Our dads celebrate in Times Square

A Friday story:

Before introducing you to Kevin, the gentleman on my left, a quick word about the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous. Their names are Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith.  Bill and Bob. The organization marked its 89th anniversary on June 10.

Remember that: Bill and Bob.

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I was with Hernando County friends a few weeks back when Kevin walked into the room. He was celebrating his 36th sober anniversary that day, and visiting from Colorado.

His reason for being in Florida sounded eerily familiar: He was there for his dad’s final days.

Kevin’s dad had called his children. At 93, he was ready to go home and wanted his family nearby.

It struck a chord with me.

I recently reposted my dad story about how we developed a habit in his final years of ending each conversation the same way: 

“God bless you, Dad.”

“God bless you, Son.”

Dad was in hospice, it was late at night, and I returned to the hospital because I hadn’t said goodbye in our special way. I whispered it to him, and I could hear his gentle, “God bless you, Son” in my head. Dad died that next morning and I have a sober memory to treasure for a lifetime.

As Kevin told me more about his family, I realized that God had provided me a unique opportunity to offer Kevin a similar gift.

We sat down one day, and I told him my whole dad experience. I suggested his role is usher his dad to the afterlife.

That conversation took place on Thursday. Two days later, I saw Kevin and he relayed to me what happened.

He had a quiet moment with his dad. Told him it was OK to go home to Mom, that the family was well taken care of. Then he said: “God loves you, Dad, and so do I.”

Kevin’s dad died the next day.

Kevin said he pictured his dad in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, enjoying the festivities when there’s a tap on his shoulder. He turns around, and it’s my dad.

“My boy knows your boy,” Dad Wright says.  “I’m here to welcome you home.”

Of course, we’re both blubbering. What Kevin didn’t know until I told him was how much my dad loved Times Square on New Year's Eve. The vision he described sounded very, very real.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Kevin said to me, “What’s your dad’s name?”

I answered: “Bob! Yours?”

“Bill!”

Bill and Bob. I’m telling you, there are no coincidences. 

I’ve relayed this story to my 12-step friends, and we shake our heads marveling at the miracle of sobriety. Two ex-drunks, Kevin and Mike, meet in Hernando County on a random weekday and are able to share an experience so intimate that, frankly, I never thought I’d ever know anyone in the same circumstance.

I have a sober anniversary in a few weeks, which means I’m laser-focused on my recovery at the moment. This is the time when old unpleasant memories of my final drunken days usually flood in. It’s that way every year. I relive the bad before basking in the good.

Weird thing about this year. It’ll be my first sober anniversary away from the little cabin where I lived for 18 years. I detoxed in that house, alone (not recommended). Bits and pieces of the final drinking days are as vivid as yesterday.

My new surroundings don’t conjure up those memories. All I have instead is extraordinary gratitude.

I am astounded my life turned out this way. I should be dead or locked up. Instead, grace and mercy flow freely each day.

Last Saturday, I attended the funeral service for Kevin’s dad. I sat off to the side, weeping throughout as I thought of my own dad, and the bond we shared.

I’m grateful that sobriety brought me a special farewell for my dad. I’m grateful God used me to provide the same gift to Kevin and his dad.

That’s how it works. Have an awesome weekend, friends.

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