Anniversaries

Twenty-three years ago, on June 9, 1988, I went to rehab. It was a bit like the Amy Winehouse song: my family tried to get me to go, I said no, no, no, but I changed my mind because I didn't want to spend my life alone. I spent thirty-three days at a bare bones, no celebrity-frills treatment center, followed by eight weeks at a Salvation Army halfway house. Then I made a series of particularly bad decisions, but someone must have been looking out for me,  because I didn't use. As of today, I have spent exactly half my life clean.

The Captain and I dated while I was using, and he hung around after I got clean, even though I broke his heart. More than once. Two years after I stopped using drugs, on June 9, 1990, we got married. So, today is my double-anniversary.

Each year, I remember that the blackest of my days eventually brought me to my most glorious, and I am grateful. It's very, very difficult to battle addiction. More people fail at staying clean than succeed. I celebrate my success each year with the greatest gift it has brought me: the Captain. Without him, nothing else would have been possible.

That was then...



...this is now.

And every day in between has been a lovely gift.