The Final Curtain Call

It was the 27th of August 1991 when the final curtain came down on my last raging act as a madman hell bent on the path of self-destruction, seeking an end of my trails by any means possible... except that. Not that I didn’t have a gun to my head many times, literally and in action, but I had experienced suicide at a very young age. I believed at the time that is what saved me, now I know that is what saved me. I saw first-hand the devastation that ensues after the last desperate act of selfishness, I have seen those depths of darkness, I judge none that succumbed.

 

On the morning of August 28, I walked to the mirror in my kitchen to view the damage I had inflicted the night before. At the time I lived in a little white cottage with a black roof and red carpet in the small front room in Holiday, with a small stream that ran beside it. It was a beautiful place that sat back off the road on about a half-acre of land. The bathroom was so small in the home that there was no room for a sink, therefore the mirror on the kitchen wall, within easy reach of the kitchen sink.

 

I slowly peered into the mirror through my bloodshot eyes, hesitant to see what the reflection in the mirror would reveal.  There, peering out from behind the mirror on the kitchen wall in the little white house with a stream by its side… was unknown to me. No recollection of the child I knew. A figure of a man that had morphed into a disruptive force and face so full of anger, hate, regret, and disgust that had metastasized in the shell of a body that had no soul. As I studied this angry man in an empty shell with no soul these words slipped from my lips, “this has got to stop Layne.”

 

I had not spoken to my grandmother in a little over 3 years. Our last conversation was brutal, slashed deeply, and scarred the heart. Through tears on the line, she told me that she loved me but couldn’t nor wouldn’t continue to watch me tread down this path of self-destruction. If I ever wanted to go straight, she would be there with open arms. But until that day happened, she was done with me and my ways. I believe that is the best thing that my Grandmother had ever done for me, and what she had already done for me in my short life was beyond comparison. I recalled her telling me long ago of the AA meetings at The Manor… I asked when the next one was. Without hesitation she said tomorrow morning at 9:00 and that she would have the coffee on. I showed that next morning, and the coffee was on.

 

At the time I couldn’t imagine the pain she must have endured speaking those words to me; we were very close. I understand that now, as I did on August 28, 1992, when I gave my Grandmother my 1-year sobriety chip and saw the star flash in her eyes. She told me that was the greatest gift she had ever received. I dedicated that year to her, and every year since.

 

In summary, I recall a time in discussion with Zach as we contemplated life on the “Tree of Whoa.” Zach asked me what was the best thing that sobriety had given me? I thought for a quick moment, turned, and looked Zach in the eyes and said, “Other than everything… My HONOR!” Because when it’s all said and done and you’re standing in front of the “Pearly Gates” and your Maker, whoever you believe that to be, that is all a man has. And that is all a man can control. Addiction took my honor, no more!

 

Every time I hear Mirror, Mirror I am reminded of the depths that I may sink, and every time it confirms the beauty of my sobriety! It is my goal to share my journeys to those that are struggling with addiction today in the hopes that just maybe, one sentence, one word, one story will make a difference, will save a soul. They are all too precious to lose.