Recently, I met a new friend who is on the path to recovery. “Sober for a year,” they said, a smile sad and proud at the same time. Because we were talking about all things books, I shared with them my favorite page from my first book and memoir, My Music Man. After they read it, we began to speak, but our voices cracked and instead we took time for tears, a piece of silence and a hug. Soon, though, this friend shared being hopeful to one day heal wounds and reconcile with their grown daughter. A daughter, I realized, just a bit older than I was when Dad and I took giant steps in our journey of friendship and reconciliation. A reconciliation some who did not know either of us well may not have understood.

Dad died in July 2014, and I published My Music Man in October of 2017. Thank you Bedazzled Ink for taking a chance on me then… and now. I recently reread my memoir while narrating it for an audio book. As I did, I thought….hey! This is pretty good! And yes, too, I was emotional. While I have many favorite stories caught between its covers, the page shared with this new friend and copied below is my favorite.

I was a twenty-year-old when my dad found recovery, twenty-seven when he remarried our mom and we began to really talk about our past, and fifty-three when he died halfway into his eighty-sixth year of life. Our father-daughter bond rebuilt slowly at first, but soon it tumbled along in gusto. I had never before recognized how much we had in common. I too am grateful for our humor and collection of silly stories. We laughed about me admonishing him for rustling candy wrappers at his granddaughter’s theater performances and much later teasing him when he requested I take him on a “driving test.” He teased me ad nauseum about earlier stories: his shouting “Go Gumdrop” when I was about to serve a volleyball or shoot a layup or about that “hard ball” or going into falsetto in an early musical performance. It’s all good and I’m grateful.

I think back to the earliest years of our reuniting – our tentativeness – as compared to the decades after when we both truly seemed to “get” each other. I contemplate how substance use fractures so many relationships in these lives we live. I’m grateful for successful programs and steps – aware that each of us is different and all paths do not speak to everyone. For Dad, I thank the Alano Club of Portland. I believe in hope and the power of human connectedness. I too accept and understand not every fractured relationship can be pieced together, forgiven or healed: and send unconditional love and hope for moving toward peace and acceptance. I thank those individuals, organizations, grants (please let them continue), and champions who each day give to make others’ days better. Life is both short and oh, so long. I am hopeful for this new friend and their daughter to find what I found. To them and others, I send buckets of love, courage, acceptance and compassion.

Yes, you read correctly. Soon, there will be an audiobook of My Music Man! I’ll keep you posted – but bet you’ll like it. Of course the paper and e-books are there for you now.

What a place to hang out, eh? (Anyone at Bold recognize my shirt?)

More about My Music Man.