Like Grandfather, Like Grandson? Wait A Minute!

Like Grandfather, Like Grandson?

My wife Sharon and I recently received several phone calls from one of our grandsons, Jasper  In recent years He has stayed in touch with his grandmother Sharon through text messaging and phone calls. To a much lesser degree he has also kept in touch with me. 

We have not seen him since 2018, when he came to our house from. California to accept a free used car. Jasper was involved with several crimes, some of a fairly serious nature, while living in California while hanging out with his so-called cousins.  He called us one evening four years ago, after a  night of heavy alcohol abuse with his roommates.  While playing with a loaded gun. It discharged, and a young woman fatally shot herself. 

Jasper was already on probation for a felony conviction from a year previous, and now was jailed after calling 911 to bring emergency personnel to the scene, and then disappearing.  He was jailed for over a year, and released to the care off his mother, who lived in Kansas.  He immediately began using drugs such as meth, and eventually became suicidal.  He was forced into mental health care, and sobriety, ultimately taking residence in a local recovery home, the Oxford House, where he was frequently drug tested to check on his sobriety.  He gradually rebuilt his life, gainng a measure of self-esteem and purpose when he finally got a job.  He moved out from the Oxford House into a duplex with another recovering man, but there were no more checks on his sobriety and he refused attendance at recovery meetings because he did not like to talk about himself with others. He stayed sober, as far as we know, for nearly a year, and established himself as a full time worker at a production plant, with many fellow workers who were not yet US citizens. By the way, Jasper is of Guatemalan and Caucasian heritage, and born in America

The car that he was borrowing from his mother had failed and he sought help from us to buy another car.  We wouldn’t cosign a car loan, because Jasper was unreliable and often hid or misrepresented important information.  We offered to give some money to him to help with the down payment, which somehow got him into a new car at the urging of an aggressive car salesperson. They figured out he should be able to afford the car insurance and monthly car payments, plus basic living expenses, even though his income was not very high.

Two weeks ago he called us, reporting on the suicide death of his best friend Axel  from when he was running with the wolves in California.  Jasper was devastated, and we all knew this was going to be a dangerous time for him, as he does not process difficult feelings well.

This past Monday Sharon received a call at midnight, from a Nebraska policeman, who had delivered Jasper to a psychiatric medical facility after he totaled his brand new car, and was found wandering the roads attempting to get hit by motor vehicles. Sharon was sent an email by her estranged daughter, Jasper’s mother Hayley, that indicated Jasper was using meth again, and was psychotic from its use. Jasper called us two days later, and he was a mess.  He had no memory of why he drove to Nebraska, he did not know what day of the week it was, and he said that he  no longer knew what was reality. He said he was hearing voices, and showed quite convincing evidence of a psycotic break from reality, though he talked with both of us.

I am a recovering individual, and have been in recovery for 40 years.  My relapse in 1985-1987 took me into the underworld society of methedrine manufacture, distribution, and personal drug abuse.  After one year of abuse I had tremors, occasional convulsions, and severe mental illness similar to what our grandson was now experiencing. After abstinence of three months from use, and a full time search for spiritual healing, I returned to a better than normal state, having a total healing experience precipitated by a series of remarkable spiritual experiences.

Yet Jasper was  never interested in my experience, strength, and hope, only his own distorted needs. Yet, during this last phone call I regurgitated some distressing aspects of my story with him to try to give him hope for his own recovery. Could he even hear me over the internal noise generated by his psychosis? I know one phone call will not get him to recovery, or even give him the will to live again.

I had an amazing story for my own recovery, and there has always been little interest expressed by others in learning more about it, so Jasper just continued to reinforce the unfortunate perception that my life experience and wisdom has little value to others.

Here is my story of healing, from 1987:

I still was not healed and whole, as my body was still wracked with pain, I was constantly shaking, and I still had that annoying chatter in my mind. I was experiencing the symptoms of schizophrenia, and I still thought that I could “hear” what people were thinking about me. I rationally countered my own insanity by challenging each of these observations, reaffirming to myself that if I did not hear these statements from the mouths of the people that I posited they came from, I was to ignore them. It was quite the challenge, for sure!

I still occasionally felt those “divine chills” that seemed to remind me that I had touched something extraordinary in nature.  I stayed obsessively involved with AA and NA, attending 270 meetings in 90 days, and I continued my prayers and meditations. I started reading several great spiritual works by M.Scott Peck, such as The Road Less Traveled, and People of the Lie: Hope For Healing Human Evil.  Mr. Peck spoke to most of my issues, and problems that I had with Toxic Religion, and I felt like I had found a friend and another teacher of truth.  I still had some free time to explore around, and I would take overnight trips into the wilderness, to “get close to Nature, and to God”.  The feeling of love that I carried with me from the May 24th experience had started to fade by the middle of June, but I still felt blessed, and I was hopeful that continued recovery from my devastating mental illness and neurological trauma might continue.

“HE IS HAVING AN EXPERIENCE WITH GOD”

It was June 22, 1987, and I was hiking up to Larch Mountain, a beautiful peak that overlooks the Columbia River valley, and from its vantage point all of the major mountain peaks of the area can be readily observed. In the ancient times (I was to learn several years later) this area was considered sacred ground by the indigenous peoples, who came to this area from miles around to honor their Great Spirit, and to hold their sacred ceremonies and prayer rituals. I arrived at the top, and allowed myself to become as quiet as my mind would allow for.  I slowly did a 360 degree rotation, observing for the many miles around me, in all directions, the incredible beauty of the area, the mountain peaks of Rainier, Adams, St. Helens, Hood, Jefferson, and the great winding river called the Columbia River.  It felt as if I were on the top of a great observatory, and, today, I was the only person with this special view, and I was quite grateful just to be alive, and have this privilege.  I bypassed a guard rail, and I then climbed around the rocky peak so as to be hidden from the view from anyone.  With the additional privacy that I had created for myself, I then felt comfortable enough to begin to pray and meditate for just a little while.  I was pretty poor at this activity, as my mind refused to quiet itself.  But, at least I made myself available to Spirit, in the way that felt appropriate to me.

Larch Mountain, near observation deck

My nervous system was still quite compromised from all of the poisoning caused by the chemistry experiments masquerading as methamphetamine/crank that I had ingested over the past 18 months, in addition to continued heavy alcohol abuse.  I had been clean and sober for 3 months, but total recovery seemed out of the question at this point.  I had been a drug addict and alcoholic, more or less, since I was 15 years old, but the last 18 months had really taken a toll.

My health was improving a little, but I still was having physical tremors, almost identical to Parkinson’s disease, and I was also experiencing the psychological discomfort of “hearing voices”, a delusional activity within my mind which consisted, at this point, of mentally generated feedback about whatever I was observing, or doing at the time.  The voices were nothing more than my own thoughts, yet, in my mind, they appeared to be coming from a center not of my self-aware self, but of something, or someone, not quite me. It literally was like having a play by play announcer operating in my mind, who verbalized everything that was happening, as it happened, with no color commentary added to it (it was a “third person” perspective, with a running monologue documenting anything that my consciousness was focusing on at any particular moment).

I had an uncomfortable relationship to these mental processes, and I did not report this to medical professionals, fearing that I would be hospitalized, or placed on the same destructive medications that I had seen administered to my mentally ill ex-wife.  I had resigned myself to a life of marginal mental health, at best. Yet, I had no choice, either pursue the “truth” and see what manner of healing it might bring to me, or give up on myself, and live out my years in suffering and with continued deterioration.

A light, warm breeze carried the fragrance of the nearby pine trees to me, drawing me away from the problems of my body, and of my mind.   I continued to be absorbed by the beauty of the area, and the majesty of the unobstructed views.  The mountain peaks began to feel closer to me, for some as yet unknown reason.  I felt as though I could reach out and touch each of them.  The river far below me felt close, very close, and the whole panorama seemed to be drawing nearer to me, and I began experiencing everything in a different way than I ever had before.  And, for the 2nd time in a month, I started feeling possessed by an immense beauty and love.

A month ago I had experienced a “vision”, and, with its presence, all of my loneliness and depression had lifted. I attributed that temporary healing to the presence of the vision, and there had been a love that had flowed into me during its presence.  The “vision” had disappeared, but it had left its memory of a beautiful, unconditional love, and with it, traces of hope, and the expectations that something was to follow, of some as yet unknown nature.  Well, something was following now, and it was “closer than breathing, nearer than hands and feet”.

A voice inside of my head then stated, with its typical matter of fact nature,

“HE IS HAVING AN EXPERIENCE WITH GOD”.

I was no longer separate from that which I was viewing.  Everything revealed itself as an extension of myself, of my own true nature.  For the first time in my existence, I could see that, as far as I can see, all that I will ever see, unto eternity, is my self.  Then, with a sense of all of my thoughts now being my own, I asked myself

“how will I see myself today?” 

I saw that all of humanity was my true family.  I saw that everybody was either my brother, or my sister, in this new, true nature that was revealed within me.  I looked within myself, and for the first time in my life, I only saw peace, as well.  The third person monologue had stopped!!  I held my hands out before me, and my hands, which usually shook so bad that I could not even write my signature clearly, or use a spoon to eat from a bowl without making a mess, were steady!  Peace had finally found me on a mountain peak, and I had finally found my true self.  And, I had finally found that life, that TRUTH, I had been seeking since I know not when.

And, I had finally found what real recovery is.  It is not just stopping drinking alcohol and using drugs obsessively.  It is the decrease, and, ultimately, the elimination of all patterns of thought that keep me from caring for this world, and for all of the life upon it.  I can’t be alive, and live life fully and holistically, without loving my fellow man, and all of the rest of the life upon our planet.  Think of the love that we have for our newborn baby, or our favorite pet, feel that love completely, with no reservations at all.  We spare none of our hearts or souls, do we?  Can we give this love to all of the plants, insects, and animal life, aquatic and land based, upon this planet? Now think of that family member or acquaintance who is causing us so much distress, so much anger, even hatred.  Anger is not bad, or evil, unless it becomes entrenched within our being, and institutionalized within our society as racism, misogyny, xenophobia, or other forms of hatred. Can we give the same love that we would for our baby to that person who we are distressed with?  If we can’t let go of those negative emotions, then that is an example of our separation from God, or Truth.  I don’t have to travel to the underworld again to find that truth, or to look for somebody who might listen to me.

“WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE?”

became the question of the day, after I hiked the short distance back down to my car.  I realized I had a few amends to make, and that intention became my guiding light..

I then drove towards Portland,  from Larch Mountain, and was guided to go to NE 73rd and Glisan, where the US Postal Service’s EAP program was based.  I walked into the door, and I was greeted by both Larry and Mike. The last time that I had seen Mike was when he visited me in the Care Unit 3 years before. Larry had been the director of the EAP-employee assistance program-since I could remember.  I called out to them by name, yet neither man immediately recognized me.   When I mentioned my name, they were both blown away.  I was happy, or, more precisely, ebullient, and Mike said that I was simply “radiant”.   They wanted to know what was going on with me, and I stated, with a matter of fact attitude, that I was having a “spiritual experience”, and they both gave me a huge hug and acknowledgement.

Inspired by this reception, I returned to the Main Post Office, and checked in with the Personnel Department, where Eleanor Workman was the head of the department. My father and Eleanor were friends prior to my father’s retirement from the USP in 1982. She immediately recognized me.

“Bruce, it is so great to see you again! Wow, you are looking healthy and happy! I have thought of you often since your termination. Please, let me give you an application to reapply for your lost position.”

“No thank you, Eleanor, I just wanted to express my apologies for working for this company in such an unhappy manner for so many years”.

“Bruce, you could get the job back with little problem, since the Post Office knew that they fired you even though you were still a practicing alcoholic. “

“Eleanor, what would make me the happiest is if you could schedule a meeting between me and the head of Plant Maintenance, John Zimpleman. “

Well, he was “in”, so I went right up, and I had a direct opportunity to make amends to him for my poor performance from 1980-1985.  He greeted me warmly, listened to my story, was quite impressed, and then stated”

“Bruce, I wish that my son could discover what you just found, because John Jr.  was rapidly descending to your former level. I accept your amends, and I wish you well in your future!”

Wow, this day of amends went so well, I remained ecstatic about all future interpersonal possibilities.

One day that next week, while visiting our world famous Powell’s Book Store on Burnside in Portland, I saw my old psychiatrist, Dr. Dan Beavers.  He was standing in the metaphysical section of the book store.  I walked up to him, and he did not immediately recognize me.  I stuck my hand out to him, and re-introduced myself to him.

“Bruce, this can’t be you, can it?  Last time I saw you, I was wondering how much longer you could survive if the medication did not turn your life around.”

“Dan, the medication worked just fine.  I never used it, at least not in the way that you would have intended for me to use it. I actually carried it around with me for over one year, prepared to use it for my suicide if I did not find a reason to live. I finally found a new way to live life without medication, drugs, or alcohol.  I now accept full personal responsibility for my thoughts, feelings, behaviors, and activities”.

“Bruce, that is the desired outcome for all of my patients.  Congratulations on your success!”

I gave Dr. Dan a hug, and apologized for using him like a tool in my effort to manipulate my former employer, the US Postal Service.  He said that I did not need to make amends to him, and that he was there for me to serve all of my needs, whether I considered them dysfunctional or otherwise.  But it still felt good to see Dr. Dan and show him my healthier sense of self.  I was to never see Dr. Dan again.  When I recently saw his obituary for his premature death in 2015,  I felt great sorrow, and cried.

In the continued interest of “finding my people”, I attend the INTA Conference in Portland In August of 1987 (International New Thought Alliance).  The person that I was most interested in seeing was Jack Boland, the recovering alcoholic who had started a SUPER CHURCH in Minnesota, with well over 5000 members.  He also had  a following of many hundreds of thousands of recovering people worldwide, as his approach to spirituality, sobriety,  and healing was pretty universal.  The integration into this new community was a fascinating immersion into a group energy that I had never experienced before.

I WAS SO HIGH THERE!!!

I got to see firsthand a group of well over 1000 people warmly embrace the musical group Alliance, which starred Jerry Florence.  They had some hits in the 1980’s, and they were a group of gay men who all had HIV’/AIDS.  Having recently left that “evil” Hinson Baptist Church where gays were bashed regularly, this was like a breath of life to a drowning man, even though I had no homosexual tendencies.  The tenderness that I felt towards Jerry Florence and the group of men that constituted Alliance still lives in me, and I still have tears for the suffering of all people who have been judged as unworthy.

Marsha (Masha) Feldman was a beautiful Jewish woman, of Russian descent, who sat directly across the aisle from me at the Jack Boland talk.  For some reason she came over to ME after Jack’s talk, and began a friendship with me that was to last for over one year.  She had lived quite the life, hanging out with many of the most beautiful people that Portland, Oregon had to offer.  She had hung around rich men with their fancy cars, homes, and clothing. She had told me that she spent much time with weight lifting men, many of whom worshiped their own bodies.  Some were bi-sexual, and she was a little concerned that she might have made contact with the AIDS virus.  She was suffering from an unspecified auto-immune deficiency, and she would not tell me what it was.  She was a princess of sorts, and expected to be treated that way.  Why she latched onto me is anybody’s guess, but I am sure that there was an underlying spiritual reason for this connection.

Masha was troubled and had recently visited her rabbi for some support.  Her rabbi had informed her, in the interests of her own personal happiness and sense of well-being, that she should give up on understanding “GOD”, and to instead pursue more ‘grounded’ approaches to her physical and emotional health and welfare. She was advised to pursue 12-step recovery meetings, even though she had no defeating addictions, to gain insight into herself.   She certainly had the physical aspect mastered, as she worked out daily, and kept her physical energy and beautiful appearance at as high of a level as possible.

The International New Thought Alliance conference of 1987 was part of her higher involvement in the social activities of her community, both inside and outside the Jewish culture.  We traveled all over Portland together, visiting various recovery and spiritual groups for the first time together.   We delighted in discussing with each other all manners of healing and methodologies for achieving higher spiritual experience.  Hey, it felt wonderful to have a new friend on my spiritual journey.  As a direct result of this connection, we visited the YWCA of Portland, on 10th avenue.  Every Sunday there was a tape group meeting hosted by Marie Schmidt, a student of Joel Goldsmith, the creator of the healing movement “The Infinite Way”.  Since Masha was Jewish too, like Joel, she had an immediate connection, though it did not last long for her.  I continued with the Infinite Way for several years afterward (and I still practice some of their principles today).

As I moved forward spiritually in that great summer of 1987,  I was still quite new to the path of healing and transformation. I had left my old life behind, and I was open to the experience of spiritual connection, and mastery. I had developed quite a meditation practice, eschewing committed relationships with others in order to develop a deeper spiritual practice. I remained excited about the possibilities for my life, as I had finally made “conscious contact with the God of my understanding”. I had recently experienced dramatic, if not miraculous, healing of my body and my mind, and a new energy permeated my being. I felt like I was finally “swimming in the sea of meaning”, though I still had not “connected the dots”, or started consciously rebuilding the new self.

Like Grandfather, Like Grandson?: Finding Recovery and Healing Through Shared Stories

In the tangled web of family histories, patterns often repeat themselves, leaving us to wonder if we’re bound by destiny or free will. Having been fortunate enough to find recovery from substance abuse over 40 years ago, I now watch my grandson, Jasper, wrestle with the demons of addiction. His recent descent into methamphetamine use and the chaos that follows makes me reflect on my own past struggles. Can my story of healing serve as a lighthouse for him, guiding him to safer shores? This question is not just personal; it touches the broader conversation about the influence of shared experiences on individual recovery.

Let’s face it—stories resonate. They form the bedrock of our cultures, shaping identities and moral compass. My own story of transformation from a methamphetamine addict to a person graced with sobriety has been my anchor. It began in a place of psychological torment and despair, where I experienced tremors, hallucinations, and a profound sense of alienation. Through a series of spiritual experiences and support from communities like Alcoholics Anonymous, I found redemption and healing. But can this narrative truly inspire others to find their own path to recovery?  My message may be only uniquely mine, for no one has taken a healing journey like me, which I had named in 1986 after a suicide attempt

“my search for truth”.

Personal anecdotes hold immense power, but they are not a one-size-fits-all solution. While my story is woven with triumphs and insights, Jasper remains resistant to its lessons. He’s mired in his own struggles—legal troubles, substance abuse relapses, and mental health crises. Despite this, sharing my experience with him remains an act of hope, a way to plant seeds of possibility.

Stories alone, however, are rarely sufficient. Recovery, particularly from substances as destructive as methamphetamine, often requires professional intervention—therapy, medical treatment, and sometimes medication. In Jasper’s case, his episodes of psychosis and dangerous behaviors underscore the urgency for expert help. Addiction alters brain chemistry and behavior, often necessitating a multifaceted treatment approach.

Support from professionals provides the structure and expertise necessary to address both the physical and psychological dimensions of addiction. Therapy can unearth underlying issues, while medication may stabilize mood and reduce cravings. Programs like Oxford Houses offer an environment where sobriety is the norm, yet Jasper’s reluctance to engage with these resources poses another hurdle.

While professional help is crucial, the role of family cannot be overstated. Families offer unconditional love, a sense of belonging, and the emotional nourishment that can catalyze recovery. Sharon and I have endeavored to offer Jasper these very things, even when he was difficult to reach emotionally and physically. Our support is not without limits, but it is steadfast.

Yet, family involvement is not without its challenges. Enabling behaviors, lack of boundaries, and unaddressed family dynamics can complicate recovery efforts. It’s essential to strike a balance—providing support without facilitating dependency.

Some may argue that stories of recovery, particularly those involving spiritual or miraculous elements, can set unrealistic expectations. Critics suggest that they may inadvertently lead some individuals to believe that recovery should happen suddenly and without struggle. Indeed, my own experiences with spiritual epiphanies do not diminish the hard work and ongoing commitment required to maintain sobriety.

Another potential counterpoint is the emphasis on familial ties. People often recover in spite of, not because of, their families. Dysfunctional family systems can perpetuate cycles of addiction, necessitating a careful, individualized approach to family involvement.

Spiritual experiences, familial support, and professional intervention each have their place in the tapestry of recovery. Jasper’s battle with addiction is a stark reminder that while stories can inspire, they cannot replace the structured support systems necessary for sustainable recovery.

If you know someone struggling with addiction, share your story, but also encourage them to seek professional help. Engage in open conversations, foster environments of acceptance and support, and challenge the stigmas surrounding addiction. Most importantly, remember that every recovery path is unique, as varied and complex as the individuals who walk them.

In closing, my hope is that Jasper—and others like him—find their own path to healing. Whether through spiritual revelation, professional guidance, or the unwavering support of loved ones, may their stories be ones of resilience, growth, and newfound freedom. Let’s continue to share our stories, not as prescriptions, but as possibilities—lighthouses guiding those adrift back to shore.

Healing Across Generations When Addiction Strikes Close to Home

Does addiction run in families, or is it an individual struggle? My family recently found itself revisiting this question as we navigated the emotional terrain brought on by our grandson Jasper’s troubled path. It’s a story that intertwines with my own past struggles and triumphs over addiction.

Years ago, Jasper kept in touch sporadically as he dealt with the fallout of some poor decisions. His life had taken a tumultuous turn—one that would eventually lead to a tragic incident involving substance abuse. Despite the distance, the emotional ties remained strong, especially with my wife, Sharon.

The emotional ripple effects of Jasper’s actions reached our doorstep. The pain his choices brought upon himself mirrored a chapter of my life. The memories resurfaced, making the events all the more gut-wrenching. Still, as a family, we resolved to support him without enabling destructive behaviors.

Jasper’s involvement with the law began with minor offenses but escalated due to substance abuse. The culmination was a heartbreaking incident involving a young woman’s tragic death. This led to a stint in jail, a pivotal but painful turning point that forced us to confront the reality of his situation.

The road to recovery was fraught with challenges, but family support played a crucial role. We navigated the delicate balance between offering help and maintaining boundaries. Jasper needed to rebuild his life, but he couldn’t do it alone. This required all of us to work together, often against Jasper’s resistance.

Rehabilitation played a pivotal role in Jasper’s recovery. Facilities like Oxford House provided structured environments where he could focus on sobriety. It was here that Jasper began to understand the value of discipline and routine—even if reluctantly at first.

Living in a community dedicated to recovery allowed Jasper glimpses of hope and renewal. He started working, gained self-esteem, and established new relationships. Yet, the absence of external accountability soon tested his commitment to sobriety.

Our experience revealed the profound impact family dynamics can have on an individual’s recovery process. Open communication became essential, allowing us to express love and concern while also holding Jasper accountable for his actions.

Recovery isn’t a solo endeavor; it requires collective effort from family, friends, and professionals. As Jasper began to heal, we learned that sustained support must adapt and evolve based on his changing needs.

Every family’s path is unique, but one common thread remains—unconditional love and support, accompanied by firm boundaries, can help guide individuals toward a healthier future. It’s a delicate dance that requires patience and empathy.

Jasper’s path has been marked by both heartache and healing. Through a combination of support and self-realization, he has taken steps toward a brighter future. His story serves as a reminder of the power of resilience and forgiveness.

Though Jasper’s future remains uncertain, there is a newfound hope that wasn’t there before. The lessons learned from his experience—and my own—underscore the importance of addressing these issues head-on with compassion and understanding.

No one heals in isolation. Families play a crucial role in the recovery process, offering the love and support necessary to foster change. As we continue to stand by Jasper, we remain hopeful for what lies ahead.

For those facing similar challenges, know that you are not alone. Reach out for help, lean on your community, and never underestimate the power of shared experiences to bring about healing.