My name is Charlie, and I'm a compulsive overeater.
I watched addiction kill last week.
It left a young woman husbandless.
It left two middle-school boys fatherless.
He had a disease. He could have gotten treatment. He should have gotten treatment. Last week, in his final week in the hospital, he was willing. He was planning to go to rehab. Unfortunately it was too late. He never got better. His organs shut down, one by one. He went into a coma. And then he died.
Alcoholism turned a once-vibrant man, high school football star, life of the party, successful businessman into a yellow, empty shell.
And no, I don't expect a memorial service to be a 12-Step meeting. But that doesn't mean I have to enjoy the collective denial we labored through.
He was such a great guy.
He was such a good father.
He was such a loving husband.
He really embraced life.
He wouldn't want us to be sad.
Let's watch this slideshow of happy family memories...
He was so very sick.
Many of us helped him to stay sick.
We thought someone else would finally get through to him.
His sickness kept him from seeing reality, from understanding the real cost of his refusal to get help.
His children will suffer with this for decades.
Addiction killed a 42-year-old man last week. God rest his soul. God heal his family and bring peace, light, hope and recovery.
And may I live in gratitude for the new life I'm finding and in service to those who still suffer. Amen.