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Only one man ever died at Serento Gardens. He was a resident in when we had a halfway house many years ago. He left no family. There was no one to notify. There was no one to bury him.

The residents of the halfway house had become his family. A few went to a funeral parlor and asked for a casket. Others went to a local parish and asked for a plot in the graveyard and a funeral service. Together they gave him the final dignity of a memorial service and burial.

He left few possessions. As they were cleaning out his dresser drawer they came across a prayer that began with these lines.

“Thank you Dear God,
for all you have given me,
for all you have taken from me,
for all you have left me.”

I learned some years later that those words were written by Thomas Merton. They summarized well the peace that had entered our residents life. They also speak so well the understanding of people who have lived though much, and learned much from life.

If you look hard enough, you can see it everywhere. If you meet someone in recovery from addiction, you don’t have to look hard at all.

There was the woman who worked at Serento Gardens some years ago. She told how she sincerely thanked the police officer who arrested her for her last D.U.I.. It was the event that finally broke her and got her into recovery. It included jail, probation, a suspended license, and a very large fine. And she was grateful for it all.

A little while ago, I wrote about the man, a recovering alcoholic, who had been offered a $100,000.00 job and politely said, “No thanks. Money only ever got me into trouble. I have everything I want and much more than I need.”

Every year I get thank you letters from people in prison. They are grateful for the final arrest that took control away from them. They’re not looking for early release. They’ve asked for nothing in return for the letter. The starkness of the bars and the walls drove home the life they were choosing and made them rethink that choice.

And the examples go on: a divorce that left someone alone, a boss that fired someone, the illness that almost took a life, the starkness of being alone with only a bottle or needle for company. All became the elements of gratitude. For all, pain had become a teacher.

As I write this, I recall the words of a song by Kenny Chesney. He was writing about an old alcoholic talking to newcomers at an AA meeting. He sang:

It’s the little things in life
Like the kids at home or a loving wife
That you miss the most
When you lose control

And everything you love starts to disappear
Devil takes your hand and says no fear
Have another shot
Just one more beer
I’ve been there...
That’s why I’m here

As this year draws to a close, I’m grateful to my many friends in the AA and NA fellowships and to my clients for all their lives have again taught me. For all of us, it’s a good time to reflect again on the blessings of what we have been given, of what’s been taken away, and of all that has been left to us.

Happy New Year to all.