Author’s Note:
Today was a very average day for me. I am retired so everyday is Saturday. I spent the morning reading one of QHML1’s wonderful, emotional stories and was somewhat shamed as I had just submitted my first story to Literotica hoping it will be accepted. I have a few stories underway, some I started more than a year ago. It was another BTB, like I submitted yesterday. The next one was dormant for so long; I didn’t recall it in detail. So, I opened it, the same, another BTB. I realized most of my own personal queue included just BTB stories.
I wondered about me, not for the first time, but maybe thinking a little deeper than in the past. I had errands to run and, typical of the pandemic, wound up going three places to get what I needed. After an hour and a half, I headed home listening to the radio. A song came on that I have not heard in 40 years — Jackie DeShannon’s “Put a Little Love in Your Heart”.
Damn, I can’t describe how it impacted me! Pretty sad for a 53-year-old song and a 70+ guy. I do know why it hit me, but that’s my issue. I did a little yard work and the song started in my mind over and over again. I sat down to enjoy a snack and the song started again in my brain — my conscience was telling me it’s my time to live the song, not just listen. OK — I promised myself I’d try. If I could write about it, maybe I would live it. Put some love back into the hearts of the two people who have lost that ability. Trust me, this is a challenge that I am probably not capable of doing. But I am going to try.
It’s now near midnight and my first draft is finished. I hope I can improve it and submit it for edit and pass the scrutiny of the board. QHML1 hit me hard — especially after reading the comments about that story. It seemed that virtually all the logged in comments agreed that we need these redemption or reconciliation (RAAC) stories. They are good for the heart and good for the soul. Of course, the anonymous posters all disagreed. You need to know, there is no sex in this story — just a single reference to a likely restoration of love between a husband and wife.
Oh, there is absolutely no sex in this story! More importantly, I want to thank Dad’s Kid for his excellent work to refine what I tried to put on paper. If you can read this story and understand it, thank Dad’s Kid.
So here it is — my tribute to that beautiful song in the Loving Wives category. Well, it may not fit at the beginning, but it should fit in the end.
If you want the world to know, we won’t let hatred grow, Put a little love in your heart!
“Hello, my name is Robert Gregory and I’m an alcoholic!” You’re supposed to say, “Hi Robert!” I took my time at Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) very seriously. I’m still a friend of Bob, clean and sober for more than 10 years. It took a disaster in my life to realize how seriously my inability to put the bottle down impacted the people around me. I lost my wife first — I thought it was her issue and she knew it was mine. My kids stuck with me for a while but when their mom decided it was time to part company, I tried to convince them I would get better. You probably know, I didn’t, and they went to live with their mom. I don’t get a birthday or Father’s Day card from any of the three. I think that’s a message to me that as a father, I sucked!
I started drinking heavily when I was 36 and the company I set up began returning some very strong profits. But that drinking was nothing compared to my drinking when I found out about my wife’s affairs.
My team of executives joined me most Friday afternoons at the country club to relax and blow off steam from the hectic schedule our business followed. We were a hybrid company, both designing software but also reselling software for smaller companies compatible with our platform. Typically, we were faster than the competition, delivered a quality product at a fair price and offered the best maintenance and upgrade program in our category. After we all navigated the Y2K issue, we concentrated on system security and integrity as well as system redundancy to ensure day by day, minute by minute, nanosecond by nanosecond. A couple of us were nerds in high school but certainly blossomed into boisterous, pushy executives by our late 30’s. We worked hard, partied a little, and some drank a lot. Me — I was off the chart.
I was born in northern Michigan, the Upper Peninsula in Marquette in 1965. There’s not a lot to say about the UP, other than it is cold 6 months of the year and probably shouldn’t be considered a part of Michigan since it’s not attached to it. Go north out of Wisconsin and you’ll get to the UP. I was an only child born to parents Wanda and Simon Gregory. Wanda was the principal of Marquette High School and Simon was our town’s real estate attorney in a town where real estate rarely changed hands. Somehow, Dad figured a way to keep our income steady and after high school I headed to the University of Michigan in 1983 in Ann Arbor. I couldn’t capitalize “the” because the people in Ohio go apeshit and claim trademark for a “The” being capitalized. I guess when your mascot is a ‘nut’ it would figure.
I was an electrical engineering major although I preferred to lean towards a career in computers. A good EE major had a good future in computer science anyway, so I was covered. Companies were still heavily reliant on old style mainframe computers and were bogged down managing the complex coding that took years to develop and was costly to maintain and was 2-5 years away from being totally obsolete. Universities had a keen focus on these changes as a lot of it was piloted or perfected in their labs. We knew it was going to be huge so following my undergraduate degree and completing some technical requirements, I began to concentrate on software, programming, and a thing called system security. You can really show your age when you mention the early days of the world-wide web (www.) and accessing sites where you saw nothing but lines of code or access to some files that looked just like the file/save off your computer today. If you really want to confuse the younger generation — tell them about dial up access.
In college, I was a member of an engineering fraternity. It wasn’t one of the stronger ones and we didn’t throw huge parties and have sex every weekend. At various times during my college career, I dated with a girl I liked a lot. I had a regular girlfriend a couple of times but nothing that led to an engagement.
With the help of a loan from my Dad I started a small company in a Chicago suburb to provide software and services to businesses that were just beginning to roll out PCs to their staff and learning the challenges of this thing called e-mail, electronic calendars, and that weird thing called the world-wide-web. The president of a small manufacturing company came to me and asked, “Someone told me that there is pornography in those computers”. I assured him that if that was in computers, it was in someone else’s offices. He looked at me and said “Oh”! I realized then he wasn’t concerned — he was just hoping! Yeah, we all do it — even the wives, although they don’t admit it.
My business was making some pretty good money, but it took up most of my time. I still wasn’t married, and I liked the idea of having someone to share my life with. Loneliness was not my objective. I had started dating this woman named Joan and I really liked her. I had an offer for my business and accepted it to pay my dad back and have some extra cash to buy a home someday. I was hired by a start-up business as their engineering head. For what they were doing at that time, I was over-qualified. For what we were doing three years later, I had to up my game.
Fortunately, during that intervening period, I asked Joan to be my wife, we married and had our first child just as I was brought into the Executive Suite as VP of Engineering. Great salary, stock options — we weren’t even publicly traded but I was told that was the way to go and as our products and services matured, a second child — this time a daughter arrived, and my wife quit working to raise two children. As we finished our preparations for Y2K, our third child was born, and life couldn’t be better. Barron’s had done an article on up and coming privately held companies and ours was highlighted as one of them. While initially it didn’t help us sell millions of dollars more of product, it did something better. Young graduates wanted to work here! We were deluged with applicants and while we had some stars working here, suddenly, we were a destination for the best and the brightest. As our last child was born, I was the new SVP of Products & Services including hardware, software, and services. Our sales were on target to reach $1 billion that year. My pay was over $1 million, and I converted my bonus to stock options. We were making noise about going public.
Something else happened as a few years went by — two things! First, I became an asshole. No, not just occasionally acting like an asshole but from my morning alarm to my nightly sleeping pill to knock me out, I was rude, demanding, and inconsiderate. It didn’t come on slowly either, one day I was an OK guy — getting rich yeah, but not a complete jerk. Maybe it happened over a weekend, you know — OK at the office on Friday afternoon and a raging tyrant first thing Monday morning. But I did say two things, didn’t I! Well, I forgot to mention I fell in love again.
No, I wasn’t a cheater. No, not a cheater in a real sense, but I was cheating. I loved alcohol more than I loved my wife and family. It didn’t matter — a great scotch, a fabulous merlot, a 70-year-old brandy, or a bad beer that sat out in the sun too long. If it had a percent in it, I was all in. The timing of this new love I knew — it was two weeks after my wife went back to work.
OK, I’ll backtrack on something I said. Yes, I did become an asshole rather gradually to most. As I reflect on it today, as part of my 12 steps, I became that asshole to my wife first. It was probably the catalyst for her to go back to work. She needed real adults around her instead of this immature prick she was married to. The result was I pushed her into the arms of the first lothario she encountered at work with predictable results. She liked him a hell of a lot more than me and it was 2008 when it started and 2009 when I found out — threatened her with destruction and she backtracked until she found her second one. But before that could happen, our company got sold. I was sitting on one million share options valued at $1.50 per share. The acquiring company was publicly traded and would convert my 1M shares into 600,000 shares of their company at $7 per share. The economy had hit their stock hard, and it was down 79% from its previous high of $80 per share. Technically, I had 600,000 shares valued at $16.80 less the strike price of $7. Not a killing, but it was still convertible, but no real value until it was exchanged. It was a $5 million nest egg I could count on later in life, I hoped.
Well, Joan hid her second affair better than the first one and it was a full-blown real romance. At least that’s what she said when she confronted me — “I love him, not you”. I do remember that even though I was deep into a 0.75 liter of Johnny Walker Black at the time. To shorten the story, her affair could not be stopped. I was drinking to excess almost daily at this point but still very capable to perform my job. My wife filed for divorce in 2011 accusing me of cruelty and abuse. I counter-sued based on multiple adulterous affairs and the attorneys went swinging. I had paid over $400,000 in attorney bills (hers and mine) by that point. The company I worked for was purchased again by another one and the new company decided I was probably surplus in their organization. They agreed to buy out my options — pay out my golden parachute — and a severance package. The compensation party was over $20 million by that point and the stock options were a little better at $40 million. There would be a tax bite for sure but about $25 million went into the bank.
Did I say, I was still drinking? No, only now it wasn’t drinking, it was binging. I was still living in Chicago when another small start-up in Cincinnati asked me to interview for their CEO position. I didn’t really want the job. It would interfere with my first love — drinking! But they hired me at a salary of $4 million a year with stock options. It was an internet company and when I finally figured out why they hired me, I was delighted. I was their figurehead — someone with an industry reputation that might make it easy to go public. Dot.com companies caused the market crash post Y2K and again post 9-11 were in the past. There was a new parade of these companies, and this was one of them. I tried to do my job the best I could, but the investors didn’t want a good job — they wanted a silent CEO. It fit with my drinking anyway. Now, it was 2013 — you’d think I was crazy, but I never checked back with my attorney about my divorce. I had deposited what I calculated my alimony and child support payments would be until the kids reached 18 and left it in an escrow account with the lawyer. I didn’t know that my day of reconning was near — first the internet company. There was a check on my desk for $5 million and papers to sign. I did so quickly — I was tired of pretending. Three months later I was interviewed by CNBC about likely accounting fraud, and I pointed right back at the public accounting firm and told the world it was their fault. I just lost my future CEO role but fuck them if you can’t take a joke. I took my cash stash and began to day trade. You can build up a real tax liability if you do that, but that means you made a lot of money, and I did. Why was I still living in Cincinnati? I loved it here. I lived in a condo down by the river — I loved the Cincinnati Bengals — such lovable losers and the Reds. I was a Tiger fan growing up and hated the White Sox so I couldn’t root for them when I lived in Chi-town. The Reds could be America’s team if they tried a little harder.
It was late in the year 2017 and I’d been away from my family for more than 5 years. After a Bengals game, I decided to visit a friendly bar. Today, it wasn’t very friendly. Some Vikings fans showed up after thrashing our asses on the field and decided to do it again to the fans. Reinforced by enough alcohol to sterilize a COVID ward, I helped fight the mob. I awoke in the emergency room of Cincinnati General only to pass out again finding myself in a room with 2 residents. “Good evening Mr. Gregory. Do you know what day it is?”
“Sure, its Monday — the day after the Bengals crapped all over the football field again. I fought harder again those Vikings fans than the Bengals did on the football field.”
“Very funny Mr. Gregory. But you are not a comedian and today is not Monday. It’s Friday and you’ve spent the better part of four days passed out in an alcohol induced stupor. While you’ve wandered between incoherent and being comatose, we’ve been able to diagnose some problems that you now have in your life. Your blood pressure is through the roof. It’s the highest I’ve seen in a live person in my time as a resident. Your brain scan proves you still have a brain, but that’s it. Did you realize that you’ve had a least one mild stroke in your life, possibly two but we’ve held you here so we can perform surgery on one blood vessel in your brain that is hemorrhaging? That’s planned for tomorrow with your permission. The next drink you take may be the last one in your life, your heart and liver won’t take any more of this abuse so it’s up to you. I looked you up online — you have impressive business credentials — where the fuck did you leave your brain, was it at that company that the SEC is investigating?
One more insult and I’ll punch these dudes out if I could only remember where I left my hands.
I came out of surgery and could not be discharged as planned. Another “bleeder” popped up and I’m going back tomorrow. I’m glad I negotiated healthcare as part of my exit package.
As I was being readied for discharge back to my condo, the “older” resident who joined in the hurled insults came over to speak with me. He was 35 — a little old to be a resident.
“Mr. Gregory, can I have a word with you”? I stopped and turned to him.
“Mr. Gregory, I was you 10 years ago — very cocky, one of the smartest medical students at Boston University. I knew I had a great residency lined up and was partying like crazy as my start date neared. I went crazy on alcohol and it went crazy on me. I did not complete my requirements at Boston University and lost my prestigious residency. Instead, my parents forced me into AA — you know, they used to be called Alcoholics Anonymous but now use AA because it helps with any substance abuse. They changed my life — no, change that, they saved my life because I was on a self-destructive path. Here is their brochure. They meet every Tuesday night at First Presbyterian Church on Olive St. They’ll save you from yourself. Save yourself, Mr. Gregory. You may not feel it now, but you are worth saving!”
With that, I was sent home. I was walking distance from my condo and decided to walk. But I walked for three hours, talking to myself the entire time. I had harsh words for me — you see, the person I hated most in this world was me! That was truly my first step of a thousand-mile journey.
It was Friday. On Tuesday, I met a reformed alcoholic named Ralph. He became my sponsor and my life friend. Only I didn’t know his life would be short. That happens if you’ve abused alcohol at any point in your life. It was 2017 and I finally felt I was sober in 2020. I realized I had not touched a drop of alcohol beginning that date in 2017 but only now did I feel in control of my urge to drink. There had been thousands of moments of temptation, then hundreds, then fifty — thirty — ten, one — but it was always there. I knew I was sober when I realized the lousy person I had been and realized as part of the 12 steps, I needed to make amends for my failings.
I was trying to apologize to everyone I had done a wrong too but found the list was too long and most I couldn’t find. I know it’s cheating but I decided to be generous with my wealth. I may have been going to AA but I still day traded and from 2019 to early 2021 you couldn’t really go wrong. The ups and downs drove you crazy, but the trend continued upward. I now had, after tax, almost $70 million in stock and holdings. If the market fell like 2003 or 2009, I’d be down to around $15 million — I could live on that.
I gave Ralph a check for $500,000 for his church. It was a church in a poor community that had a lot of spiritual and physical needs but no wealthy benefactor. I decided I would be that one. When Ralph got very sick, I arranged for full time nursing care. When he died and no relatives could be found (that happens a lot with ex-alcoholics), I paid for his funeral and gave $1 million to his church for a new building in memory of Ralph Sessions — One of God’s Miracles.
I was very lonely during Ralph’s illness until he died. We spoke with each other at least twice a week since I finished with AA. Now, I was more than lonely — I craved a drink! You feel sick when you need a drink. The only way you feel worse is if you successfully fight it. The urge gets stronger and stronger and if you beat it, you can live another day. I wanted that next day, and week, and month, and year. I had transgressions to overcome.
Two Lost Souls
December is a terrible time to be lonely and totally alone. I tried not to be self-absorbed in my misery but did allow it at this time of year. It was three weeks before Christmas and I recalled the happy days when we were still a family. The three kids and the Christmas tree, Santa’s gifts, family dinners, and the special gift I gave to Joan every year. In the good years, on Christmas morning with a gift in my hand, I would kneel next to Joan and repeat my wedding vows to her. I did this slowly thinking deeply about every word I was saying. How did I let my love of her disappear? I loved her so much and I threw her away for a bottle of scotch. I was teary-eyed and needed to get out of the condo. I had to escape into the night, walking in the cold air despite the continued lockdown due to COVID-19.
I was walking more and more due to my depression, using hours after 10pm to avoid contact with real human beings. This night, by a parking meter, I saw a woman, maybe a little bit younger than me clearly distressed. I knew that feeling but she didn’t look like an alcoholic — she looked like a mother that lost her kids somewhere. I stopped to speak to her.
“Excuse me, are you OK?” She looked up a me — she was frightened, very frightened!
“I’m not going to hurt you — can I help you with anything?” She was shaking visibly but couldn’t respond.
“Here, let me help you up” but as I moved toward her, she fell to the ground. She was clearly having some type of medical episode. She mentioned her young children over and over. I thought she was a few years younger than me but talking about young kids. I looked at her again and knew, this isn’t normal — maybe a stroke. So, I called 911 for an ambulance. While waiting I heard her say “Peter, I am sorry, Peter, I am sorry!” and then she passed out.
I heard the ambulance in the distance and a police officer showed up, concerned that I was standing over a passed-out woman — what had I done! I explained to him how I came across this woman, clearly in a medical distress and told him I had called 911 for help and was hoping that the siren in the distance was the ambulance for this woman. The police officer believed me but waited until the ambulance arrived.
I heard the radio call from the ambulance — patient is non-responsive, blood pressure at emergency levels. Suspected stroke based on lack of response. I asked where they were taking her, and they said Good Samaritan Hospital. I asked the officer where that was, and he asked if I was going there, and I said yes.
“Get in my squad car, I’ll take you!”
His squad car beat the ambulance to the hospital, and I walked in with him. He pointed to the chair nearby and said to “Sit!” He seemed to know the triage staff waiting and pointed to me and said “That guy found her lying in the street. He’s worried, but he’s not a relative. Let him stay there — I’ve watched him cry for almost 10 minutes now. He needs it, OK!
The ambulance unloaded outside the electric doors and the gurney was rushed into a treatment room. Being close to Christmas it was surprising that the ER wasn’t busier. She had a full team attending her needs. The head nurse walked over to me and asked, “What is your name?”
“Robert, is she going to be alright?” I said.
“Robert, I can’t give you any information about her as I understand you are not a relative. Do you know who she is or where she lives?”
“No, I just saw her in distress at the corner of 10th and Olive and went to see if I could help. She was speaking some, but mostly incoherent. She mumbled a couple of almost nonsense words and started repeating them in a pattern. I called the ambulance when I thought it might be a stroke.”
I heard the doctors come out and speak with the nurse.
“She’s indigent, right? No insurance, no known family? We don’t normally take cases like these so get her ready to transfer her to Cincinnati General. They’ll take care of her, but they just brought in casualties from a five-car accident on I-75 and will be backed up for hours.
I went over to the doctors and was pleading with them — “You transfer her, and she’ll die. My mother had a stroke like this and survived. They said minutes counted and they had enough to get it done. I’ll guarantee payment of her bills — I’ll even write you a check right now. Just take care of her, please. I don’t think it’s right to let her last moments on this earth to be the words of distress I heard! Please, have some mercy!”
The doctor called the administrator on duty. He said it was most unusual. He never heard of a stranger being willing to pay the medical expenses of someone without the means to pay. He asked — “How much is he willing to deposit upfront?”
I told him, “$50,000 tonight. You can me in later in the morning and I’ll bring more if needed. Please, this woman’s life is worth saving.”
The administrator told me back, “Sir, all lives are worth saving!”
Asshole Robert returned for a second and said, “Then save hers now — what are you waiting for!”
The doctor got the OK and said after an MRI, she’d be off for surgery. I said I would be sitting here when the surgery was over, and he could tell me his bill too. I sat there through the night and into the early morning of the next day getting up only to use the bathroom or take a cup of coffee generously donated by the nurses.
I was almost sleeping when the ER doctor came out and said, “I know you don’t I”? I looked at him and almost uttered the word — “No” but then I took a closer look.
“Yes, but I never did get your name — you saved my life by referring me to AA some years back. I thought you were crazy, but you were right. My drinking caused me to lose my marriage and my family, my drinking may have caused an entire company to fail, and now I’m trying to make amends because I can’t find my wife and children to apologize to them. But I can sincerely say, you’ve saved one life of a patient that still thanks you every day.”
The ER nurse came over to talk with the doctor. It turned out — they were married. He was the doctor who saw our mystery woman in the treatment room and recognized her symptoms. He had already ordered the MRI before I had intervened with the administrator. His wife told him about my day and contribution to this woman’s care.
Doctor Murphy was his name and he turned to me and said “I go back at least once a month. Are you still going to the one at First Presbyterian?”
I sadly said “No, my sponsor and best friend died 18 months ago. I’ve had some sad moments in my life, most self-caused, but his death hurt a lot. But it also reinforced my commitment to sobriety because I made that promise to Ralph!”
At the request of the hospital, a policeman was asked to remove me from the emergency room. When he arrived, I saw it was the same cop who gave me a ride. He saw the member of hospital security waiting near me expecting him to escort me out. He went over to the guy in security and said something to him. Then, he walked over and sat down next to me and smiled.
“I told the security guy to go get us some coffee. I’ll wait here with you until the hospital administrator arrives. I’ll be here to support you — you’re a good man Robert — the world needs more of you.”
I know about 100 HIPAA rules were broken during my two days of sitting and my body odor might have rivaled any of the hundreds of homeless people in the city. The amazing outcome was with the contribution of a couple of attorneys, the court allowed Patient A to be discharged into my care. “One small step for mankind, one giant leap forward by a broken man”.
The problem with Patient A is that she clearly isn’t an indigent woman. Her clothing didn’t resemble someone living on the street, she was in good health other than the stroke and memory loss. At her discharge, I sat with her in a hospital room saying I had agreed to give her shelter while she tried to regain her memory. I told her where I lived and that I no longer worked at a real job but made money stock trading. She would be in my three-bedroom condo with her own bedroom and bath that could be locked from the inside. I even got my new friend, Officer Kelly to agree to drop by every day to make sure she was OK. She realized that she didn’t have an option and agreed to accept my help.
I was warned by the doctors that her memory would be a little worse for a few days after the surgery but most of the memory lost would come back. Whatever she lost from the original event, well, that was a different issue. It would have been miserable for her except that we were now five days from Christmas, and it was snowing. She asked me if I had any Christmas music — I said no but then realized my cable-tv had music channels and we listened for a while. Then, she started singing, so I joined her. We skipped through about 20 popular Christmas Carols, and I realized there was a lot of memories in that brain! She was going to get better.
I gave Miss A, as I was beginning to call her, some gifts for Christmas. Since we did not know where she lived, she only had the clothes on her back, so we headed to a mall and purchased some new items for her that first day. We discussed going to church for Christmas, but she was afraid she might stand out. Like the Grinch, my heart had grown that day and I was longing for connections to people. Not at work, I no longer had a place of business. Church might be that place but not this Christmas. Miss-A was still too mentally frail. But I had purchased a very pretty dress for her, and it was just the right size. She noticed something by the fireplace. I never thought I would see the day when I had a bible in my home but all those AA days at the church made me decide I needed one. Miss A picked it up and began reciting bible verses. Another victory followed by another huge one. “I remember teaching the Bible to kids at church. My kids were in my class.” As I turned my head towards her to learn more, she could not recall what she just said. It was frustrating for her but rewarding to me. I knew she’d make it, just like Ralph said I would on my worst day trying to stay sober.
I had not heard anything from the hospital about further bills so two days before New Year’s I called their collections group. I explained who I was and explained how I paid part of the bill when she was admitted. The head of collections called and said I was due a refund. I asked why and she said, “Have you ever heard about a Go Fund Me page on Facebook?”
I answered, “What’s Facebook!”
“Oh my Mr. Gregory, you have lived a sheltered life! Facebook is a social media site — kids have used it for years to keep track of their friends. The nurses involved with the patient spoke to other nurses about your gesture and willingness to take that woman into your home, they started one for her. That nurse is married to one of the doctors that treated her.”
I heard that and it brought some joy to my broken heart. That doctor who pulled me out of the gutter was paying it forward. His wife was his catalyst and people around the world were doing the right thing.
“Not only did the “Go Fund Me” page payoff the balance owned, but it covered your down payment too. Don’t worry, with the publicity now circulating, the hospital will donate a lot of this money to future indigent care — paying it forward I guess!”
I had to wonder if it was the story or the desire of people to do good deeds around the holidays.
That wasn’t all it did — after our New Year’s Eve celebration in my condo and New Year’s Day bowl games, I discovered she’s a University of Oregon fan. Where did that come from? Oh, and I received a call from our local ABC affiliate. They want to interview us. I said no, but Miss A disagreed and said yes – maybe someone can tell me who I am. She was right. We decided to let Miss-A heal a while longer and scheduled the interview late in January.
It was the 29th when the interview was conducted as the reporter arrived. I had no interest in being in the limelight. I just wanted to do the right thing! I was able to be nothing more than a voice in the background as the reporter peppered Miss-A with questions. Other than what her name is and where she lived, Miss A did beautifully. As I watched her charm the reporter and demonstrate such poise when responding to questions, I realized how easy it would be to love this woman!
Day by day, I was there with her, and our friendship grew. Our friendship soon became affection, and our affection became a type of love — a love I haven’t experienced in over 12 years. Warm tender kisses became part of our daily activities. They were short kisses, but I felt the intensity of each one. Often, we would sleep together to simply enjoy the warmth of another human being. I knew that many mornings I had an erection when I woke up but would never let Miss A see the result of our cuddling.
It was early March and Miss A was regaining more and memories from her past and I felt we were on the verge of finding out her name and where she lived when I received a phone call from the local ABC station. We didn’t know that the network had distributed the interview for use by any national affiliate. They said a private investigation agency in the Dallas area wanted to speak with Miss A.
They have a client that thinks Miss A is his 51-year-old wife. She’s originally from Oregon but moved with him to the Midwest around 1999. They divorced in 2010 and she had gotten custody of her kids but turned to alcohol under the pressures of work and taking care of the home. Her husband regained custody in early 2012 and by 2015, she totally disappeared, and everyone lost track of her. Their divorce, like mine, was triggered by an adulterous affair. They gave me the phone number to call (214) 2XX-1234. It was a very interesting conversation.
They said that a client in Dallas hired them to locate his ex-wife, suspecting that she might still be in the Cincinnati area. Their detectives did locate an old phone number and left messages on a machine but never got a call back. Then, a few days back one of his agents saw a ‘feel good story’ on the morning news about a woman in Cincinnati who lost most of her memory and that a good Samaritan was sheltering and working with her to restore memory. We figured it had to be her. That’s when they called the TV station, they called me, and I made the call.
It was time for me to have a discussion with my best friend, Miss-A. Only now, she has a name and its beautiful — Rita Collins. I would have this discussion with her in the morning, but first, I called the psychologist we worked with to define my role and how to proceed with Miss-A. He was helpful. “No mass invasion of family or friends, just her husband or maybe a child to visit but not both.” He advised that I needed to accept that she and I had bonded, and she would not give up that bond easily. Her future was in my hands. Oh God, this is too much pressure. Oh God, I need a drink — but I fought it and won that skirmish.
The morning started with our usual cup of coffee — it ended in a river of tears, but I’m pretty sure 90% of those were happy tears.
I decided to be bold and straight forward. I told Miss A I had some potentially wonderful news. I asked her if her name might be “Rita” and she immediately became concerned. The psychologist said she might be alarmed if something sounded right and scared her. He was right on target. Then I mentioned the call last night — and that someone had seen that interview in another city and thought you might be the ex-wife of a man searching for you! He said your children are desperate to find you.
I asked if she thought she might have children and she rapidly nodded her head. Then, I asked if the name Peter meant anything to her she again nodded but this time said, “I think he is my husband!” and broke into tears. Her tears flowed for over 15 minutes and I feared she would become dehydrated. But we found her identify and the people in her life miss her greatly and want to see her. I wish I could only be that lucky in my own life.
Finally, I said that Peter wants to talk to you about rejoining his family in Texas. I tried to look away — I felt so much pain and it was only going to get worse, but I couldn’t show it. I think Rita was looking to me to say “No — that she should stay with me” but that was the wrong answer. Her look back at me was pleading and yet I knew I couldn’t.
Finally, I said “Rita, the agency will set up a call with Peter. After you two talk he can come for a visit, and we will go from there, OK?” and again she nodded. I called the agency to schedule the call for tomorrow. We would see if Peter was ready to schedule a trip and not to worry about a hotel. I had a spare bedroom that he could use and to plan no more than a day. If it went well, we would address things on the spot.
Our call with the agency was tense and emotionally charged. Through the tears on both ends, you could tell this was right. Two very wounded souls saying little with their words but communicating through their hurt. We agreed that Peter would come to Cincinnati alone five days from now. Peter would arrive mid-day on Thursday and return home on Sunday unless obstacles were encountered.
As the days moved forward, maybe it was the shock of discovery, but Rita remembered where she lived and worked. I was shocked that with all the publicity about her loss of memory, her place of business didn’t put 2 + 2 together about her absence after perfect attendance for three years. How could they miss that clue that it might be her in the papers and on TV? Losing this job was a blessing to her if they thought so little about an employee.
We did go by her apartment and spoke with the landlord. He was very understanding and reasonable. A new lock had been placed on the door, but he was happy to remove it and tell me “Now that I know she was the lady in the story, tell her not to worry about the delinquent rent.” I told him we would remove all her possessions within two days, and he can re-rent sooner rather than later. Rita was so excited to be reunited with her clothes. They were well worn but importantly, they were hers.
It was Wednesday afternoon and Peter would arrive tomorrow. I saw Rita going through her things and saw a picture of Peter. He was very handsome, then I saw pictures of her kids and what a pair they were. She had two — both girls. We started a conversation and told her my story, about Joan and how we fell in love, about me falling in love with work, and then the bottle and ruined our relationship. I wasn’t going to heap Joan’s infidelity on Rita at this point in our time together.
That night, knowing tomorrow the world would change, we were as close as any lovers, but I could not cross that line. Rita stroked my face, thanking me for my kindness. We also talked about the memories of our spouses. She remembered the good times. I wanted to remember those but tonight, only the bad parts were front of mind.
The night was already long, and Rita bent over to kiss me goodnight. We did that almost every night over the past four months. Tonight, it was different. It scared me — I couldn’t remember a kiss this tender and started crying and had trouble breathing. I told Rita that she meant more to me right now than anyone in my past life. But I knew it was like a mother cared for her child and not the love of a husband and wife. She turned back to me and said “You’ve protected and nurtured me through a dismal period of my life. Tonight, is the happiest day of my life, including the birth of my children, as happy as I’d been on my wedding day in 1993. June 17, 1993 — 28 years ago.
I was still crying and wondered what I just heard. “Did you say June 17, 1993, was your wedding day?”
“Yes — even after my divorce, I treated June 17 like a holy day in the Christian faith. We swore to love each other until death. I know I failed but I’d give my organs away for another chance!”
“Rita, the date of your wedding was the date I got married too! I guess it’s more than a coincidence that we crossed paths. Between Karma and Kismet, we will always have our connection.”
Peter arrived a little late — it was almost 3:00pm when he arrived and knocked on the door. I let Rita answer and any questions I had were answered by the reception. They wouldn’t need me today. I introduced myself to Peter, asked if they needed anything and then said “I see you two know each other. Here’s my cell phone number. Call me if you want me to bring back takeout.” For a moment, I wondered if this was a mistake — they’ve been apart for years. Could I trust him? Was he good enough for my darling Rita? I had to stop thinking like this.
I returned to my condo around 10:30pm — I recognized the smell, and it was beautiful. It was the smell of a beautiful reconciliation, and I was so happy for Rita. Her stroke was more than partially due to her agony over the loss of her family. In one-half day, Peter and Rita re-pledged a love that somehow fell off the tracks. I would be alone again, but for a while, at least, it would be a happy alone. When it was time for Peter to leave on Sunday, they announced their intentions.
“Robert, Peter has asked me to come home with him. In this short time, he reminded me that he was still in love with me, and I was in love with him. We’re going to get me back to the Dallas area so I can rejoin my family. I’m very scared but it wouldn’t have been possible if you had not been with me these past months. Peter will be back next week, and we’ll load my stuff into a rental truck and leave. I want to be with you to say a proper goodbye until he returns. He said he owes you more than he could ever repay.”
I wondered about that comment — was he inviting me to have sex with his wife? Or was he assuming that we had already been doing that for months. I doubled my resolve — she’s a beautiful woman but nothing should get in the way of their reconciliation.
Peter’s return was way too soon but I knew I was minutes away from losing the second woman I truly loved. But the truck was loaded and ready to roll. Peter hugged me and said “Thank you for saving us. I was already lost without her but I would have been devastated if she had died.” Rita hugged me long and hard. I didn’t think this petite woman had muscles that strong. She said something about a message on the phone and slipped me a piece of paper. I looked at it quickly and it didn’t seem to make any sense. I put it in my wallet for safe keeping. I helped her into the cab of the rental truck, blew her a kiss and they headed in the direction of Dallas, Texas. Ten minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was a new number — it was Rita. She called me to say, “I know I will see you again! I wish you every happiness and the love of your family once more in your life.”
The truck had been long out of sight and as I returned to my condo, I murmured, “I can only wish. Ralph, can you make another miracle happen? I didn’t think so!” Since it was spring, I heard a clap of thunder — of course, I saw the lightning too! “Is that you Ralph” I laughed and instantly there was another flash.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dallas Texas, June 25, 2021
Rita was still glowing in her reunion with her family. She’d been home — yes, her real home — now for about ten weeks. Peter was smiling again. Her kids told her it had been rare to see him smile all the years she was away. Yes, her infidelity had kicked him in the head, and the girls still held some animosity towards her. But seeing their dad smile again made them know forgiveness was underway.
Today, it’s a special day. After working through the issues of their reunion, Peter decided to throw a neighborhood party. Rita would get a chance to get acquainted with the neighbors that Pete and the kids have been friends with for 12 years. Of course, not all of them had lived there for that extended period. The limited turnover of homes in this desired neighborhood meant it was easy to get the know the new folks.
As the families trickled in, Rita was overwhelmed with trying to remember names. Most came in as families but one family, a woman with her three older kids — all college age or older came inside, and Peter offered her a warm greeting. Peter explained to me that she told him she was a widow, losing her husband 10 years ago. She was sad talking about him — he was an alcoholic. “Pete, I want to get to know her better — she has sad eyes. I know that look — it’s been mine for the past ten years. Maybe I can pay Robert’s kindness forward!”
With Pete’s full agreement, Rita set out to become friends with Joan. Joan’s youngest had been 11 years old when he lost his father. His name was Greg. Now 21, he was in his final year at Texas A&M. There was a second boy named Peter — he’s 23 – graduated from Texas Tech with a degree in engineering and recently joined an oil exploration firm. Her daughter — Sarah — was a CPA and was married with a 12-month-old girl and a husband named Roger. Rita learned a great deal about Joan’s background during their almost daily talks.
By mid-August, the two were such close friends — so close, that any barriers were down, and both started coming clean about their pasts. Rita disclosed how it was her infidelity that broke her bond with a good and loving husband and ultimately the loss of her children. Joan could tell the pain in her heart as she decided to be brutally honest about what she had done to her family.
Joan’s Story
I wondered what I would say to Rita. It sounded like her life had some similarities to mine — we both did stupid things during our marriages that cost us greatly. Rita’s situation was different. Her infidelity cost her their marriage, access to the kids, and a lifestyle that almost cost her life. How can I tell someone who paid a high price, that I got away “free of the stain of sin”? Could I tell Rita I had an alcoholic husband who was verbally abusive, and I was afraid for my kids? Sure, that’s what I told everyone at first after my family broke apart. I would need to admit that since moving to this new neighborhood, I just tell everyone I’m a widow and my kids even go along with that.
But the other day, Rita and I began telling more truths. I decided to tell Rita the absolute truth!
“I had a good husband. He loved me dearly and the kids as well. He started his own company but eventually sold it to a larger company getting stock in exchange. His salary was excellent, so we never lacked anything. I was 39 years old, and I got stupid — I had an affair with a co-worker for almost a year. I didn’t get caught so when I had an opportunity to start another one, I did that too. I figured I’d never get caught until I did — not just once, but twice. My husband forgave me the first time and I told him I broke it off with that guy. I noticed my husband now doing a lot of drinking and he passed out a lot of nights. I figured I had no need to break it off with the second guy since some nights he was incoherent. Then, he caught us at our home, in our bed and he went into a rage!”
Rita told me to take a break and offered me some wine. Rita wouldn’t touch it — she knew her past alcoholism was always a fault that could hurt badly.
I took a sip and continued with my story. “When I saw my husband the next day, he had been on a 20-hour drunk. I’m not sure he heard what I said clearly, but I think he understood. I yelled that he was a drunk, a bad father, and a terrible lover. He could stick around but I was still going to enjoy my lover a couple of times a week. “You’ll be a cuckold for the rest of your life — I did that to the man I loved”
Rita realized that I had pushed my husband out the door and probably never saw him again. “Joan, so do you know if you really are a widow or are you just divorced?”
“Rita, I’m not even divorced! After that event, my lover Ed started complaining that sex wasn’t as good as it had been and what was my problem. As I started thinking about it, I had been a good, no – not good — GREAT lover when I wanted to humiliate my husband. How evil I had become! I had one more affair that year — it didn’t give me any satisfaction. For the past 10 years I’ve been celibate with no desire for sex.” With my story finished, I sat there and cried like I should have during the last 12 years.
Rita promised to tell me her story tomorrow. Mine had taken the entire afternoon. I was not proud of myself, but she gave me the biggest hug and said to stop hating myself. If your husband is still out there, he’s probably already forgiven you!
RITA’S STORY
I tried to get Joan on the phone for a couple of days. Her son said she had taken a couple of days off from work because she wasn’t feeling well. I knew why! Joan had torn a tightly wrapped bandage from her body after 10 years and it hurt so bad. Now in the light of day, in the fresh air, with a little tender love and care, I hoped I could help her get back her happiness. My Robert had done that for me. He was wounded, almost mortally but yet he crawled out of the gutter — the one he created for himself and threw himself back in almost every day. But, with time, he repaired himself and even admitted he was a much better man and person as he helped me. I never got a final number from the hospital, but I know at one point the cost of my care exceeded $100,000. It was the generosity of people that enabled him to get his money back but he immediately gave it back to them for future care of indigent patients.
I finally reached Joan and she said she was feeling a little better and invited my husband and I over for dinner on Saturday. I said I would be happy to, and we could continue our discussion if she was still ready to hear my story. Joan said, “Won’t your husband feel uncomfortable hearing about your past and even your time with your friend… where were you then?”
I replied, “in Cincinnati” and Joan said she thought her ex-husband might have lived there a while after their divorce. I chuckled that Cincinnati is as boring a city as you will ever find. Wonderful, boring people — most would do anything for you.
“Oh, and Joan, my time with my friend was very special but we were never intimate. I felt the urge, but he was so focused on me regaining the memories from my past and my ‘personality’ that we kissed like brother and sister but never in the way I did with my husband before I lost my way! When Peter came to his condo that day to reconnect with me, my friend did all the right things. By nighttime, Peter and I made love like newlyweds. It was the most exciting day in my life!”
After dinner, my husband went in to sit with Joan’s youngest son. He’s a senior at Texas A&M and football season in Texas is underway and, here, we even treat high school football as a ‘must see’ event. Joan and I sat in her dining room and just started chatting after the dishes were cleared.
“Joan, we seemed to have experienced almost parallel lives. It was so odd to discover that we’re close to the same age and had similar experiences growing up and, I guess, got stupid about the same time. My marriage to Peter was great and we were happy. We had our two kids, both girls and you have your two boys and a girl. I was never much of a partier in college but worked in an office where the women formed their own sorority and found ways to get a little wild. I should have known as in my first year there, two of our co-workers got divorced. But back then, you just knew the husband had done something bad. Those girls that were out with you kissing other guys during the after-work events must have caught them.
Well, I was the oldest of them — I think I was 38 at the time and a guy transferred into our office from Chicago and I thought he was a doll. He was 33 and single — or so he said. Turns out, he was my age (38) and married but his wife needed to remain in Chicago until the house sold and her school year ended both for the kids but also her teaching job. Well once I started up, and even after I learned what a liar Russ was, I continued. Peter found out, confronted me, and gave me an ultimatum, NO MORE. I agreed and then went back to find another Russ. My drinking was getting bad — girls’ night after work became an almost daily event. Peter got mad one night, got a babysitter for the kids and arrived at the bar that he figured I was using. He guessed right at the wrong time. I found my new stud — only he was going to be a stud for the night, and I had my legs spread in the back of his car when Peter found me. All he did was take a couple of pictures of me “in flagrante delicto” and headed home. I was served with a petition for divorce two weeks later and went to court about 4 months later. I was the cheater, and he became the cheated! The court system was typical Cincinnati — just like the pilots used to say when you landed there, “Ladies and Gentlemen, you’ve just landed at the Greater Cincinnati Airport. Please set your watches back 20 years!”
I was happy. I got the kids, the house, and most of Peter’s paychecks – $2500 a month in child support and alimony. Lots of parting gifts for my acts of infidelity. Those checks coming in like clockwork on top of my paycheck made me so happy I started to drink even more. It was almost two years later that Peter’s parents filed a complaint with the Child Protectives Services agency, and I was investigated. They said to straighten myself up or they would need to act. I feel so much shame for what I need to say next, but I need to be honest. There was a next time — four months later I went out after work, got sloppy drunk, and went with a guy to his house. After we had sex, I passed out and woke up at 9am the next morning. It took me until noon when my fuzzy head cleared that I remembered my kids. I left them in the house all night and by the time I got there, Peter’s parents had them at their house and there was a restraining order against me coming within 500 feet of their home. Peter asked for an emergency hearing with the family court, and I had my custody revoked, alimony and child support terminated, and the house was placed back in my husband’s hands. Only one more bad thing could possibly happen to me, and it did. Four months later, I was fired by my company for excess absences. That was on the termination papers — actually, I was caught drunk at work.
It’s odd, no one told me that my family had relocated to Dallas. My husband’s company moved out of the Cincinnati area as they had acquired a retail chain that was very strong in the southeast and southwest United States and the airport service was far superior to Cincinnati after Delta dropped its hub status.
So, I got another job at about half pay compared to my previous job and still drank. Only instead of drinking in bars, I drank at home. Instead of Bombay Sapphire, I was drinking Gilbey’s and buying it in the 1.75-liter bottles. My binging usually lasted 10 days or so. I thought I had hit the bottom when I started dating guys to have a decent meal and to get fucked. I didn’t care about the love part. I was totally humiliated by the time a year went by and decided to stop trading sex for a dinner at Applebee’s. But the alcohol always continued, until my first episode of acute alcoholism. Memory loss — quite severe, no near-term memory — classic blackout symptoms and I started to go cold turkey. I was good for almost two years. Yes, I still had a drink or two, but infrequently and always in moderation. At least I thought it was moderation until that man I was telling you about found me wandering the street, murmuring to myself, and wondering who I was. I’d probably still be in a mental hospital in Cincinnati if it wasn’t for him.
He suspected that I had a stroke and being a recovering addict as well, knew it was probably an outcome of my excessive drinking days. I had no insurance, no hospital would take me, but an ambulance dropped me at Good Samaritan and this man stayed with me. When the hospital said they were going to transfer me because I was an indigent patient, he took out his checkbook and wrote the hospital a check for $50,000. He dared them to wait until they verified, he could cover it when a neurosurgeon came by and had the nurses bring me back to a treatment room in the ER. Two hours later, they found a leak in my brain — probably from the excessive drinking but if it wasn’t treated quickly, I could become another vegetable in a ward of the state of Ohio.
I didn’t recover quickly but my special friend was with me every step of the way. He even took me into his home — a beautiful condo overlooking the Ohio River. It was the nicest place I’d ever seen. I cooked and cleaned with him — he was retired after having sold his business and then liquidating his shares when the stock value soared. He was working with AA in appreciation for their help in regaining his sobriety and several downtown Cincinnati charities that cared for the homeless and those unable to obtain adequate food each month. We did some of that together when I was able and after a few weeks, some of my memory came back.
By this point, I had asked him if I could sleep with him for comfort and warmth. It was a bitter cold winter in Cincinnati, and we had returned from a soup kitchen one night and were chilled to the bone. We both agreed we were broken, and a sexual relationship would not be right — maybe later, but not now. I was able to learn his full story, including his alcoholism, him leaving his family, and the shame he felt for his acts.
It was a couple of weeks after the new year when the TV station asked if I was willing to do an interview. They said someone might recognize me and it would help me regain my memory. My friend didn’t want to do it. I realized he didn’t want to be seen in the limelight for doing a good deed. But he agreed since he knew it might be good if someone would see my face as part of the story. Well, nothing came of it in Cincinnati but apparently some ABC affiliates, including the one in Dallas, picked up the story and showed it during a morning news segment.
You know, I recall now that he once asked me if I knew what this telephone number was for — (214) 2XX-1234. When he said it, I had no idea — then he said I’d was talking in my sleep and started repeating it back like I was on the phone with somebody and repeated it back to them so I could call them back. Apparently, I had done these three nights in a row. I didn’t think any more about it and he didn’t ask again. He recalled it again when our ABC station gave him the number to call — (214)2XX-1234!
Since I didn’t work — my friend said he had more than enough money for both of us to live on, I paid him back by running errands. I went grocery shopping one day and came back almost two hours later.
My friend met me at the door and said “Rita, we need to talk!” I was scared stiff. What did I do? Please, don’t throw me out! I’m still so vulnerable. We went to sit down but I started shaking, almost in a convulsive state and crying in sobbing waves. He reached out to comfort me and assured me it was nothing bad, but he had something to tell me.
“That number Rita, the one you kept repeating in your sleep, it was for a detective agency in Dallas. They are working for a client there that is searching for a Rita Collins. Her maiden name was Scott. Is that you? They said they reached your answering machine one day and left a message. In your sleep, you were recalling that number since they asked you to call them back.
My memory was back but not reliable. I suspected that Collins was my married name but Scott? Something about my past flashed across my brain — I saw a man, yes, he’s my father and my mother is calling to him — “Scotty, go get Rita and come into dinner!” Yes, I was a Scott. My Mom called my Dad Scotty!
My friend said he was pretty sure that was right and already advised the agency that he thinks he knows her and where she is. He told me “Your husband and kids are looking for you! They hoped you were still alive and suspected that you’d still be in Cincinnati, so it was a good guess. Rita, they want to come to see you — they want you to come home with them.
It turned out that Peter hired a Private Investigation agency to find me and one of their agents saw the segment on the news. They called our station in Cincinnati, they then called my friend, and he set up my first conversation with Peter in nearly 10 years. Now I’m back in my family’s life, but I think of my friend every day! He’s so alone! I wish him a happy life, like mine is now. I cried my eyes out that night. Oh my God, what could I possibly tell them to make them love me again, but even worse at that moment, how could I leave my good friend — this man I love. I love him dearly and can’t leave him — he was still searching for comfort in his life!
That night, we talked into the early morning hours of the next day. He asked me about the happiest days of my life. Remember, my memory was still weak, but I rattled off the dates of birth of my two children and then June 17, 1993 — 28 years ago! That was the day I married Peter and I remembered how happy I was that day, especially now that he wanted to re-start our lives together!”
I noticed, suddenly Joan was very quiet and sad, but I continued. “You know what the most amazing thing about that date! It was my friend Robert’s wedding date too – day, month, and year precisely! Can you believe that? Joan, Joan, Joan! Talk to me Joan!”
She had fallen on the floor and was passed out cold. I called 911 for an ambulance. By the time they got here, Joan was once again fully alert. The crew checked her vital readings and said there was no need to transport. Perhaps she was dehydrated. I gave her some water and held her tenderly because the tears were still flowing. She started speaking but I couldn’t make any sense out of her words.
“It has to be him, it has to be him — oh please God, make it be him. Your friend Robert has the same wedding day as you and ME! It has to be my Robert — you call him your friend, was his name Robert”?
“YES, YES! — it’s not possible for all three of us to share the same wedding date!” Well, I guess it could but on the verge of impossibility.
“Rita, can I call him? I need to talk to him. We’re still married. I never divorced him, I was so ashamed by my own behavior, I couldn’t do that to a good man. He was almost perfect until he found out about my two affairs and only started drinking heavily when I began to humiliate him with my behavior. Oh God, what did I do, what have I done, I’m so ashamed!”
“Joan, one night when Robert and I were talking, I told him how I wanted to beg my husband for forgiveness even though I couldn’t recall his name at that time. He told me about his experience in AA and of his need to speak with you and your kids to ask for your forgiveness for his conduct. “It was what I want most in my life” he said. “I can die in peace if I finish this — the final hurdle of my 12-step program!” Then I asked him if he was ready to forgive you too. His answer was “I’ve already forgiven her completely — I no longer have room in my heart and soul for hate or distrust.”
Joan called each of her kids that night as I called Peter. Peter could not believe he lived two blocks from the woman married to the man that rescued his wife.
After explaining to Joan Robert’s daily schedule, we planned a call from Joan’s house for the next night. Robert would regularly watch the 11pm news before going to bed and the time change in Dallas would be an hour earlier so we planned to call around 10pm Dallas time as he was rested and ready for bed around that time.
Robert’s Story
I was alone again for the five months that followed. At this point, my loneliness was different. I was optimistic that my life was looking up. I remembered what Ralph promised me in my dreams, so I laughed. “He’d never broken a promise in his life once he regained his sobriety.” I couldn’t believe I was talking to myself again and wondered once again what changes I could make in my life. In the grand scheme of time, I didn’t have long to wonder.
Friday was very busy at the soup kitchen, so I returned home later than usual. I couldn’t wait to put my phone on the nightstand, get into my pajamas, and fix a cup of hot chocolate, one of my few remaining vices after getting sober. I came out of the kitchen and my phone started ringing. Most nights, I would have let it go to voice mail but, heck, tonight I answered “Hello?” There was silence on the other end. I was ready to hit the red button when I heard a voice – “Dad, is that you? I can’t believe we found you!”
“Greg, oh my God, Greg — how are you son! It’s so good to hear your voice. Where are you! I miss you and your brother and sister. Are you married; do you have kids? Can you come to see me — Oh, God — I’ve missed my family, even Joan! I am so sorry I was such a horrible person!”
I was crying in hysterics. I didn’t think I could go on.
“Dad — Mom’s here with me — she needs to talk to you. Don’t hang up, don’t hang up on any of us anymore, please!”
“Robert, are you still there?” I’d know Joan’s voice even if it was speaking quietly inside a subway car.
“Yes, I’m here Joan — I am so sorry for the man I was and so sorry that I ruined our family. That was what I was trying to say to you when I called, what was that 10-11 years ago. This means I’ve really completed the 12 steps of redemption!”
“Robert — there is no need to apologize — I ruined our family with my affairs. Yes, there was more than just that one. I feel horrible for what I put you through. It was my actions that caused you to turn to the bottle, but I never fell out of love with you. Robert — you need to know, I never divorced you — we’re still married, and, and, and I still love you so much it hurts!”
I didn’t know what to think — this miserable excuse for a man was being forgiven by the family he threw away for a couple of liters of scotch and bourbon.
“Robert, I need to tell you an amazing but true story that occurred last week. We’ve lived in this neighborhood in Dallas for almost 6 years and one of our neighbors — he was divorced with two kids — and his situation was like ours. He was trying to find his ex-wife so she could return to the family. Apparently, there was an online story in Cincinnati about a woman who had no recollection of her identity. The story was about her and her struggles but also about the kindness of a man who helped her regain her memory and eventually provided him the information to reconnect with his wife. You know Rita — she’s here with her husband Peter and their kids.”
“I became friends with her — she kept telling me about her special wonderful man — how she loved him as much as her ex-husband and knew he was so depressed when she left. Then she told me something amazing, “you know” she said, “My wedding and his wedding were both on the exact same day — June 17, 1993.” Our anniversary! Robert, it was your Rita — she lives two blocks from us. When I screamed that you were my husband — she gave me your phone number!”
I couldn’t catch my breath. How could something like that happen. Talk about a one in 330 million shot. I didn’t deserve this. I’ve sinned in so many ways, I’m still afraid to walk into a church, although I have regained the faith of my childhood. I still have the sheet of paper she left me. I took it out of my wallet just two days ago. I can’t figure out why she would have written “Ralph called, said all is forgiven in heaven and on earth”.
My mind was scrambled — I didn’t know what to say next. Tears were flowing from my eyes so fast I had a puddle on the chair I was sitting on. I think all I said was “Joan, can I please come home, I need you and the kids, please!”
Two days later, I was on an American Airlines flight to Dallas. My mind is still a jumble of thoughts — I cannot concentrate! I couldn’t even recall how old my children are? I know they’re probably finished with school by now! Well, maybe not. I took out my journal that I placed in the seat back in front of me. Let’s see, it is 2021 and my oldest was borne in 1993 so she’s 28, my oldest son in 1996 so he’s 25 and my youngest was 2000. Yeah, I remember the day he was born, election day and thought the election would still be argued until he was in kindergarten. I might be able to see him graduate from college.
I thought the flight took forever — maybe 20 hours to arrive — time is moving too slow. Then, as the flight neared Dallas, time was rushing by. I wasn’t ready for this! This is just a ruse to shame me — what would I do? How could I show my face? Would they be disappointed with me? Would they eventually decide this was a bad idea? I was having an anxiety attack! Then, I heard a quiet voice — it was Ralph.
“Robert, I told you all has been forgiven in heaven and on earth. Live the life you’ve earned. You’re a good man, Robert and I’ll happily greet you here when your day comes, but that is not now. Live your life to the fullest. Accept your well-earned reward on earth!”
All I know is I’m with my wife and three kids, 2 married, and my granddaughter and will attend my youngest son’s graduation from Texas A&M in May along with his commissioning ceremony. “Life is very good indeed! Oh, my little granddaughter is calling. See you folks later!”
Because it matters, for your reference, the 12 Steps, as outlined in the original Big Book and presented by AA are:
- Admitting powerlessness over the addiction
- Believing that a higher power (in whatever form) can help
- Deciding to turn control over to the higher power
- Taking a personal inventory
- Admitting to the higher power, oneself, and another person the wrongs done
- Being ready to have the higher power correct any shortcomings in one’s character
- Asking the higher power to remove those shortcomings
- Making a list of wrongs done to others and being willing to make amends for those wrongs
- Contacting those who have been hurt, unless doing so would harm the person
- Continuing to take personal inventory and admitting when one is wrong
- Seeking enlightenment and connection with the higher power via prayer and meditation
- Carrying the message of the 12 Steps to others in need