had years of recovery and, I’d heard, tons of sponsees. Why would she ever say yes to me?
Walking up to her after the meeting, I felt sick at the prospect of having to ask, but I also knew I had to do it. “Look for someone who has what you want,” they said. And Maureen seemed to radiate serenity, calm, and wisdom. She was everything I aspired to be.
“I was wondering…,” I said, turning beet red, my heart beating faster, “whether you might have any availability to sponsor me.”
She smiled and nodded. “I do have some requirements,” she said. “Working the steps, going to a minimum of three meetings a week, and talking every day, the same time, no matter what. If you can do that, I would be happy to sponsor you.”
I almost cried with relief.
Maureen is a therapist. Talking to her every day is like having my own personal 12-step therapist on call. She has brought such wisdom and support to my life that I wonder how on earth I managed without her. I credit her with the reason why my sobriety has stuck this time. She warned me off the pity pot when I felt sorry for myself, and taught me to live in the moment, to accept my life as it is, not dwell on where I thought it should be.
“I’ve missed your calls, Cat. I’m wondering what’s going on that you’ve been texting rather than calling. We need to speak on a regular basis, you know that. Texting isn’t enough. Is now a good time for you to talk?”
“I’m just on the way to the noon meeting. I’m so sorry, Maureen. I’ve just been crazy busy.” This isn’t quite true. There is a reason I’ve been avoiding calling her, even though I knew it couldn’t go on forever. “I have a few minutes.”
“Good. We need to talk about your amends list.”
“Yes.” It’s why I haven’t called her. Why I have hopefully buried my head in the sand, thinking she might forget; thinking I might forget.
“You know what I’m going to say, Cat. There are two more people left on the list before you can move on to the next step, and we have to talk about how you’re going to do this.”
Of course I knew what she was going to say. I knew she would eventually call me and force my hand. Ellie and Julia are the last two names on my amends list, the two women who are technically my sisters, who have refused to have anything to do with me since I slept with Julia’s boyfriend in a drunken haze.
I did stay in touch with Brooks until he died. I didn’t see him again, but we wrote to each other sporadically. He was a kind man, a good man. And I was able to confide in him in a way I really couldn’t with anyone else. It has always been easier for me to write my feelings rather than express them in person, and I wrote to him about my life. Sometimes about my drinking. He got it. As a drunk himself, he knew that I was powerless over alcohol, that I sometimes, often, behaved in ways that were shocking and shameful. He was disappointed in me, I think, in what happened that night all those years ago, but he didn’t hold it against me. He understood, I think.
But his daughters cut me off. I wrote to them, in the beginning, letters filled with remorse. I have no recollection of sleeping with Julia’s boyfriend. To this day, I have no idea if we had sex. I was on the pill, so pregnancy was not an option, but I honestly don’t know what happened, if anything, only that he kissed me and we woke up naked. I have to presume we did, and that has haunted me to this day.
I thought I had apologized in writing, immediately after the trip, but making amends is more than an apology. It is restitution for the wrongs we have done, and I have always known that I would never be able to make up for this transgression by letter. This needed to be done in person. So I have worked my way through my amends list, leaving these two until last, knowing I am not going to like what I have to do, avoiding the topic with Maureen, avoiding calling her, in fact, because I know she will tell me exactly what she is about to tell