Everything is back to square one. After three months of
planning, spending, spending, and spending, the wedding of our dreams came
true, and I am now a married man. Me: a married man. Just four years ago,
almost to the day, I left prison with little hope of becoming anything. With a
lot of hard work, some serious dedication, and a lot of help from a lot of
people, I somehow landed in a normal life.
I talk a lot in meetings about what comes to people in
recovery when they manage to stay sober and work the steps. I realize every
time I speak, that all of these things are common for most people, and
sometimes I wonder if I have the right to be proud of my accomplishments so
late in life. If I had stayed the traditional course in life, my house could
have been paid off by now. I would have a significant chunk in savings and
retirement. And my children could be nearing college age. But I diverted from
the norm and experimented—for 15 years—with a bad habit or twelve, and here I
am. Do I regret my past? No, nor do I want to forget it, for it is my history
that makes me valuable to others. I have had a unique learning experience, and
I can use my story to divert others from my path, and I use my work in sobriety
to better function around those in my life who have not had similar
experiences.
Working the steps doesn’t just create value for the sober community;
it guides me through life with everybody. Love and tolerance of others is my
code, it says so on page 84 of the Big Book, in-between the promises of steps
nine and ten. It means I have to be kind, loving, patient—in any combination—to
all those I encounter no matter where I am. It doesn’t mean I am, it just means
I try to be. It also means I can’t be upset when other people aren’t kind and
tolerant of me. That part kind of sucks sometimes, but nevertheless I keep at
it. I see value—or die trying—in everybody. I apologize when I’m wrong. And I
try really hard not to complain when things don’t go my way.
There are a lot of things to do to make marriage official.
Amanda has to change her name. She decided on Periwinkle Poops Tutu-Maertz. She
has to get a new driver’s license, but to do that, she has to get a new Social
Security card. To do that, we had to mail a copy of our marriage license to the
Social Security office in Minneapolis, and then wait. It still hasn’t come. We
are having her name added to the deed to the house. I am insuring all of us
medically, and I’ve changed my beneficiaries (thanks Word for correcting my
butchery of that word) to my ladies, so that if I die soon, they stand to make
several thousand dollars. Maybe like two. Amanda is officially giving me
parental authority over the girls, which is surprisingly easy when one parent
has no parenting time. I did ask him for his consent, but we actually don’t
need it. And there is a litany of other forms, documents, and delegations that
we are figuring out after our wedding. It’s a lot, but I’m good with this stuff
so we will be okay.
Life keeps moving at an incredible speed. I can’t imagine
having to figure out how to include alcohol or drugs in my day, so I won’t. I
keep going to meetings to keep my head straight. I’ll miss one or two once in a
while, but I can always tell when it’s been too long, and I’m sure my family
can tell, too.
Here is just one of so many beautiful shots taken on our
wedding day. If you were there, I hope you had a memorable day. And if you
weren’t, I love and tolerate you anyhow.
