I Counted

It happened again.

Different than the last time, the same as the last time.

I kept trying to remind myself to breathe, but I kept catching myself holding my breath.

You said words I hadn’t let you say to me in awhile. Words you won’t remember saying. Words I will, once again, have to work to get out of my head.

I went back and forth between I can’t do this again…and, if I don’t, who will…

So I stayed with you, in another hospital, another relapse, another detox…

The same, but different.

I didn’t blame myself this time.

I didn’t tell you what to do or make plans for you when they discharged you this time.

Every day, I saw kindness. These strangers – angels that God placed in my path – who practiced these random acts of kindness every single day. I counted them. I tucked them away inside me. I kept them to myself.

I recalled them every time that room became unbearable. Every time I was ready to give up. They carried me.

I broke. I sobbed in the corner of a deserted waiting room. I kept that to myself too.

Until I couldn’t. Until I broke in front of you. And I didn’t want you to see me break, I didn’t want you to know that you can still break me…

I broke on the phone with my best friend and then with my new boss…at my new job…where I still don’t even know if I belong…

Then, as we sat there, talking with yet another rehab counselor, I counted.

I counted the times you’d detoxed in a hospital. I counted the times you’d been to rehab.

I don’t think you know how hard it is to relive that. To count how many times our family has been put through this. To remember every time you got sober. To remember every time you relapsed. To remember every moment leading up to that.

I counted the things I learned in that moment that broke me even more.

And when she left. I took a breath. And I remembered… And I counted.

It was all about you. But I counted too.

So I counted again…those angels…and when I stepped out…when it was too much…I counted another angel. Every time.

A stranger reminding me that I. Count. Too.

It took me a long time to realize that your disease is so selfish that you don’t count the costs. Not to me, our girls, your family…

When you take that first drink…again…we don’t count.

When you lose another job…we don’t count.

When you tear us down over and over until we break…we don’t count.

You count the time until you can have another drink. You count the times I am not there for you.

But I also understand that you don’t count to yourself. I know that as much as you want to stop, you have a disease. And just like other diseases, not every one gets the miracle. Not every one gets cured.

So I count you. Even when it seems like I don’t.

Even when I have to step away so I don’t drown with you. I count you.

Even when I leave because it’s the only way I can save myself. I count you.

Until you can count yourself. And even then. And always. I count you.