Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“I am.” I look at him.
“I’m Shawn.” He extends his hand. “I’ll be running the meeting today.”
“I’m Dakota.” I nervously shake his hand. “But everyone calls me Koda.”
“Nice to meet you, Koda,” he says. “You can go in and sit anywhere you like.”
“Thank you,” I reply, pulling open the door and second-guessing why I’m even here. Maybe it’s too early in the grieving process for this. I walk down the five steps to the open blue doors, and my knees almost give up on me with each step. The room is bare, with just white walls and wooden chairs in a circle. I look around, trying not to turn around and run back out of the room. I see a brown table in the corner with a silver coffee pot and a stack of white Styrofoam cups beside it. I stand here I don’t even know how long. My mouth feels dry, like there is no liquid in my body.
The back of my neck tingles, while my stomach feels like there is a tsunami going on in it. “Hi.” I look over to the side and see a woman with long blond hair. “I’m Callie,” she says with a smile, “you’re new.”
“I am.” I try not to seem as nervous as I am. “Does it show? Is there an arrow over my head flashing?”
She laughs at my stupid joke. “Yes.” She points over my head. “It’s red right now.” I hold my purse in front of me with both hands. “We were all new once upon a time.”
I think about her words when I hear clapping and look over to see Shawn walking in without his cup. “We’re starting the meeting. Everyone, please grab a seat.”
My feet move for me, grabbing one of the seats and sitting down. “I see some new faces,” Shawn says, looking at me and another man sitting across from me. “We’ll go around the room and introduce ourselves. I’ll start, my name is Shawn, and I’m a recovering addict. I’ve been clean for the last twelve years and four months. Four thousand five hundred and one days. I was on every single drug you can think of.” His voice goes softer. “OD’d five times. The last time, it took them eight shots of Narcan to start my heart again. Left me in a coma for two months, which is why I was able to get clean. Woke up and knew I never wanted to do that again. I relapsed two months later for a week, and that was when I looked the devil in the eyes and walked away. But I’m also here because I’m not only in recovery, my wife, Callie, stayed an addict long after I got clean. The pressure to stay clean and also get her clean was an enormous monkey on my back.” He smiles. “But she’s here, and I am thankful every single day.” Callie smiles at him. “Who’s next?”
I wait until I’m the last one left to speak because listening to everyone’s story makes me feel like I’m not alone. Like what I went through wasn’t out of the normal for someone who is living with an addict. Like I didn’t do anything to make him do what he did. There is a mother who is trying to get her grown son to go to rehab, and he’s not listening. He has her sleeping on the floor because he has sold everything they have.
“My name is Koda,” I start nervously, “well, Dakota, but everyone calls me Koda.” I laugh but feel the tightness right above my stomach. “I’m married to an addict.” I use the present tense, and then I catch it. “I was married to an addict.” My palms get sweaty. “Ninety-seven days ago, my husband died of a drug overdose on our couch.” The tears that I’ve had in my eyes for everyone else’s story slide out. “The day after our daughter’s fourth birthday. Luckily for me”—I look down at my hands—“or unlucky for me, I found him. I knew he was using drugs, but I didn’t know what kind of drugs. I didn’t know where he got them from. I didn’t know how to help him.” My voice trembles. “I really wish I could have helped him.”
“Wasn’t your place,” a man named Shepard says, shocking me. “I mean, it was your place to help him, but it was his place to want the help.”
I nod at him. “That’s what everyone says, but how does one go on? How do I not feel guilty that I didn’t try harder? How do I look my girls in the eyes when they get older and learn the truth that their mother didn’t do enough?”
“No one can answer that for you,” Shawn says. “Only you can do that.” All I can do is nod.