The Box

I talked to a survivor yesterday.  She is a survivor of everything that could possibly be thrown at one person starting from the time she was a child.  She is now just short of sixty and continues to deal with the impact of her childhood and the consequences of her alcohol use on her family.  Her children are fighting their own demons of drug use and life threatening illnesses.   She worries for her grandchildren.  She takes care of others on a daily basis.  Her kindness, compassion and faith are evident in how she is living her life now.

She has been clean and sober for quite a few years.  Given the battles she fights each day I can imagine that the thought of taking a drink or an extra pill has gone through her mind on more than one occasion.  I asked her how she holds it together.

“I have a box,” she said as she held her hands in front of her, shaping the box in my imagination.  “I don’t put any more in that box that I can handle.  It doesn’t have room for regrets, should’ves, or blame.  It also doesn’t have room for worries about the future.  If it gets too heavy, then something has to go.  The box is only so big and I have to watch every day that I don’t let anything get in there that shouldn’t be.”

I thought about her and the box while I sat on the side of the river tonight watching the water move by.  I can’t worry about what was around the last bend or what is coming at the next curve.  I can only deal with what is in front of me right now.  That is the key.  I tell someone this at least once a week.  It was nice to have someone tell me for a change using different words.  I always need to hear it and I don’t often hear it when I say it.  I am glad I was paying attention.