2010-03-25

For Jani.

Several years ago, when I was first getting sober, one of my dozen or so readers at the time expressed disappointment that my site had become less about pop culture and more about being a "childless thirty-something alcoholic."

Even all these years later, whenever I act on the urge to write about something involving my recovery, I think, "Do people REALLY want to read this?"

But ultimately I think, "Well, nobody's exactly FORCING anyone to be here." And the fact of the matter is that being sober is a key element of my "identity," as loaded a word as that is, and as boring as that might be for some to read about. I try not to navel-gaze. It's not much of a navel to contemplate, anyway.

In an hour or so I must go to my mother-in-law's house, to gather pictures and personal items for her sister's wake. Jani was a complicated woman (as most of us are), but she took the most pride in being sober.

I think it was something of a relief for her when I quit drinking, as she now had someone in the same dry dinghy as her during the holidays. Because, drinkers, let me tell you -- even if you've only had a couple, it shows to those of us in early, early sobriety. We become acutely aware of the subtle changes in your speech and movement. We see the relief around your eyes and jawline as things get a little looser and easier to deal with, or ignore, as the case may be. And we want what you have, at least in the very beginning, when we still feel as though we're "missing out" on something by not being able to have a drink.

I say this not to make you feel bad, or guilty, or to put you on the defensive. I'm just saying. Know that I also put it down in words to remember what it's like to be very newly sober, so that I can do my damnedest to not have to experience that acute discomfort ever again.

At any rate, Jani was very proud of being a nondrinker, which I totally understand, because for many of us, it's the most difficult thing we've ever done. Walking away from something (or someone) you're addicted to is brutally hard.

Jani would often tell me, "You know, when I go, I want it written on my tombstone that I died SOBAH."

Jani became very ill, very quickly. In a matter of weeks from when she was diagnosed with cancer, she was gone. Before she began slipping away, before she started the process of giving up her ghost, I went to see her at the hospital. She looked at me and smiled.

"I really want a drink."

In that moment, I wanted to remind her what she'd been telling me for nearly 8 years. But I didn't, because I knew that in doing so, I was telling her (and myself) what was plain as day - that she was dying. I just looked at her and said, "Well, I get that. But you and I both know that a drink isn't gonna make this any fucking better for you."

She laughed.

In less than an hour, I have to go to the wake. There will be people milling around. There will be anecdotes and remembrances. But most people will not know this one thing she achieved.

So here it is: Jani Light died SOBAH.

lisamcc at 9:27 a.m.

3 comments so far
grouse
2010-03-25 15:20:18
So sorry for your loss. As one of those silent lurkers, I suggest it might be even more important to note that Lani _lived_ SOBAH. Again, my condolences.
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Lynette
2010-03-26 04:11:53
I love how you write. You have written about so many friends and loved ones on here and have made me feel like they were part of my life. You make me love every single one.
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Lexi
2010-03-26 20:13:13
I'm raising a cup of coffee to Jani. You go, Jani, walk with God...SOBAH! (luv ya, Lees)
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