Staying Sober Through Grief and Anger
A Friend Worth Crying Over
It’s OK to Be Sad and Angry if I Direct It Properly
The fateful text message came last week. My friend “Jimmy” was in the hospital. He was a law school buddy of mine since 1985, was the only friend at both of my weddings, and I was at his only wedding. He needed an emergency appendectomy. I heard he got out the next day, and all was well. Apparently not at all.
Yesterday morning, I got word that his wife posted an all-caps prayer request on her Facebook status. My old friend collapsed while out to dinner for his 64th birthday on Veterans Day. The paramedics took a very long time to get a pulse, and he was in the ICU. I prayed. I called our mutual friend, who passed it along. I called his sister. It does not look good. All we can do is pray for a miracle.
I wrote this story on Medium.com about a month ago that mentioned how I had to cut “Jimmy” off this Summer because I could not bear watching him kill himself with alcohol. I am not writing this to say, “I told you so,” because I do not feel that way at all. Instead, there is no way I can avoid grieving the loss of my dear friend — even while he is still on life-support. Instead, I cried hard yesterday, as much as my remaining psych meds will let me, mourning at the very least the loss of my friend as I knew him.
I was also angry that he was dying so young and with his family needing him. Jimmy and I were more than drinking buddies, but we did drink a lot together and do some other stuff. Around the same time that I started my journey toward a booze-free life, Jimmy also went to a rehab facility. When I started going to AA meetings over ten years ago, so did he. So obviously, at some point, Jimmy recognized his problem with alcohol. But he would not stop drinking the poison. Jimmy would rationalize that he was just drinking hard cider, which is not as bad as tequila, he would say, even after his operation.
My use buddies all left me when I got clean. I ignored the conventional advice and did not cut off everyone I knew who was in “active addiction.” Jimmy and I had a genuine friendship, not merely a “use buddy” relationship. We had visited each other numerous times over the years. But unlike some reformed alcoholics, not all my friends are “in recovery.” I had hoped that my journey will inspire my friends to try and lead healthier lives as well.
As I wrote earlier, in July, I cut Jimmy off completely. It was the hardest thing I ever did, but what I had learned in AA and Al-Anon can deal with the stubborn alcoholic. So, I shunned him. I had also hoped this would make him hit bottom. I made it clear that once he stopped drinking, I would be his friend again, but that I could not watch him die. Well, despite “cutting him off,” here I am from a distance watching him die.
I cannot help being angry at the loss of my dear friend of over 40 years! But I must be careful where I direct my anger. I am not mad at Jimmy at all. He has the same disease that I do. I am angry at the poison that has ruined both our lives — alcohol! I am mad at the condition. I say “Fuck Alcohol!” as much as I say “Fuck Cancer!” and “Fuck Infections!” I am not mad at my friend.
I also must be careful not to get mad at myself. Before I cut off Jimmy this Summer, I tried everything humanly possible to help him out. It was starting to hurt me to help him, and I had to pull out. Getting the late-night garbled text messages was too painful. I had to block them. He was 63, but he talked like my 89-year-old mom with dementia talked and repeated herself before she died. A fine mind — a Stanford JD/MBA — had been reduced to a bowl of mush.
I am angry at the system that failed my friend. The lack of science-based addictive medicine is a huge problem in America. He was not some oblivious alcoholic. He found the one-size-fits-all “AA for everyone” prevalent model of faith-based “treatment” to be something he could quickly “master,” and he did not need to listen to people repeat themselves and go on about their shitty lives. Besides, he is a very devout Catholic.
The medical system failed to inform Jimmy point blank that he was an alcoholic and needed help. Again, there is still a stigma surrounding mental health and alcoholism such that no doctor helped my friend. On the contrary, they told him his liver was “fine” despite having high ammonia levels. Nobody said to him that they do not rule out alcoholism. Nobody told him flat out to stop drinking everything.
Our culture ruined him. He was an entertainment lawyer, and he worked on and loved the world of movie stars and celebrities. So, naturally, he developed a taste for George Clooney’s Casamigos tequila and its smooth, vanilla finish during the pandemic. Thanks for killing my friend, George. Fuck you, too.
I am almost four years sober. I am off almost all my psych meds now, and I have what the younger generation calls “the feels.” I cried and hugged my wife. I listened to music Jimmy and I both enjoyed, and I cried some more. I used a lot of marijuana yesterday and today. I cleaned out my two Puffco Peak Pros, and I am vaping shatter. I am smoking an indica with indica kief in my bong. I am avoiding taking a benzodiazepine using grass instead.
I must assure myself that it is OK for me to be sad. It is OK for me to be upset. I can walk through it and feel the feelings without drinking or doing hard drugs. After years of numbing myself out with alcohol and psych meds, I feel privileged to feel these feelings. And I cannot honor my friend by drinking!
I must be constantly in communication with other people. I went to a Medically-Assisted Recovery Anonymous (MARA) meeting yesterday and I just went to a meeting today. Dealing with grief became the topic of the discussion. After I shared, a wise friend told me that I should be grateful for a friend close enough to cry over because not everyone has that. “Jimmy,” you are a beautiful person, and several people are crying today.
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