Dates like today’s kind of sneak up on me. There were times in my life when, as these dates approached, I would “see” them coming, think about what it all meant, reflect, ponder, regurgitate, wonder, “what if?” and otherwise ruminate about them. Not so much anymore. It might be because they are so old now, everything that can be said has been said; everything that can be thought has been thought; everything that can be gained has been gained. However, I seriously doubt I will be thinking too much about newer anniversaries, either. I cannot imagine ruminating about my one-year retirement anniversary in January, but it’s still a few months out, maybe there will be something to say about it.
Today has three distinct events associated with it. The first is the 37th anniversary of the Loma Prieta Earthquake. It occurred 13 days after the birth of my youngest son. He slept through it, safely strapped into his car seat in a car parked at my in-laws home in Sunnyvale. My then wife and other two sons were outside riding it out in the trailer park my in-laws lived in at the time. It was a devasting event for a lot of people, but everyone in my personal sphere escaped with nothing more than significant inconvenience. Still as a Bay Area native, I have felt a number of earthquakes – some fairly moderate – and that one we knew immediately was much worse. And, 37 years later, it still lives as the most significant natural event I have ever experienced.
The latest October 17th anniversary is the birth of a beloved chocolate lab named Bella Mocha. She would be 17 today, but she, sadly, passed away too soon more than five years ago. Her unbroken legacy of adopted pups through a Great Dane mix named Rocky (who has also passed), a golden retriever named Möbius and now a pit mix named Pebbles, is right here, right now, laying at my feet. Bella never had a litter of her own, but she mentored Rocky when he was rescued as a stray by my son (the same one strapped in that car seat in 1989). Rocky, in turn, mentored Möbius when he came into our lives and, after he passed, Möbius did the same for Pebbles. Bella’s spirit lives on through the dogs who live here now.
In between, on October 17th, 2000 was a day that literally changed – and almost ended – everything. It was the end, the beginning of the end, the beginning of the beginning but not yet the end of the beginning. That would take another four or five years. However, the end, with all the finality it entails, was almost literally the end of me. I should have – not could have – died that day and every one of the 26 years since brings about a profound sense of gratitude. It is a day I have written about extensively, but I haven’t done more than note its passing since 2020 – the 20-year anniversary of my “second life.” Ordinarily, I would go back and reread what I have written, noting what has changed in my perspective, but I did not this time. What follows is entirely from my head, right now. I have included a single photo (enhanced due to the low quality of digital imagery at the time) from the local newspaper – a picture that is indeed worth 1,000 words.
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| Photo by Darin Olde / Sierra Sun. |
I was living in Truckee, CA with my two youngest sons. My life was a mess, but I was trying to hold it together working, raising two young sons and finding artificial escape at every possible moment through drugs and alcohol. By that time in my life, every possible moment was almost all the time. I was, on the face of it, a bad dad – since my sobriety date on August 6th, 2004, it is a moniker I own. However, despite being a bad dad, I was also in many ways a good dad and if they were asked, my boys would likely say both were true. The bad springs from the obvious irresponsibility addiction necessarily brings, but we also did stuff – lots of it. We camped, we boated, we four-wheeled and we snowboarded often. I also kept the lights on and food in the fridge. I know that those last two things are bare minimums, but to say I was never present would be false. And, yet, in critical ways, I was not there.
That manifested itself on this morning 26 years ago. Due to my lifestyle choices, I was often awake for two, three and sometimes more days on end. That would be followed by a forced shutdown for at least a day. If the deprivation is long enough, the choice as to when that happens is no longer mine. It happened while I was driving my middle son to school near Squaw Valley on CA 89. I was not under the influence directly, I was experiencing the aftermath of being under the influence. That might be a distinction without a difference, but it did matter when it came to the law. What could have been a felony DUI was only an at-fault accident. But “only” diminishes what it really was.
I fell asleep at the wheel and drifted across the double yellow line into the path of a logging truck. It could have killed me, my son and the logging truck driver. My son and the truck driver escaped with minor injuries… mine were life threatening. By most accounts (I don’t remember any of it) I should have bled out and died. Thanks to the local emergency services and some amazing doctors and medical staff at both Truckee’s Tahoe Forest Hospital as well as the Washoe Medical Center in Reno, NV, I did not die. But for about a week, it was touch and go. I did not come out of a medically induced coma for about five weeks. When I had regained consciousness enough to figure out what I was doing there – I knew…
I knew why I was there and whose fault it was. I swore to myself then and there – never again. It’s the hangover mantra. But I meant it, with everything I had. This time, it wasn’t a “close call,” it was a direct hit and what was gnawing at me the most was not only that I could have killed my kid, but also the mental anguish I must have put him through – anguish that he still lives with today. A lot followed, but at the time I still could not walk, I still had all kinds of tubes and hardware and equipment attached to me and I was still going to be hospitalized several more weeks – until January of 2001. But I still wasn’t completely out of the woods.
Eventually I would recover physically enough to get around. And, eventually, “never” became, “it’s going to be different this time.” It wasn’t and I found myself in more trouble in the coming months, this time from law enforcement. That journey is also one I have written about extensively, but the Reader’s Digest version goes like this: I ended up being sentenced to some jail time followed by a stint in a residential treatment program. On March 11, 2003 I entered that program and completed it six months later. I was doing well, back in school and working towards reestablishing myself. All of that came crashing down when I relapsed at the end of 2003, violated probation in April 2004 and went back to jail on August 6th, 2004 – and I have been sober ever since. Coincidentally enough, I have also been in no legal trouble since then, either. I continued my education, but chose a different direction and finally ended up with a BA and an MA from California State University, Sacramento and ABD (all but dissertation) and another MA from LSU. I just retired after more than 10 years as a faculty member at Sacramento State.
Of the 26 years since my second life began, the last 22 have been full of success and a smattering of failure—but nothing like the self-inflicted damage of the now-distant past. Through all of that and the work needed to realize my recovery from addiction (including its particular form, alcoholism), I had to accept some difficult truths. Among them is that I was never a victim. I do not regret the pain, suffering or lost opportunity I brought on myself. The pain, in particular, was nothing I would wish upon anyone, but it was my pain, I own it, paid in full. However, I do regret, every day, the pain I put others through. I had to eat the biggest lie we tell ourselves, that Libertarian bullshit that what I put into my body is my business and that I am not hurting anyone but myself. If that was true, society would not have any problem with drunks and addicts – “do what you want, it doesn’t affect us.” Pure and utter bullshit. And those who loved me the most were hurt the most.
While I cannot take any of that back and I cannot change the past, I can change the present and for 22 years I have been doing just that. The price I paid was the price I paid, and knowingly or not, it was my choice. However, many others paid for my behavior, too and they did not have a choice. I absolutely see my own pain as the price I had to pay to get me here – and in my case that included almost dying. However, those I hurt should not have been forced to pay – I do not view that as their “sacrifice” so that I could become the person I always should have been from the start. No matter how well I live my life now, there is a permanent deficit – there is no “amends” that can change what happened. That said, they are all happy I finally got my shit together and have had 22+ years of living without the fear of me dying.
