And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love's recovery.

I was working with a woman today on not drinking. It has overwhelmed me with the things that I remember when I share myself with someone else. On a daily basis, I forget the horror through which I survived until I share it with someone else who needs to know hope. She needed to know there was something worth working for and I know there is: I have lived it. I am living proof there is a miracle for all of us. I am a burning bush, on fire and not consumed. More importantly, I have the ability to give love to someone else today through sharing the debacles of my life and how I got through them.

Sometimes I don't remember in my drinking. Lots of missing information in my mind. I will sit here and think and think and think and try desperately to bring back an event I have been told about and there is just nothing. Nothing. I can't do anything about to hell I have raised and don't remember. Strangely, remembering nothing brings hope to her because she has periods of blackouts too. She knows that if I can not drink, she can not drink.

I can remember thinking that I was the only one who couldn't get themselves together. That I would be the one people referred to as a real drunk. I would be that drunk woman at the bar that night. I would be the only one who was unsuccessful, who vanished because of a drunk driving accident. I would be the one who people forgot.

I was in a storm all the time. I drank thinking it would stop that storm not knowing that was part of what was causing the storm. If I could just...not...drink...

Who knew?

There is a miniscule chance that I will never take a drink again for the rest of my life.

A slim chance. Here's to love's recovery.