Gabrielle

It was crisp November…

 

…when I had my first encounter with her.  She made me laugh.  She made me cry.  There was something very compelling about Gabrielle.

 

She and I had many talks during those early days of sobriety.  It was her strength and her heart that made me open up and tell her things that, heretofore, I had not spoken. 

 

She could see me.  I mean—she could see the pain in my eyes.  Sometimes I felt she knew my pain before I knew it myself. 

 

She came from New Jersey and had a knack for telling you what you didn’t want to hear but you knew was true.  Her only downfall, perhaps, was that she had her own pain–buried beneath.

 

All Alone Out There

 

It was snowy December. 

 

As I crossed the street on my way to work that morning, my eyes snatched a familiar navy blue print.  It was Gabi in her winter coat, holding tightly to a brown paper bag, head down, looking confused. 

 

I dashed back across the street calling her name.  The woman bowed her head and slowly began walking away.  I called her name again.  This time she turned to me.  It was Gabrielle.  I saw there were tears in her eyes. 

 

I hugged her and as I felt the thin layer of clothing on her body and heard the sadness in her voice, I knew she was in trouble.

 

“Are you okay?”  “I’m fine,”  she replied, wiping tears from her face.  “I don’t like you seeing me like this.”  She began to sob.  “I love you.” I whispered.  “I love you too.”

 

I knew there was nothing more I could do to help Gabrielle.

 

 

It was frozen February. 

 

She spoke in hushed tones as we walked up the stairs into the church.  There was a brokenness about her that I had never seen.  She warmed herself in the chapel and told me she had been living on the street, staying on couches and hopping from shelter to shelter. 

  

“I can’t do this anymore.” She said.  I tried to listen.  I tried to love her where she was.  We talked of her getting more permanent shelter.  She spoke of the loneliness she felt—all alone out there.

 

 

It was a beautiful summer day…

 

…as I stood up in front of 40 alcoholics and addicts in the basement of an old downtown Minneapolis church.  I could not contain the excitement that I felt. 

A Minneapolis Summer Day

 

“I’m here today to present Gabi with her 6-month chip!”  “Who are you?” the crowd asked.  “Oh, yeah, I’m John and I’m an addict.” 

 

“Come on up here, Gabi.” I said.  My mind began replaying various scenes of Gabi’s progress.  I saw her in her navy blue wool overcoat clinching a brown paper bag.  I saw her crying on the street corner.  I saw her praying in the chapel at church. 

 

Then, I saw the woman before me now.  I felt so honored that Gabi asked me to present her 6 months.

 

We had all witnessed the transformation that Gabi had undergone.  The change was… and is visible. 

 

Gabi is an inspiration to me because she is discovering inner peace and serenity.  She found her way to humility—realizing that her life had become unmanageable and that only a Higher Power could restore her to sanity. 

 

One Addict Helping Another

 

It was just last week…

 

…as I sat on the steps, having a cigarette with Gabi.  With tears in her eyes, she spoke of a young man who was struggling with addiction.  She told me how she had helped him get into a shelter, but he had run away.  Gabi had urged him to go to treatment. 

She had told him, “I love you—not because of your looks—not because you are young and beautiful.  I love you for you!”

 

That young man is now in a halfway house—thanks to Gabi.  She is so very proud of him.  And I am so very proud of her.  

 

“The therapeutic value of one addict helping another is without parallel.”  (Narcotics Anonymous, Basic Text, p. 84)