Not okay, not okay, not okay, I'm NOT okay!
There were five men who helped me get sober. Tom, Tom, Bob, Jim and Dan. Well, Jim died in February. Now, one of the Toms is going in for open heart surgery tomorrow. Us alcoholics have not been good to our bodies. Not at all. He is a Vietnam Vet. His crusty, old gravelly voice saved me more than once from taking up a knife and slicing my wrists with it. He engineered supervised visits with my mom and dad when I was newly sober and trying so hard to navigate a relationship with them. He played cribbage with me until I couldn't think straight. Just so I could stay sober one more hour of the day.
He's sick. He's so very sick. And I can't take it. I can't. You don't understand. He saved my life. The one I was so intent on ending. He convinced me that 30 days of sobriety would change my attitude. And it did. IT DID. I'm alive today. He is no God. I know that. Everyone knows that. But he's one of my rocks. And my rocks are disappearing. I know that I'm supposed to put God in charge of my life today. But my rocks. They are so stabilizing. They KNOW me. They know what to say. They tell me what to do when The Crazy hits. They KNOW. THEY KNOW. They have seen me at my worst and they love me in spite of it.
I can hardly manage to think about it. My rock. Dispirited and under anesthesia. He can't go. He just can't. And if he does, I don't know what I'll do.
I hate this fucking taking life as it comes shit. I am not sure I'm able to do it.
My heart is breaking. I lose Jason. I lose Jim. I can't lose Tom. I can't. It's just not possible. I am not sure I'm able.
*edit* Okay, so late at night, the panic was a little overwhelming. In the morning light, I can tell you this. I will persevere in this New Life, no matter what happens. If only because he helped me start on this path. Please send loving thoughts to my friend. That's more what I want to say right now.