Why Meditation Never Seems to Work at First – Don H.

Chapter 51 Love means never having to say you're sorry. Brian did his due diligence. He went home and immediately put what he had learned into practice. He sat down in the living room, closed his eyes, and began to focus on his breathing. He lasted nearly 45 seconds before he fell asleep. About two minutes later, he woke himself up from snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. He began again. He succeeded for another 30 seconds and started to pat himself on the back for doing the right thing. Then he wondered what Rose would think if she walked in on him meditating away and floating a few inches above the chair in complete God consciousness. He cracked a smile at that thought then realized he was off task again. He focused on his breathing once more, a little more determined and clearly more agitated. His stomach growled after about 20 seconds and he thought about making a snack. Realizing he was drifting already, he started to get angry. Even before he started to count breaths again, he envisioned Gord standing in front of him with a big toothy I-told-you-so grin on his melon. That is when the first curse words of the session were uttered. Like so many things in AA, this was going to hurt. He made a few more attempts, all of which ended in failure and aggravation. In complete frustration, and he leapt from the chair with his fists balled up, looking for something to punch. Then he saw the clock. He realized he had been at it for nearly 45 minutes. Even after he subtracted five minutes to account for the two times he fell asleep, it was still a pretty impressive run. What had Gord told him? Start for five minutes and work your way up to 15 after several days. By his reckoning, he had already done about a month's worth of meditating. He patted himself on the back and made himself a sandwich. I bet old Gordall couldn't go forty minutes on the first round. During his brief moments of reasoned self-appraisal, he knew he was conflating quantity with quality. But he didn't care. He would try again in the morning and every morning until it started to work. That was the thing with A.A. stuff. It never seems to work at first. It was always frustratingly vague as you felt your way through it, with no idea if you were doing it right or not. Then at the end, you saw the benefits and you were glad you participated. He should figure out a way to help people see up front what the benefits are. Then they'd be less hesitant to throw themselves into it. Of course, if that were possible, Rob would have figured out how to do it by now. Brian woke up very early on his dry date. In truth, he had hardly slept at all. It was way before sunrise, but he was too excited thinking about picking up that medallion. He got up and quietly made himself a pot of coffee. Rose was out cold. It was just another day to her. He went outside and sat on the front porch with his coffee and began breath counting. At first, the excitement of the day made it an exercise in futility. He couldn't keep his monkey in the right tree for more than a few seconds. Then the little shit was jumping all over the place. Finally, after four minutes and a string of expletives, he got into a groove. He focused on his breath for a full two minutes before he caught his brain thinking about a year of sobriety again. He realized how well he had done and decided not to tempt fate any further in this session. He started to think about the year he had just survived. It had been god-awful at first, but as he progressed in the program his whole outlook on life had changed. He thought back to the way he had been when he had sat in the jail listening to Rob explain to him that his life didn't have to be that way. He was truly amazed that he had taken Rob up on his offer to quit drinking and join AA. Of course, Rob was waving a pretty big stick in his face with a lengthy jail sentence and the almost certain loss of Rose and Tommy. But if he was to be completely honest with himself, he had done a lot more stupid things in service of his addiction than to ignore Rob and stay in jail. He had no idea why this time was different. He just figured Rob was there at the right time when he was truly ready to get the monkey off his back. Diesel had told him many times in the last 365 days that the man he used to be would always drink again. He wondered if he had truly changed enough to ensure long-term sobriety. Had all his hard work on the steps put enough distance between Brian and Shimmy to truly keep him safe? He thought about Shimmy. There was a part of him that couldn't even picture himself as that other persona. But there was a much bigger part of Him that feared backpedaling right into his lap if he let his guard down. He felt the emotions welling up inside of him at the thought of going back to the life that created Shimmy It made him physically ill to even consider it. He reckoned that reaction was because Shimmy was never comfortable in his own skin whereas Brian was happy with the man he was becoming. He didn't want anything to jinx this, not today, not ever. As he sat and thought about his life over this last year, he wondered what else he needed to do to ensure Brian stayed Brian and Shimmy never returned. Then it hit him. On this day, there were two more tasks he neededto complete before picking up that medallion. He got out of his chair and headed for the kitchen. It was still dark outside when Brian left his house. He walked briefly down the street and then dipped into the backyard and down the creek path. It only took a couple of minutes of fumbling around in the dark for him to get his bearings. He headed directly for this one section of the path he had forsworn on the night he escaped from Tony. He cautiously approached the tree that he knew contained the fuzzy buzzsaw that was still picking pieces of shimmy and Tony out of his teeth. He was about to face Popeye, but this time things were going to be different. For one thing, he wasn't getting anywhere near that damn tree until he knew exactly where the little butt-biter was. Once he spotted him, his plan was to maintain a respectable distance and never turn his back. He got about 20 feet from the tree and called out. He was a bit embarrassed, and it didn't come out very well. Oh, Popeye! Nothing. He raised his voice and tried again. No reaction. Reluctantly, he edged closer to the tree and called out the varmint. Still no sign of him. This wasn't working out as he expected. He fumbled around on the ground for a bit and picked up a smooth stone about the size of a golf ball. He threw it at the hole in the tree, figuring that would rouse the little shit. But of course, he missed the tree entirely. The rock thudded worthlessly down the path. He really needed to find that critter. He picked up another round and took another step toward the tree. Not fooling around anymore, he went into a full wind-up and hurled the rock with surprising accuracy. It went squarely into the hole that typically contained the pissed-off little bushwhacker. He heard it careen briefly inside the hollow tree, but Popeye clearly was not home. Damn it, he thought. The little bastard is contrary to the bitter end. He didn't know where Popeye had gone, but he wasn't going to hang around an empty tree any longer in the dark. He turned to leave just as Popeye pounced. With a hiss and a screech, the rodent dropped from a tree branch directly above Brian's previous position. Popeye was pissed. What's new? Fortunately for Brian, Popeye didn't realize he was moving backwards, and quite frankly, with one eye, he didn't have a great depth perception. Brian missed a face full of livid, cantankerous raccoon by a hair's breadth. Popeye wasn't able to course correct in midair and hurtled earthward at a near-terminal velocity. As usual, the thump knocked the wind out of him, but this time Brian backed away while keeping a keen eye on the sneaky forest devil. He didn't need his other butt cheek violated by raccoon teeth. Furthermore, he wasn't there to pick a fight. Brian waited patiently while Popeye recovered his wits. He knew the critter was back to normal long before he started to stir. This wasn't Brian's first rodeo. In fact, this was round three for those keeping track. Popeye rolled over, facing Brian at a distance of about ten feet. Brian wasn't about to get any closer. He knew how quick Popeye could move. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small baggie. He opened the plastic wrapper to reveal a gob of tuna fish and an apple. Holding both up high so that Popeye would see them, Brian began to speak. He continued to talk as he placed the food offering to the raccoon on the ground and backed away another ten feet. Popeye, you and I got off on the wrong foot. You have every right to be pissed off at me. I get that. I violated your privacy, stuck my face in your house, tried to kick you, flattened you against the tree, knocked you out at least once, and slapped you hard in the face the last time I was here. For all that, I owe you amends. I'm here to bury the hatchet and make right the wrong. Anyway, I don't know what you like to eat, but you guys are always rummaging in dumpsters. Not that I'm stereotyping or anything. So I figure really smelly stuff might be up your alley. Also, you're a woodland creature. Therefore, you probably like fruit. So I brought you a peace offering of some smelly tuna and a crisp apple. Popeye had been edging closer and snarling softly at Brian. He was sorely tempted by the aroma of the tuna. But he did not trust this hairless ape who kept invading his personal space and slapping him around. As much as Brian got under his skin, the smell of the tuna was too much for him. Popeye went all in on the treats Brian had given him. For Brian's part, he actually developed a bit of a soft spot for the rodent who most likely had as rough a childhood as he had. Maybe that was their problem, he thought. They were too much alike. I'll tell you what, Popeye. I'll come back from time to time and bring you more treats. I feel like I owe you for causing all this trouble for you in the first place. Plus, you did save me one of Tony's patented ass-whoopings, and I can't thank you enough for that. At that moment, Brian realized Poppy had finished eating breakfast, and he had dispersed. They'd had their moment, and it was over now. Brian crouched slightly and tuned in with all his senses. Whenever that little rascal disappeared, somebody ended up with an ass full of raccoon teeth. He began to back away quietly. Then he realized that backing into the raccoon was only giving him an easier target. Brian turned on his heel and ran for home. It wasn't pretty, but it was effective. It was the first ever man versus raccoon interaction that didn't end up in pain for both parties. He felt like this was a good beginning to what promised to be an excellent day. The sun was beginning to peek out over the horizon as he made for the next stop on his citywide amends tour. This one promised a lot less excitement than his interaction with Popeye. He walked with purpose until he reached his destination, stopping only once along the way. He stopped to purchase the smallest plant at the florist's shop, which was all he could afford. Then he marched on until he'd reached his mother's gravesite. He stood looking at her headstone for over a minute when he arrived. He had not visited her grave since she was placed there. It wasn't that he didn't love his mother, it was because their relationship had ended so badly that he was still embarrassed to visit her, even in death. But now, having uncovered more of the truth about how their breakdown occurred, and after taking responsibility for his role in it, he felt he needed to get some closure with her. After a while, he got down on his knees and placed the flowers next to her headstone. The whole thing was a lot more emotional than he thought it was going to be. As he knelt and stared at the patch of grass that now covered what remained of his mother, he reflected on the good times they had shared. Perhaps one out of every four thoughts was a bad memory from the time after their falling out. But overwhelmingly, he associated their time together as a very positive experience. This made him well up. Mom, I don't know where to begin. I came here to make amends to you. but I don't know if there are enough hours in the day to explain all the shit that I did that hurt you I want to say how sorry I am for everything I said and did so many insensitive things I treated you like you were beneath contempt You're gone now so I can never make it up to you But I want you to know that I finally get it I finally understand how I screwed up our relationship and I'm so sorry His voice was getting quieter as the feelings welled up. I got sober in AA, something Dad could never do. They make me do shit, like look at my past and my role in how I pissed everybody off. It sucks, but it works. I'm getting better now. I think I'm going to be okay. Today is my one-year anniversary of sobriety. I haven't had a taste for an entire year, not even a sniff. God, it was so hard at first, but the guys in AA stayed with me and helped me to see what I was doing wrong with my whole life. They're good people. Do you remember Willie, the football god, from when I was in high school? He's there, and he's a great guy. There's a guy named Rob Romano. He lives down the street from me. He's my sponsor. And he's the guy who got me into AA. Without him, I would be in jail or drunk or dead. There's also a woman named Marge. You'd like her. She doesn't take crap from anybody. So, I came here to tell you that I've changed. I'm not the drunken asshole everybody knew me as. Okay, I'm probably still an asshole, but I'm a sober asshole now, and a little bit less of an asshole every day. I'm so sorry that I did not come to see you until now. I was scared. I felt so guilty what I did and said to you. I hurt you, and you didn't deserve it. Going forward, I want to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety. That's my amend to you, I can't fix what I did, but I can try to change and do good from now on. As for today, I have a year of experience under my belt. I think I can do this. He leaned forward and placed his forehead on her tombstone and quietly said, I miss you, Mom. In a few moments he regained his composure and stood up. Looking over his shoulder to be sure nobody witnessed that episode, He wiped the snot from his face and moved over a few feet to the adjacent headstone. Sorry, old man. No flowers for you. I'm going to be brutally honest, Dad. I would love to tell you that I miss you, but I don't. You were an absolute prick to me and Mom. You came home drunk and beat her up, and then you belittled me and destroyed my self-esteem. You gave me too many bad memories to count. The one time I needed you most after what your brother did to me, you fucked me over. so I figure you aren't much better than him. In some ways, maybe you're worse. I'm not sorry you're gone. The scars you left me, both physically and emotionally, will probably never completely heal. You were a fucking mental case. And you did your best to make me into a chip off the old block. It was working, too. I was easily as much of a screwed-up asshole as you. You know what the people in town call me? Shit-faced shimmy. Even the kids. I have you to thank for that, Dad. But for the last year, I've been hanging out with sober, good people. They're helping me to undo the damage you did. It's going to be a long haul and I'll probably never be totally right. But I'm better and stronger than I ever was. When it comes to you and your influence on me, they've given me something I've never had before. Perspective. I don't miss you. And I probably never will. But now at least I understand you. I know that you did what you did because you didn't know any other way. I know that you weren't deliberately trying to fuck me up. You just couldn't help yourself. You raised me to be a miserable drunk, just like your dad raised you and your worthless brother. And just like his dad raised him and his dad before him. I come from a family of shit-faced assholes who pass their disease on to the next generation every chance they get. Now that I'm a father and a drunk like you, I knowthat you weren' t a scumbag on purpose. You were a victim of your disease, just like me. I'm not totally ready to forgive you for being such a prick, but I can understand that it was a lot less personal than I was taking it. Here's one more thought for you, Dad. The buck stops here. I refuse to take Tommy down the path you took me. This is the end of the family business. I'll do everything in my power to make sure he is a sober, competent father who loves him. I don't really feel like I owe you anything, But according to the steps, I need to make amends for my part in the shipwreck that was our relationship. You're dead, so tough shit for you. I can't make a direct amends. I'll make my amends by being the best father I can be to Tommy and the best husband I can be to Rose. The O'Malley family line is all done with wife beating and child molesting. I've done very little right in my life up to this point. This may be the only thing I ever get right, but I will get it right or die trying. On that you have me word. His mission complete, Brian turned and walked away. He got about thirty feet down the row of the headstones and paused for a moment, looked left and turned to walk across several rows of gravesites. He stopped at one nondescript spot on the edge of the potter's field. There he found a small round metal marker in the soil. This was his uncle's grave. Brian lowered his fly and fire-hosed the entire site with a steady stream of pee for a good fifteen seconds. Then he raised the drawbridge and walked away without a word. Apparently it was not a men's day for everybody.