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his story begins with the end — the end of my marriage. It was the summer of 1989, a long way from my wedding day in 1957. As I walked off steam around the neighborhood, contemplating a separa-tion from my husband, I thought about my dreams of being married forever and living happily ever after. Those were my dreams, all right, but now I reached my boiling point about my husband’s refusal to work. He was willing to let our sons do the work while he sat in the bar, and on top of that, he criticized and demeaned them. How dare he! We owned our home, raised four children, and owned a successful business. My daughter was nineteen, my three sons were married with children of their own, which made me a grandmother. But now finally it was clear to me that I couldn’t tolerate his behavior anymore, and I couldn’t make my marriage work. How unfair that I had to start over again at my age — I was almost a senior citizen, for Pete’s sake.For years I did everything I could to hold my marriage together.
I took care of the house, handled our finances, ran our business, and sold new construction. I still cared about the marriage and struggled
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to keep everything under control. I was exhausted, close to a nervous breakdown, and desperate. Things were getting more difficult when they should be getting easier. Why couldn’t my husband realize that his drinking was out of control?
I had heard about Al-Anon. It was a place where family members of problem drinkers could go for support. I decided to try it. Soon after attending my first meeting, I met with a counselor and learned that I was married to an alcoholic for thirty-two years without even knowing it. I didn’t know that alcoholism is a disease. And like so many others, I thought a person had to be lying in a gutter to be considered an alco-holic. In the early years, my husband always went to work, drinking mostly on the weekends. In fact, I often joined him in a drink. We bowled in a couples’ league, had friends at the bar, and they considered us as fun people. It seemed pretty normal at the time. It was just “social drinking.” Sure, he had outbursts that were pretty scary when he drank too much. But when I got upset enough about them, he cleaned up his act, and for a long time after that things would seem okay again — until the next time.
Now, he wasn’t willing to clean up his act anymore . . . and I wasn’t willing to live with his drinking anymore. By the end of the summer, I saved enough money to cover three months’ rent. I took very little with me: the bedroom set, wicker furniture for my living room, an old kitchen table and chairs, dishes and utensils for four, a bowl or two, and a few pots and pans. And of course, my five boxes of books and tapes. I was an avid reader for over twenty years, and these authors were my friends. (I had given up my personal friendships many years ago to avoid the shame and embarrassment I felt about his drinking.)
In 1990, when my divorce became final, I was fifty years old. My now-ex stayed in the house, and I moved out, giving up many of my meaningful treasures. I worked full time, walking construction sites, hiring and firing employees, and doing everything I could to save a business that wasn’t my dream. My resentment continued to fuel my anger. I was too old to be doing this stuff. I should be thinking about retirement soon. I should have someone to love me and take care of me.
I should have more money. I should, I should, I should. On the outside I may have appeared strong, able, competent, and put together. On the
inside, I was scared — scared about being on my own and about the future.
I often thought back to when my mother told me my dad was an alcoholic, back when my husband first showed signs of maybe having a drinking problem. She told me that just before I was born, she issued my dad an ultimatum to quit drinking or she would leave him. He quit drinking for the next few weeks, but then he died from a fall at work.
I was only three weeks old, and my brothers and I grew up supported by the state. I watched my mother exhaust herself cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, and working part-time.
Looking back, it seemed like my life was too much like hers — too much pain, suffering, hard work, and bitterness, even though I tried so hard to make it different. I was an emotional mess, but I tried to fool myself into believing that I was better than other people because of my accomplishments. Denial is very powerful.
I was indignant at the thought that any of this could be my fault.
I felt sorry for myself and hammered away at his mistakes and short-comings. I thought I had a right to be angry and was hard pressed to let it go. I spent most of my life trying to please him. Now it was time to take care of me. I went to Al-Anon meetings, continued the counsel-ing, read self-help books, and listened to tapes constantly. I examined my own attitudes and activities and found out about co-dependence.
I prayed the Serenity Prayer, read One Day at a Time, and used the Twelve Steps. Every Al-Anon meeting was full of talk about tolerance, kindness, patience, courtesy, humor, gratitude, and love. I had a very high tolerance for suffering, little expectation for love, and I couldn’t see much humor in any of this. I was okay in the patience, kindness, and courtesy departments. I was thankful for many things, but unlike some of the people at Al-Anon, I couldn’t find one single thing to be grateful for in being married to an alcoholic for thirty-two years. The years of blaming, accusing, and attacking had done me in.
I made a few friends. They were younger than I, but we all had the same story: We were just trying to survive. We accepted each other without judgment, and that felt good. I learned that I didn’t cause this disease of alcoholism, I couldn’t control it, and I couldn’t cure it.
That was a relief. I learned that I suppressed deep feelings of anger
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and resentment from feeling second to alcohol for so many years. I overcame those feelings and gained a new understanding. I gave up my pride and surrendered to God’s will. I embraced change, and little by little I improved myself and my life. I believed in my worth as a person — but I still did not know gratitude.
At a meeting of the marketing committee at our church, I met Eileen, who would later become co-author with me of our book, Grati-tude Works: Open Your Heart to Love. We became fast friends and soon realized that we were both on a quest for healing. We had lots of energy, which we shared with the church community by putting together a successful holistic health conference. We traveled together and, among our endeavors, we attended a “Compassion in Action”
three-day workshop in Chicago to learn more about hospice work and compassion. (Eileen previously studied with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.) We attended workshops on forgiveness by Colin Tipping and Fred Luskin, authors of Radical Forgiveness and Forgive for Good. I learned that my resentment and anger hurt me more than anyone else. It was time to stop punishing myself. In each workshop, I released more anger and I learned to forgive.
Eileen and I were nearing sixty, but there was something in us that wouldn’t let us accept that we had done everything we could do with our lives. We both had a desire to do something that would make a difference, although we had no idea what. One day we watched The Oprah Show and heard her guest suggest that people write down five things each day that they were grateful for. Something about that idea spoke to us, and we decided to try it. It wasn’t long before we were discovering new things to be grateful for every day. It amazed us how everything seemed connected to everything else. We were in awe of the beauty in the world all around us that we hadn’t noticed. This simple exercise shifted our consciousness, and we felt transformed.
Gratitude. It was that simple. We found what was missing from our lives.
Before I knew gratitude, my thoughts always focused on the nega-tive. I looked at what was not going well instead of what was going
well. The glass was always half empty. If you’ve ever heard the state-ment, “I hate when that happens,” that was me. I didn’t ever think about what might be right with my life and the world because I was so focused on what was going wrong. Then the great and wonderful gift of gratitude arrived. It helped me renew, reflect, and reconnect. It raised my energy vibration, and I felt healthier and happier. Since I truly embraced gratitude, everything that I thought was so bad about my life I now view in a new light. Many incidents of the past that seemed so terrible now seem humorous or even beneficial. Every moment of my past contributed to my finding gratitude, and gratitude was my vehicle to love. For most of my life, I did not know gratitude and I did not know love. Through the simple practice of writing down five things a day that I was grateful for, I found love.
A counselor once told me that education is the only thing that helps to break the chain of alcoholism in a family. What better way to start than with education about gratitude? Gratitude is the legacy I will leave my children, my ten grandchildren, my two great-grandchildren (and one more on the way), and all future generations through my writings and teachings. Gratitude has truly opened my heart to love.
I thank God that I am an independent senior citizen and that I have lived long enough to know gratitude. I thank God for the opportunity to share my story with the world in the hope that others will find grati-tude sooner than I did.
❤ ❤ ❤
Katherine Scherer and Eileen Bodoh are the authors of Gratitude Works: Open Your Heart to Love, an inspirational book that helps read-ers access the healing power of gratitude, and the e-books Gratitude Works Journal and Gratitude Works Prayer Book. Their mission is to touch lives with the spirit of gratitude.
Another GIFT for you: Get Your FREE PRINTED Copy Of Our Thank God I... Best-Selling Volume 1 or Volume 2 right here by clicking here
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