“I’ll admit that, like other addicts, I’d tried to give up the booze. Any sobriety I managed never lasted more than a couple of days before I was back to drinking and glad of it. Alcohol was more than a drink. It was everything, and I craved it. I needed it if I was going to make it through the night. I decided this was the way it would always be until I met Michelle.”
She paused momentarily and shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “At first, I wasn’t interested in all the talk about askingGod for help. Thought it was some kind of cruel joke. I scoffed at having a higher power. That was nothing more than empty words to me. Michelle ignored my skepticism and challenged me to give God a chance. I laughed. Frankly, I didn’t think God or anyone else would be interested in helping a weakling like me. It wasn’t going to happen.
“Looking to God to find sobriety was a pipe dream as far as I was concerned. He wasn’t interested in me or my life. If God was real, then why had He given me over to physical and mental abuse for as long as I could remember? Why did He give me a mother who neither cared nor loved me?
“How Michelle managed to convince me to attend AA I’ll never know. She offered me a glimmer of hope, and I reached out for it. I attended thirty meetings in thirty days, with Michelle at my side, and before I knew how it was even possible, I had an entire month of sobriety. That was the longest stretch I’d ever had. On the night of the thirtieth meeting, you’d think I’d be at my strongest, only I wasn’t. I was driving home and the urge for a drink was so strong I knew I’d never be able to resist.
“I was on the freeway, heading straight to my favorite tavern. Nothing was going to stop me. The bartender was as close as I had to a friend. The battle inside my head was raging. I wanted a drink. I didn’t want a drink. Just thinking about how good a shot of whiskey would taste had my mouth watering. Driving down the freeway, I knew I would give in the way I always had. The choice had already been decided. This was my fate.
“In a moment of desperation, I cried out to God, asking Him if He was real the way Michelle insisted, and if He was, then He needed to help me. What happened next is hard to believe, even for me.”
She paused and chuckled, shaking her head in wonder as though even now she didn’t understand it.
“I missed the exit. I drove straight past it like it wasn’t even there. I knew the way to that dive bar as well as I did to my own house. I couldn’t believe it. I was stunned. That was the night I realized I could remain sober. God answering the frantic cry of a lost soul was the turning point for me. I thank God and Michelle for ten years of sobriety. I have a decent job and a life I never thought was possible. I believe I was destined to die before I was forty if it hadn’t been for Michelle.”
Maisy turned to her grandmother, amazed at the things she was hearing. Two more people stood up to speak, each with glowing praise for Michelle. At the end of the service Pastor Jameson said there would be a small luncheon served in the church basement.
“The ladies of the church have supplied the meal. Many of them would have liked to attend the service themselves, as Michelle was loved by all. They stayed behind to make sure everything was ready. You’re all invited.”
“We should go with the others,” Grams whispered, when the priest finished speaking.
“Really?” Maisy asked, surprised. “To the church?” she clarified. Her grandmother might be suggesting they hightail it out of there to avoid answering any questions.
“Some of my favorite recipes came from attending funerals,” she whispered enthusiastically.
“Grams!” Maisy did her best to hold back her amusement.
“I’m not kidding,” she continued. “There’s a whole cookbook of funeral recipes. I have one.”
Noticing several stares coming their way, Maisy was a littleuncomfortable. People were curious about her, and with good reason. They seemed to know she was a stranger to Michelle.
By the time Maisy and her grandmother arrived at St. Mary’s, there was already a line of people at the buffet table. They each took a plate. The selection of salads and desserts was impressive. The group was large, with many others attending who hadn’t been at the service. Children raced around the floor and Maisy believed these must be from the Sunday school classes Pastor Jameson had mentioned during Michelle’s eulogy.
Grams chose to sit at a table with Sandy, the woman who’d spoken first at the service. Maisy followed behind.
“Hello,” Grams said cheerfully, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.
“Hello,” Sandy replied, and smiled shyly.
“I’m Bill,” the man sitting next to Sandy said.
They all introduced themselves.
“How did you know Michelle?” Sandy asked, looking to Grams.
“I didn’t. It’s my granddaughter here who knows her son.”
Bill’s eyes widened. “You know Chase?” he asked, as though astonished. He immediately got to his feet and led Gwen and a couple of other people from the celebration of life to the table. He reclaimed his seat, and the others pulled chairs from nearby and squeezed in around the table. They all made Maisy the focus of their attention.
Maisy swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t really know Chase. I met him only one time in the airport.”
“So he did make an appearance,” Gwen mused aloud.
“He came to make the funeral arrangements. I…I drove him when his car service was canceled. I will say what he told meabout his mother is nothing like what I heard today.” It saddened her that Chase hadn’t known his mother the way these people did.
“Michelle tried countless times to reach him,” Bill mentioned.
“The way he ignored all her letters is a shame,” Sandy added.
