When the freight train passes

A freight train thunders behind us, so close it shakes the folding chairs where we sit.

All conversation stops.

For several seconds – as 5 or 6 cars rumble by – we are silent.

My husband, Jacob and I are seated at a small table that’s been set up for us in the front yard of a treatment center.

It’s just after sundown.  In the warm, balmy air of South Florida, the smudgy darkness moves in slowly, blurring the faces of the 30 men and women who sit before us.

My son – now 13 years in recovery – is part of a committee that brings AA meetings into treatment and recovery centers. When we are with him – and whenever he invites us – we also attend.

It’s a Friday night.  We are here to share our story, hoping our words might help someone who is where Jacob was.

But I also like to listen to him.  Each time I learn more about the story of addiction, how one person lived it, and how he lives in recovery. Jacob is as open as the night sky, now twinkling with tiny lights.

The men and women, ages twenties to sixties, watch us as we speak.

Inevitably, several will say this when we finish:

“Thank you for coming.  Seeing a family intact gives me so much hope”

“Maybe my family might be like yours one day”

“I wish my mom had heard you all.”

“You are lucky Jacob to have your family.  It’s easier when you have family around you.”

As we leave this place and this meeting, I am struck, again, about the importance of “family” in recovery.

Until, one day, a son or daughter sits in front of a small audience of those still struggling, while a freight train rushes past.