It's too early to say good night

Please not this Hollywood ending.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m the only person in the whole world who’s seen the movie, ‘Awakenings’.

I used to have it on VHS.

The back of the box: Robin Williams plays a doctor at a long-term care facility, where all the residents have been in a catatonic state for decades. They’re all considered too far gone. Until the good doctor develops a new drug to treat them.

All of a sudden, the nursing home is abuzz. Freshly awakened patients make double time to reclaim what’s left of their lives.

They’re painting, writing, and romancing. But their ‘awakening’ is bittersweet. One day, the lights start going out. The patients fall back asleep. And nothing will revive them.

Sometimes, I feel like I’ve been ‘awakened.’ There was a time when family figured I was also too far gone. But how do I love this new lease on life? Let us count the ways:

A new body. Maybe a new brain. Plus, I’m learning how to play the harmonica.

But sometimes, I think about that old movie and wonder if maybe I’m also destined to fall back asleep.

A friend from the Alcoholics Anonymous community once put it plainly.

“Sometimes, when I look at you, “ he said. “I think you’re doing great. But I can’t shake the feeling you’re holding your habit in your hand. It’s like you’re just waiting for an occasion to use again. You have to let go. Just throw it away.”

Was there something in my hand? There was on that first night, when a friend picked me up from a crack den and drove me more than an hour to my mom’s house. The whole drive, I held onto a tiny piece of dope. Just in case.

When I got to my mom’s house. I promptly lost it. And for days after, I was constantly scanning the floor — even while pretending to talk to people. I lay in bed at night, mentally mapping every inch of the house.

Where is that dope?

Then one day, my mind just up and went somewhere else. That happened to be around when I stopped counting the days I had been clean, and started living again. I mean, really living.

I’d trade my entire past for more of this moment.

But I can't shake my friend’s words. Is my fist still wrapped around an invisible piece of dope? What moment am I waiting for?

There’s no easy answer. But the farther I travel this road, the easier it is to navigate the bumps and curves. It used to be that any old pothole threatened to send me running for the pipe.

Today, it's hard to imagine the kind of hole in the road that could send me spiraling.

I’m still under construction. Angels in my architecture, devils in my details, and all that. If it isn’t a cathedral just yet, at least it isn’t a house of cards.