When we began our affair our motto was "Life is Short". We had two things in common: sex and alcoholism. Remember racing up the 205, living room dancing, drinking B52's until we couldn't stand, and Elvis singing Blue Christmas? Remember T.O.Y. notes, the smell of my perfume, tickling me until I laughed like a loon, and the excitement of sneaking away to see each other? Do you remember the head games, the constant fear and tension, and the way we hurt each other?

I do.

I also remember sitting by my window listening for the sound of your car, unable to concentrate on anything other than the hope that you'd come by to see me. I remember saying good-bye to you as you left to go home to your wife, and pushing away my feelings of guilt; choosing only to anticipate the next time you could fit me into your schedule. Remember how I fell in love and you didn't? Every hope, every dream, every bit of love in me was yours. I was young, and idealistic, and deeply in love with you. My selfishness fed my fantasy and I waited for you for 3 ½ years.

And then there were the breakups. You would disappear for days - weeks sometimes - because you and your wife were getting along, or I wasn't fun today, or simply because I had talked to a friend on the phone. I ended it "For Good" at least 10 times when my shame and frustration grew too large to ignore. Then you would break into my apartment, or show up at my work, or simply call and tell me you needed me, and we would begin again. How I loved to revel in my self-pity, get drunk, and hate you at those times. Remember how you once went 30 days in January without drinking and how we celebrated with Tequila on the 31rst day? Remember how I then white-knuckled the month of November in that same year because if you could do it, I could do it?

What should have been the end was the abortion of our child. To me this was the final tragedy, the culmination of our sick relationship, the end of a dream. Something broke inside me then, and three weeks later, when I couldn't stop crying you kicked us out. That was the darkest time of my life. But once again, my God stepped in, and with the help of my friends I started over. I tried so hard to get my life together then. I asked my God to forgive me, enrolled in college, started a business, and tried to control my drinking. You went back to your wife.

Five months later you came back - you always came back - and you spoke to me of love and commitment, and we drank together. You always could crawl into my head and confuse me. Cosmic right? You used that power and I wondered if I would ever escape it. I had lost all hope of being free of that power, and figured I was getting what I deserved. Our drinking accelerated, my friends shook their heads in disgust at me, and I began to fall apart. That was the beginning of hitting bottom for me.

We were together that last time for 8 months. Eight long months of getting drunk, fighting, and putting ourselves and our families through hell. I left you once and for all when you ignored my ultimatum, but it took me five more months to surrender my self-will to God and Alcoholics Anonymous. On June 12, 1998 I did just that. And in 8 days I will celebrate one year of continuous sobriety. It has been a year of rewarding personal growth as I've worked the Twelve Steps, and I am growing up for the first time. I have looked at my choices while drinking and my extreme selfishness, and as part of my program for living I need to make amends to those I have harmed in the past. So, I went to your work this last Monday and apologized to you. I knew then that I was free of you. You have no power over me any more. I am truly, finally, free.

I guess I'm writing today to get that final closure. When I began this I wanted to tell you of how great life is for me now that I am clean and sober. I wanted to gloat about the wonderful man I am seeing. But I realize that you do not even know you have a disease. A fatal disease that always progresses. Though your body may function and you cope as I once did, there is a tremendous, exciting world going on around you that you aren't even aware of. Somehow, I have no desire to say "So There" to you.

I guess I'll just say So. I'm going to keep doing what I've been doing since it's working. And I'm going to try not to project what I learned from you onto the man in my life. He is not you, and I am not who I was. And I'm going to pray for you whenever we start a meeting with a moment of silence for the alcoholic who still suffers.

Good-bye Randy,