out with Love without thinking we’ll diminish our lives by doing so?

There’s a saying attributed to Victor Hugo, and it’s appropriate as it gets.

“Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.”

NOW is the time, before things get much, much worse.

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With Love and compassion,

Daniel Andrew Lockwood

144. PATIENCE

I’m NOT accident prone, but since I am in construction, I’ve had my share of mishaps. I wear my personal protective equipment diligently, but no matter the caution I take, things do occasionally happen. Cuts, bumps, scrapes, punctures, twisted ankles and knees, smashed fingers, minor burns, and so are on the usual menu of occasional injuries. There have been a few fairly bad ones over the years, one involved tripping and falling plus a couple of major lacerations on separate occasions. I will say it’s been a long time since I had an incident that needs to be reported, and I intend to keep my track record clean. ALL of these events, however, have one thing in common. At the time of occurrence, I had become frustrated or lost my temper, mostly because I wanted to speed things up.

In my history lack of patience has always led to unwanted outcomes. One might think my experience with this personal truth would keep me from repeating the equation. Sadly, my resolve is not as disciplined as it should be. I do indeed become agitated from time to time, but my emotional state is nowhere near anything that could be labeled as theatrical, though I’m sure some of my colleagues who have witnessed such outbursts were, nonetheless, highly entertained. Fortunately my (negative) behavior has waned as I’ve aged, and I’m pleased to say it’s been some time since I’ve pulled the trigger.

My occasional lack of impatience has clearly been a major catalyst leading to an overabundance of disappointing results. Since I’m aware this is true, it then stands to reason exercising the opposite behavior should reap highly beneficial rewards, and it has. Calm dedication has been the most productive energy I’ve ever expressed. Everything which has come to me and made my world a better place always has had its roots in consistency.

On what would seem like the other hand, one of my root beliefs is to let go of what I’m driving myself into the ground trying to manifest. This initially comes across as a dichotomy to my resolve, it isn’t. Letting go is NOT giving up. Giving up is being in your boat lost on the ocean and deciding to poke a hole in the bottom, then sabotaging the radio, and finally tossing all provisions overboard. Giving up is suicide, so please don’t do this. Letting go is being in your boat, admitting you’re lost on the ocean, finding an unknown port, and deciding to hire a person you’ve never met to take you somewhere you’ve never been. This requires a ton of faith. It’s still YOUR boat, make no mistake, you’ve just… let go. What I’m saying here is, letting go IS a form of patience; maybe the highest form, because it requires the total absence of ego or self.

In A.A. there are two dominant sayings, “Let go, let God” and “One day at a time”. If you’re not a “God” person, an agnostic, then “Let go” all by itself will suffice. In any case, these short philosophies are designed to promote consistent action tempered with patience. When we ask for help and react with tolerance and gratitude, the world will eventually roll at our feet.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood


139. SEEING 2020 – 20/20

I’d be lying if I said this year has been easy for me. Just like almost all of us on Earth, the pandemic has quite honestly hit close to home, touching everyone I know in one form or another. Early on a friend of mine at work lost his father to it. I looked over one day and saw him weeping, still barely holding the phone in his hands. Some of my family members have had it and I’m beyond grateful they are still with us. Our planet has been, and continues to be scared, in pain, mourning, and yes, angry, frustrated, and just plain exhausted. We feel caged, lashing out at anyone who tightens our restrictions, all the while not realizing we are the ones who built the prison to begin with.   

I see 2020 as a divine test, an exam we will either pass or fail. There’s no middle grade on this one, and regrettably, it isn’t over yet. Religious people always want some sort of “sign from above” hoping for divine rescue to whisk away the darkness falling upon them while at the same time obliterating the perceived enemy. What they don’t seem to realize is the hand of God, when it comes to correcting the mistakes man has burdened himself with, has historically come in the form of floods, disease, and unfortunately, extinction. God’s solution to our problems (when they get completely out of control) is to effectively erase almost everyone on both sides of the conflict. If we are to survive, if we are to persevere, we MUST look to each other for salvation.

What then is the best way to help our fellow human? Is it by charitable means? Is it through kindness, tolerance, and prayer? Should our energies be focused in the name of cooperation and encouragement? I do indeed believe these are worthwhile paths, and I swear I practice every one of them, but in my experience there’s a much higher calling we all can choose to act upon, the projection of constant gratitude.

I’ve been debating whether I should put a list on this entry of my setbacks this year. Everyone has a similar one, and many, in fact most I would imagine, have ones that make mine look rather tame, but I thought it best to show that even though I can come up with an inventory of negative events, I’m ALSO capable of generating one of a positive nature. I think the exercise of doing this is good not only good for my soul, it’s also capable of resonating beyond just my tiny existence and will hopefully inspire others to do the same.  

I’ll try to keep what might be interpreted as complaining or, of course, generating excuses for self-destructive behavior, to an unemotional, somewhat dry summary.

  • There have been deaths, my father in February, and a coworker, one of whom I was quite fond of. He was the son of a supervisor of mine, the same man who hired me almost twenty-two years ago. He (my supervisor) committed suicide the day after thanksgiving in 2019, so now both are gone.
  • I’ve had some weird medical issues pertaining to, of all things, amnesia. I’ve experienced two episodes this year, the latest, and more disabling of the two, taking place on December 1st of this year. The doctors, who have been slow to respond, still have no idea what’s causing this. I’m currently not working as a result.
  • Our Hawaii vacation we had paid for lock stock, and barrel, was, for obvious reasons, cancelled. We got back about 25% of our costs. Several thousand dollars lost.
  • By my own hand, literally, I’ve regained a ton of weight I managed to lose last year.

Those were the big “negative” events beyond other shared roadblocks with mankind this year. And while they did push me back on my heels, I’m still standing, as it were. This being said, it’s rather easy to come up with a list of positive events, and this is where I choose to direct my attention.

  • My wife managed to find new employment that, conveniently enough allows her to work, for the time being, from home. Coincidentally the wheels started turning on her new path just weeks before the pandemic. In fact, she worked from the main offices for some time before being shuffled to her current base of operation.
  • I too, being an essential worker under the categorization of new construction, never skipped a beat. Having skills at building laboratories and medical facilities came in all too handy.
  • Our Honda we bought new several years ago was paid off just prior to the ensuing chaos, so this was a nice relief in our finances.
  • Believe it or not my 401k has gone up a lot this year. (I recommend to everyone who has one to consult with financial advisors before dolling out percentages to what might look profitable to an untrained eye.)
  • My company is angelic as far as management goes. They work hard with me to ensure my needs are met and their kindness and ethical practices are truly rare. I do my best to keep my behavior and skills worthy of such compensation. This company also pays for short-term disability which I am leaning on for the moment, albeit reluctantly; but it is a blessing.
  • I reached a milestone in my recovery in July; twenty-five years. I know it’s just a number, one day at a time of course, but it’s a nice marker nonetheless.
  • I said above my father had passed away in February, and although it affected me in ways I hadn’t expected, I was still happy to see him suffering no longer.
  • We never ran out of toilet paper.

So obviously I have some wonderful energies being sent my way, and I am constantly openly, as well as silently, thankful. Could I take the first list and totally ruin my life with it, disregarding the second list in the process? Easily. As a drunk I was a master of excuses, and those skills that expanded my misery are still programmed into my mind. Luckily stronger, more powerful, and consciously practiced skills now override those old, dusty habits. I still have moments of depression, fear, and doubt, just like most, but my track record at this point is leverage and practice is enough for me to find inspiration to look forward rather than dwell on the road behind me.

This ACTION of constant gratitude is how I feel we are best armed to help others find their way out of desperate suffering. Without judging or preaching we can, by example, be living proof to others there is a way through life’s cruel labyrinth, there is hope, and eventually, peace.

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Comments are welcome, I will answer in kind. 

With Love and compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

131. GOODBYE, DAD

My father died on February 15th of this year. It was a Saturday and I was working when my phone went off. I knew what the call was about before I even looked. He had been slipping away rapidly for the past six months, his mind eventually catching up to his deteriorating body, both of which were now just bits and pieces of who he used to be. Departure at this point was just around the corner. The last time we went to breakfast, about six weeks prior, I caught him in a moment of clarity, “You know Dad, if you want to check out there’s no shame in it. I’ll be fine, really.” Honestly, I am glad he heard me. I hope someone reminds me someday, if I am hanging on, fearful of what lies beyond this existence, of the same truth, that life is only a parenthesis in eternity.

We had a weird relationship, more like brothers than parent/child, anyone that knew both of us would readily agree on this observation. As a teenager and eventually an adult I found myself living with him on and off on several occasions, Once I awoke to find him standing over me in my apartment saying he had left his girlfriend and was moving in. We split the bills (which were always late) and never had anything worth eating in the fridge. Our TV was a piece of crap and matched what little furniture we had. We really did live at the fringe of minimum standards. It was not uncomfortable, just sparse. The only really good advice he gave me I think happened by accident. When I was fifteen I left my mother and finally moved in with him. He then laid down his intentions insofar as his parental duties were concerned, “Okay, here are the rules, I don’t care what you do. Quit school, do drugs, go to jail, does not matter, but know this, if you need me to bail you out, too bad. I have my own life and I’m giving you, yours.” I am not too sure he did this as a favor to me, although it did turn out that way. The time did indeed come on several occasions when this “law” was put to the test. He stood by it, and I quickly learned I was the unwilling owner to all the reactions of my actions. It did not keep me from a self-destructive lifestyle, but it did teach me to never expect a net when I fell.

I never knew until after I sobered up, almost twenty-five years ago now, just how much remorse he carried. I was way too self-centered to realize just he much he hated his own life. In our last year together, he lamented he did nothing he was proud of, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I pointed out that I would not exist unless he had been… involved. I could empathize with his point of view because I have been buried by mountains of shame myself, and I know the hopelessness and depression it can generate. Even so he never complained about his surroundings, and he decided early on he was going to make the best of his situation. We were fortunate and the nursing home he ended up in was professional, and his caretakers, kind. I was also lucky that it was only a few minutes from home.

As his health waned so did our public social activities. To keep him entertained I would swing by pawn shops and buy movies for him. Truthfully, it got kind of hard finding titles I thought he would like, which eventually had me inadvertently purchasing several in duplicate. Often, I could come up with twenty to twenty-five at a time, but for the most part it was a dozen or so. Movies had always been a common thread of enjoyable discussion so I was thrilled when he called me and told me he loved “The Whole Nine Yards” which I think is well written and hysterical, but isn’t normally the type of film my father would go out of his way for. Unfortunately, his eyesight started deteriorating past the point where he could see the screen, and I really do think this is where he decided to start (purposefully) shutting down.

My father-in-law’s Wednesday visits were a wonderful highlight in his week, and he and my wife’s father eventually became good friends. His demeanor would always perk up when he talked about him, and I feel blessed to have married into such a caring and loving family that extends well beyond my wife. They helped to make my father’s last days a lot brighter.

I’ve been struggling with whether or not I should share something that happened only a few weeks before he passed. If I do not, I now know I will regret it. He left a message on my cell while I was working, and it broke my heart. He was crying, saying he wanted to go home. “I want to go home, I want to go home, please take me home, son.” It was my Dad of course, but it did not sound like him. He sounded like a little kid, lost and scared. I tried to call back, but he was not answering, so I swung by after work.

“I got your message today”

He started crying again, “I want to go home son, I just want to go home. Funny thing is I don’t know even where home is.”

I took his hand, “Yeah, yeah you DO know where home is, go there if you want.”

Well… he went home.

Be at peace Dad, finally… be at peace.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood