When Old Lovers Show Up On New Years Eve

As I wrote my last journal entry this morning in my 2009 companion, and closed my word swollen, dog eared, well travelled confidant … I felt a flicker of grief.

Just a flicker, like any goodbye to someone you have come to care about at a job or in a neighbourhood that you truly will miss now you are moving on.  My morning journals have been intimate friends of mine for the past 14 years of my sobriety and recovery.  At the conclusion of each year I lovingly place them on the esteemed shelf I save for them alone and snuggle them into the nook next to the others.  My gratitude and respect goes to each and every one of them for holding my hand for 365 days every morning, one day at a time for 14 consecutive years, tirelessly and patiently holding a sacred space for me to unload my hearts triumphs and troubles is immense.

My new 2010 journal is the first pink journal I have ever used.  I had already purchased another black one with gold 2010 lettering so it would match all of its literary brothers and sisters once it made it the VIP section of my bookcase.  But when I came across my favourite colour fuchsia pink in a padded and high quality journal I just had to have it.  Call me out there and over the top, but for this detailed, routine relishing, conservative Virgo I just had to break with tradition and hand over the cash.

As I sat in the crowded restaurant in down town Noosa last night and the clock struck midnight I went from feeling connected to the world, the crowd, my group of dear friends and hubby to feeling a huge and unexpected wave of melancholy.  It was when the cork was popped from the French champagne bottle.

One of my old lovers and faithful drinking partners was good French champagne.  When the familiar orange labelled Veuve Clicquot was placed on the table I felt heaviness in my heart as one does when an old lover from a relationship that ended badly sits down in a restaurant we are eating in.

I pretended for a while I didn’t even notice Mr. Clicquot doing my best to remain cool, calm and collected and remind myself that I have moved on and am now more mature and sooo over him.  But it was when he was shoved under my nose and I smelt his scent again, that his memory hit me hard.   Even though I had not tasted his kiss for 14 years, I remembered it too well.  As we all raised our glasses, mine the only fat ugly brunette glass filled with Diet Coke, amongst the others long legged glamorous flutes bubbling with blonde effervescence the melancholy travelled from my heart to form a lump in my throat and I wanted to cry.

I was tired and it was late for me.  I was also uncomfortable, too full from eating so late at night.   Our restaurant booking wasn’t until 8.30pm and I am normally in my P.J.’s at that time of night getting ready for bed by 9.30ish.  Yeah, yeah I know I am a rager!

It was a reality check and a reminder that I am a recovering addict, alcoholic and even though I have been clean and sober one day at a time for 14 years my biochemistry has not changed, and I need to respect that.  As I smelt the champagne I missed it and could not pretend otherwise, but only for a moment.  I knew the lump in my throat represented words I needed to speak in order to clear it.  Trying to swallow it down and pretend it wasn’t there was my old habit of denial that no longer serves me. Not giving voice to my fears is not good for me, it just makes me feel shameful, scared and connects me with fear and pulls the love cord out of my heart.  So I did what I always do when I feel out of balance and turned to look into the eyes of one of my dearest friends next to me and spoke out the lump in my throat without shame.

“I miss French champagne”.

“Do you really after all these years?”  My loyal and caring girlfriend asked almost in disbelief.

“Yeah it is a hard night for me, Fuck I do miss it”. I was emphatic.  And no sooner had I spat those words out, the lump of guilt and fear came with my admission and I felt better.

“If I own it and say it out aloud it dissolves it for me” I explained.

My beautiful female friends these days are not big drinkers; they love me and are not piss pots.  But they also love me enough to treat me with respect and not tip toe around me when they do feel like a drink.  Like mature women of grace that they both are, they might have a glass or two of good wine or champagne followed by a coffee.

I felt blessed to have such good friends and as I sat in between these two wonderful women, mothers and lovers of good men, my gratitude returned and my old sleazy and unreliable lover Mr. Cliquot lost his appeal immediately.

“Sweetheart, I think I have had enough” I spoke to my husband with my eyes as well as my words so he understood I needed to leave.   Mr. Delicious who was looking exceptionally handsome with his new soft pink shirt and white shorts accentuating his deep holiday tan gently smiled with a warmth and understanding.

“I have had enough too Sweetie Pie let’s go”.

We all decided to leave having had a wonderful meal together, a dance and lots of stimulating conversation and many good belly laughs.

Fourteen short years ago my New Years Eve I cannot recall for I was a falling down drunk and drug addled mother bankrupt of self respect.

Isn’t it wonderful that the truth of life is that it is never too late for any of us to change and become a better person?

So as I welcome in 2010, my New Year’s Resolution this year it is to bring more love into my own heart and let go of more fear and be and do the very best I am able to in my 48th year of life and 15th year of recovery, one day at a time.

My Words Vitamins for January 1st, this new day of this New Year like a fresh new page that I share with you this morning are by one of my favourite wordsmiths Oscar Wilde.

Happy New Year, hope to see you again tomorrow.

“Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes”