This is the story of how I made amends to my mom.

She wasn’t the drinker, but she sure was the source of the crazy. Funny thing is, she didn’t seem crazy. A lot of us untreated Al-Anons act more insane than the drinkers in our lives, and we don’t even have the excuse of being under the influence. She wasn’t one of those.

To give her credit, she did the things parents are supposed to do: made dinner, signed our report cards, did the laundry, and a million other normal necessary things that alcoholism sometimes takes away. We ate regular meals and our living situation was stable. We had birthdays and holidays and pets. We saw doctors and dentists. That makes me luckier than a lot of people I’ve met in the rooms.

We had the basics of life, and I realize that makes me more fortunate than many other adult children of alcoholics. For that, I’m truly grateful.

What was missing

But there were a few key things missing. She didn’t like me, didn’t like being around me, and couldn’t hide it. She tried to hide it; she tried really hard. But she couldn’t.

I don’t blame her for that anymore. Take the effects of her own upbringing and add a difficult baby, plus a severe postpartum depression, plus the escalation of my dad’s drinking around that time, plus the divorce, and I don’t see how things could have turned out any different.

She did the best she could, and if her best left me a little damaged and crazy, well, there’s a program for that. And damaged I was: resentful, full of self-loathing, unable to feel my feelings, and dishonest to the core.

By God’s grace, I chose a sponsor who happened to have extensive crazy-mom experience. She taught me the tools, walked me through the Steps, and helped me get to a place of acceptance. That, all on its own, was a miracle.

I needed that miracle, because right around the time I came into program, my mom got sick with the illness that would end her life a year and a half later. Guess who took care of her during that time? Yup, God has a sense of humor. Mine does, anyway.

That whole year and a half was one big AFGO. (That stands for Another F**cking Growth Opportunity. Gotta love the acronyms in this program!) Every day gave me way more opportunities than I wanted to practice forgiveness, compassion and acceptance.

From acceptance to amends

I wish I’d gotten farther along with that process before my mom died. I still had too much loose, unfiltered anger to make amends to her while she was living. It’s way easier to forgive people after they’re dead: at least then they’re not doing new things to piss you off. I missed that opportunity. I still regret it, but I just wasn’t ready.

My sponsor told me that I could still make amends; that process was for me, for my healing, not for the recipient. She shared how she’d made amends to her deceased mother by writing a letter and reading it at the gravesite. Then she let it drop. But a few months later, when I was struggling with Step 8, she said, “I think it’s time for you to make amends to your mom.”

She was right. (She always is, darn it!) The problem was, every time I tried to write that letter, it turned into a list of all the things I was still mad about. After completing my mom’s inventory several times, I realized I was getting nowhere. Feeling totally stuck, I set it aside for awhile.

No coincidence

Then one day I found myself with a couple of hours to kill in an unfamiliar part of town. (I was waiting for Kid Qualifier #1 to get out of his first–and last–day of outpatient rehab, but that’s another story. And no, he didn’t stay sober, but that’s another story too.)

A mountain range runs right through the middle of my city, with numerous natural areas to enjoy. An impulse came to me out of nowhere: wasn’t there a park in the canyon, not far away? I’d never been there before, but I’d heard it was amazing, and I decided to drive up and check it out. Nature brings me peace, and I needed some peace that day.

I found the canyon entrance and drove up, and it was indeed amazing. The ‘park’ was just a few shaded picnic tables nestled in the canyon, with the mountains rising all around and hiking trails beyond. I circled around and picked a table at random.

The table was covered with scratched-on graffiti, some of it recent, some of it obviously decades old. I sat down on the shaded side and absorbed the quiet for a few minutes. Then I took out my journal and decided to try again at my amends letter. Surely, in this beautiful setting, I’d be able to focus. And…nope. Another long list of my mom’s faults came out. Defeated, I prayed. Lord, please help me do this.

The miracle

Then I looked down at the table and saw this:

I sat stunned for a minute, unable to process what I was seeing. How? How, how, how?

I couldn’t believe it. I took a picture, as if the words might vanish. Then, irrationally, I looked over the whole table, reading every scribble, as if I might find the other nine commandments somewhere. Then I sat down stunned again.

Who does that? Who scratches the Fifth Commandment on a picnic table at the top of a canyon? And how did I just happen to have an impulse to drive there, to a place I’d never been before, and sit at that particular table, to wrestle with that particular problem, at that particular moment?

If this wasn’t a miracle, nothing was. I knew what my Higher Power wanted me to do. And I yielded.

I let go of my resentment towards my mom, and gave thanks for the good she was able to give me despite how she suffered from this baffling, cunning, insidious disease. The anger lifted. And my amends poured out, page after page.

I stopped at the corner store at the bottom of the canyon and texted my sponsor. Then I went inside and bought a Snickers and a pack of Kool filter kings–my mom’s two favorite vices. I’d never willingly bought her a pack of cigarettes before. Her smoking had been a constant source of resentment since I was a kid. I had to laugh. Acceptance…better late than never.

Straight from there, I headed to the cemetery, offered my gifts and my amends, and made peace. (And I’m sure there were some sugar- and nicotine-crazed squirrels running around there after I left. That one chubby guy had his eye on me the whole time, just waiting for me to leave.)

I don’t know what kind of miracle you need today. I do believe that it will come. The old timers were right…wait for the miracles.

Got an amazing story? Share it in the comments! (And if you find the picnic table with the other nine commandments, let me know!)

Keep coming back!