Tonight at my home group, the chair chose to read from page 161 of the Big Book to remind us all that we have much to be grateful for. He closed his share before opening it up by saying, “I should be dead.” I was really glad he did because I’ve seen so much apathy lately in A.A. that I think many of us (and certainly myself) forget that this illness kills.
I should be dead. That isn’t hyperbole or drama, it’s a simple statement of fact when I look honestly at where my drinking took me and how close I came to the edge. I didn’t stumble into Alcoholics Anonymous because life was inconvenient; I arrived because life had become unlivable without me even knowing it. The Fellowship and the program of A.A. didn’t just help me feel better about myself, they saved my life. The Big Book says, “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path.” I’m living proof of that promise, not because I’m special, but because I finally became willing.
What A.A. gave me first was clarity: I am not like other people when it comes to alcohol, and left untreated, this illness is progressive, fatal, and unforgiving. The Big Book doesn’t sugarcoat it, “We are like men who have lost their legs; they never grow new ones.” That truth still grounds me today. Sobriety didn’t cure me; it gave me a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of my spiritual condition. A.A. taught me something I can never afford to forget: insanity doesn’t have an expiration date. Time sober does not equal immunity. The obsession can return if I stop doing the work.
Every single day, I find myself negotiating with my character defects. Ego whispers that I’ve done enough. Fear tells me I can skip the basics. Resentment tries to convince me I’m justified. And in those moments, I forget something essential, I should be dead.
Before the meeting tonight at our group’s meeting before the meeting at Starbucks, we were talking about the sometimes apathy we see in A.A. and it reminded me of an anonymous writing that was shared with me once…
“Someone Else”
“I know that all of you were saddened to learn this week of the death of one of our Alcoholics Anonymous’s most valuable members, Someone Else.
Someone Else’s passing created a vacancy that will be difficult to fill. They had been with us for many years, and for every one of those years, Someone Else did far more than the normal person’s share of the work. Whenever leadership was mentioned, this wonderful person was looked to for inspiration as well as results. Someone Else can work with that drunk. Whenever there was a job to do, service work, or someone needed a ride to a meeting, one name was on everyone’s lips, “Let Someone Else do it.” It was common knowledge that Someone Else was among the largest givers in AA.
Whenever there was a financial need, everyone just assumed that Someone Else would make up the difference.
Someone Else was a wonderful person, sometimes appearing super-human, but a person can only do so much. Were the truth known, everyone expected too much of Someone Else. Now Someone Else is gone. We wonder what we are going to do. Someone Else left a wonderful example to follow, but who is going to follow it? Who is going to do the things Someone Else did? Remember, we can’t depend on Someone Else anymore.” – Anonymous
The Big Book warns me plainly: “Self-knowledge avails us nothing.” Knowing what’s wrong with me isn’t the same as surrendering it. If I’m not actively practicing these principles, my defects don’t rest; they regroup. Left alone, they will steer me right back toward the same thinking that nearly killed me.
A.A. gave me a way out of that trap through action, sponsorship, service, inventory, prayer, and honesty. Not when it’s convenient, not when I feel inspired, but especially when I don’t. “Faith without works is dead,” the book reminds us, and that applies to sobriety as much as anything else. This program isn’t maintained by intentions or memories of past victories. It’s maintained by willingness and action, taken one day at a time.
Takeaway
So this is both my gratitude and my warning. I am deeply thankful, for the rooms, the Steps, the sponsors, the people who walked with me when I couldn’t walk on my own. And I am equally aware that if I sit back, get comfortable, or forget where I came from, this illness will kill me. That’s not fear—that’s honesty. I should be dead.
Instead, by God’s grace and the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous, I’m alive today. My job is simple: stay willing, do the work, and never forget the gift I’ve been given.
