Jay and the Mayans - a Tribute

                                            Jay and the Mayans   



    I first met Jay in a room full of addicts. Fresh out of rehab, it was my first Narcotics Anonymous meeting and I was a mixture of fear, self-loathing, and shame, which settled into a stomach knot that lasted nearly a decade. Three events occurred at that Sunday night meeting in a windowless church basement: I heard Jay share compassionately and intelligently, as the meeting concluded, the chair suggested, "Keep coming back, we will love you until you learn to love yourself," and I helped put away the folding chairs and clean up the coffee urn.



    At rehab, we were told to attend meetings daily and get a sponsor. I saw Jay three times that first week and asked if he could sponsor me.  He didn't believe in an old-man-with-a-beard God, but had a mystical, other-wordly spirituality. More importantly, he had an abiding faith in our fellowship and its path. Emotionally retarded, I ran on intellect and hyper-rationality. I desperately wanted what he had.  Jay performed a bona-fide miracle, opening my heart to where I could love and be loved.



    My life as an addict was all about getting over; on doctors, on my bosses, my friends, even my wife and children.  Whatever outrageous excuse I could present, it seemed to work, especially if mixed with appropriate (and insincere) remorse. I used every skill imaginable to continue getting high. Finally I committed myself to a man with a Ph.D. in getting over. There was no hustling Jay, he had heard and used every BS line. He let me speak then respectfully told me how full of crap I was.



    Jay had five years clean and know how to stop, more importantly he coached me in how to live. One of his first suggestions was to tape a post-it to my bathroom mirror, it read, "You're fired!"  He made me quit my self-appointed job as General Manager of the Universe."  I couldn't even control myself, so why bother to be in charge of manipulating everyone else's actions and thoughts.



    He could have been gruff or cruel, but Jay always was gentle, always with a sense of humor, and unfailingly optimistic. No matter how dark my life seemed, he would look at me with a bit of a grin and tell me that it would work out, that it would get better, and to give time time. 



    My story had a relapse, a threelapse, even a fourlapse. But Jay was patient. He kept loving me in spite of how disgustingly unlovable I had become. When I didn't believe in myself, he believed in me. Jay visited me in my third rehab, gave me a big hug and somehow transmitted his tremendous strength and courage so that I would walk out of there with a little hope.



    Jay was a mountain, physically large with a spirit greater than Mount Everest. Not only did we work the 12 steps in earnest, we fished together, kayaked, walked on the beaches, went out to dinner with our wives. Jay saved my job, my marriage, and my life. He was the most giving person I have ever known. When I asked him why, he would only say that what others had done for him, he was doing for me. The only way we can keep what we have is to give it away.



    I was self-absorbed, collecting, hoarding, substituting things for love. Jay taught me the value of humility and service. He showed me the importance of being a giver rather than a taker. He had a wisdom that cut through the baloney, "Don't think less of yourself, think of yourself less often".  I never felt better than when I made the coffee for a meeting, passed the collection can, greeted a newcomer with a smile, or spoke at a rehab, offering newcomers a sliver of hope.



    I was so empty inside and frightened of being judged that I was able to develop acting props that earned me acceptance almost anywhere. Of course, I lived in secret fear of being discovered. You could find six people in my life and they would describe me six different ways. Jay never judged me and he was the only person who I was totally honest with. He helped me build a core and become genuine for the first time in my life.  Jay was my greatest and truest friend because he was wise enough to give me what I needed, not what I wanted.



    The cycles turn endlessly. Jay's health deteriorated over the past few years as he struggled with knee replacements, liver, and heart problems. Our roles reversed as his immobility increased and his energy dissipated. By default I became his sponsor, encouraging, suggesting, being there without judgment or disapproval. He became crankier as his life force ebbed, but I paid him forward as others had done for him.



    Ever with a twinkle in his eye, he clenched my hand in his hospital bed and described the place as the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.  The Mayans predicted the end of the world on the winter solstice of this year.  It turns out they were right. A huge part of my world died on that day, as Jay took his final, peaceful, Earthly breath at 6:45 AM on Dec. 21, 2012.