Today I was at the corner store buying a bottle of water. I was standing in line behind a woman who reeked of alcohol and there was a long line of impatient people behind me. The woman at the front of the line was obviously in alcohol withdrawal and was showing the beginning signs of DTs. Her hands were shaking like leaves blowing in a hefty wind. Her hair was disheveled, looking like a matted rats nest on top of her head. “Is there any vodka cheaper than the Smirnoff?” she asked the cashier in a quiet, but jittery voice. It was as if she could hardly get the words out of her mouth.
“Popov is the cheapest brand we have,” he replied in a judgmental voice.
I could hear the huffing and puffing of the people behind me and though I didn’t turn to look, I could see them all rolling their eyes and could almost hear their judgmental thoughts, “You damn drunk, just hurry up.”
“I’ll take a pint of the Popov then,” replied the woman shamefully.
“Popov doesn’t come in pints. Only liters. A liter is $10.24.” spat the clerk, eager to get rid of the woman.
She reached into her pocket and began counting her change. I saw that she held three one dollar bills and some loose change.
“I don’t have enough,” she said, with desperation in her eyes as she looked back up at the cashier.
Being a recovering alcoholic and drug addict myself I could sense the panic she felt was washed with an overwhelming sense of compassion for the woman, a simple drunk who is deep in her disease.
“I could be this woman,” I thought to myself, “If I hadn’t stopped drinking 12 years ago.”
I put my bottle of water down firmly on the counter and said, “Please put her bottle on my tab.”
I felt the judgment from the crowded line behind me, but this time is was directed at me. “Why would she buy a bottle of booze for a woman who is obviously an alcoholic?” I could hear them all thinking.
I know that it’s possible that if that woman left the store without her bottle, she could have had a seizure and died. Severe alcohol withdrawal is deadly. I saw the purchase as a gift that she might live another day and eventually find sobriety.
The man rang up the purchase and I handed the woman her bottle. Then I looked her firmly in the eyes and said loudly – loud enough for everyone in the store to hear. “I used to be an alcoholic.”
The woman’s runny, bloodshot blue eyes softened for a moment and she replied, “So you know what it’s like?” I noticed that she had a black eye and a couple of open cuts on her right cheek.
“Yes. I know exactly how you’re feeling right now. And I just want you to know that if you ever decide you want to stop living this way, there is help available for you. Alcoholics Anonymous is out there and it works.”
“I’m so tired of living this way,” the woman said and burst into tears. “I have children at home and I can’t care for them. But I don’t know how to stop drinking.”
“If you go to an AA meeting, there are people there who can help you stop if you want to.”
“I want to so bad. I just can’t keep doing this. I’m killing myself slowly every day. Do you know where the meetings are?” she asked me.
I took her outside and pulled out one of my 29 Gifts business cards that had my phone number on it. I wrote a list of meetings that I know of on the card and handed it to her.
“When you’re ready to stop, show up at any of these meetings. If you need a ride, you can call me at this number right here,” I said pointing to where my number appeared in bright red type.
A man, who I assume was her husband who gave her the black eye, came over and grabbed her arm, jerking her away from me.
“What the fuck was that all about?” he spat at her.
“She bought me a bottle. I was thanking her,” she replied and I saw her quickly tuck my card into the back pocket of her dirty jeans before he could see it.
The man yanked her away down the sidewalk several feet and started yelling profanities at her.
“Shut up!” she said to him firmly in a strong voice that I didn’t think she was capable of. She jerked her arm away from him and walked back over to me.
“Excuse me ma'am?” she said quietly. “Do you believe in angels?”
“Yes, I do,” I replied. “I believe we all have angels looking out for us all the time.”
Her eyes teared up again and long wet streaks ran out of the black eye and down her cut cheek.
“I think you are one of my angels,” she said.
And then she turned and walked away with the man, keeping her distance so he couldn’t grab hold of her again.
Of course, I don’t know if this woman will ever find sobriety. She may never make her way into detox, rehab or an AA meeting. But in that moment, I saw that I had given her a sense of hope that recovery might be possible for her.
As I watched her walk away I felt a renewed sense of overwhelming compassion and gratitude for this woman. She gave me a glimpse of where I might be today had I stayed on my path of addiction. I’m praying for this woman every day now, sending her strength and hope.
