#2- A Handful of Sand

            A woman came to my office on Wednesday. I was all set to conduct my usual assessment, but I could tell by the look in her eyes and the way she carried herself that her soul was wounded.  I had been told that she had cocaine in her system two weeks ago, when she had given birth to her second child and I had to work hard not to judge her. I usually review forms and rights and sign things during the first few minutes, so we can check each other out and get the feel of the room. This day I put my pen down and only assured her that I would never release her identity, and by writing this, I am not, because she is every addict, no different from any of us . I seldom disclose , at first, that I have struggled with this disease, but Wednesday I told her. She asked what had happened to me and I told her some of it. As I talked I could see  the light of recognition in her eyes that we all get at first. In telling my own story, I was telling her story to her. She cried when I talked of neglecting my kids, thinking only of my self ; of struggling for years at trying to control it and how the shame and fear grew with each failure; I told her of finally giving up but not having the courage to end my life. And then I told her how a group of very kind and loving people at Narcotics Anonymous had offered me a hand up and a shoulder to cry on  and a place to be where I could be safe for an hour or two. And I told her what my life is like now , though it is hard to describe accurately. And as I spoke, I could see the light of hope kindle in her eyes, as it had in mine many years ago, and she asked me what to do. I told her where that group of addicts and alcoholics meet and I invited her to join us. She might.......

My friends imagine that I work with homeless, dirty, lowlifes. They think I am a saint for giving my time to "those people". They don't understand that this could, and does, happen to any of us, and that I do this work because it keeps me healthy and sane, and grateful. And clean and sober. I often wonder  at the fact that someone is willing to pay my to extend my hand to her, and to watch the light return to her eyes . And , in three of four months, to see her bounce that baby on her knee in my office and thank me for something that only she could have done. 

-We take a handful of sand from an endless landscape of awareness around us and call that handful of sand the world.

-Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

Dave Seward

February 1995