Rough Day


Saturday afternoon, I woke up with a headache. I checked my phone, and there was a message from one of my oldest friends. He said he was going to go say goodbye to a certain person.

Knowing this friend, I did a quick google search and almost dropped my teeth. Someone who’d never judged me, had never cut me, had never hurt me in any way and supported me in early and ongoing recovery was gone.

Their funeral was at 3 Saturday afternoon. So, I did what that person would have done for me. I jumped in the shower, hopped in the vehicle, and hauled it down the road.

When I arrived, I gave hugs. It’s what my people do. I cried with them, and held a hand or two. I sat beside the buddy who’d told me, and wept through the meeting/funeral.

Afterwards, I hugged a few more, especially my friend’s widow, and left for home. One of the hardest journeys I’d ever driven happened on that day. And I sit here, with a memorial folder, with my friends picture in it. I’m still in a bit of shock.

The odd part, I’m going camping next weekend. It’s my memories of camping with my friend and the crew that are my happiest of early sobriety. The jokes, the laughs, the threats of throwing him in the lake. Good times.

Good Times, au revoir R.N. you are missed. Will see you by the campfire again someday. -L

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