Why don’t I stop fooling myself?
         The game is over, over, over.

Dear Michael,

You were right the other day. Putting aside my life-long pals, you thought I over-glorified the antics of new-found, perhaps colorful friends. I should tell you more, (you said), of the balanced ones. OK buddy. Here goes:

Bruce H and I come from two different worlds. He being a Collinwood Catholic and I a Heights-area Jew, there was no reason to think our lives would intersect. They did though, ten years ago, in the rooms of recovery. It was then we became fast friends: he, a financial advisor, me the financial miscreant.

Bruce, (I saw right on), was one of those guys that walked what he talked. In a world where many came for relief Bruce stayed for recovery. The same age with the same disease, we gravitated toward each other. Our growth, indeed, often flowed in parallel currents.

I’ve learned a lot from him. Still do. While primary contact is at meetings, our telephones ring at will. More than anything else though, he’s one of those guys not afraid to hold a mirror to my face.

Remember 2006, when I lost the weight? ‘Twas Bruce’s game plan. I followed his path that year—his caring path. Don’t think you’re alone in eyeing my gain. Bruce H has too. Often he’s nudged me, gently… brotherly, to get back on board. Often, even before this week when clearly, the price of poker went up.

I got a text from Bruce just Wednesday. It came as I took my stress test. Let me share it:

“God is tapping you on your shoulder,” it read. “He’s giving you a warning.” “What action will you take?” it asked and then he answered: “NONE is not acceptable by those who love you…”

I know, Michael, that you’re skeptical of the spirituality of my imperfection. I sense too, that you’re bothered ‘bout my health.

I’m worried too.

         “Time is tapping on my forehead,
         Hanging from my mirror,
         Rattling the teacups,
         And I wonder
         How long can I delay?”

I’m trying, Michael.  I really am. Just know I focus better and often steer clearer when bolstered by guys I meet in the rooms…guys like Bruce H.

Love, Dad

                              (Adapted from Paul Simon)

One Response to “OVERS”

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