‘Years That the Locust Hath Eaten’

I came across this item in a newspaper the other day: “At least one in five men in developed countries is at risk of alcohol dependency… And such dependency,” said a researcher from the Veterans Affairs San Diego Healthcare System, “can ‘cut your life short by 10 to 15 years.’"

Well, today I can tell you that I want those 10 to 15 years back. It wasn’t always so in my active alcoholism, where it seemed I was doing everything I could to make an early exit, but having survived long enough to make it into recovery, it’s clear that I want to stick around now for as long as I can.

I’ve always known that sobriety automatically extended my life expectancy, but putting a number to it the way the news item did caused me to think in more specific terms. Fifteen years… What could I do with 15 more years?

There’s the prospect of grandkids, of course, and with one of my daughters getting married later this year that possibility is getting closer. Then there’s retiring to Maine with my wife, something we’ve always dreamed about. And, of course, there’s the possibility of becoming a real old-timer in recovery. I did some pretty rudimentary math the other day and realized that, if I live another 15 to 20 years, I could have nearly half a century of sobriety.

Thinking about all this, I remembered an article a friend of mine had written nearly a decade ago about alcoholism and forgiveness and how the two are all wrapped up in AA’s Eighth Step, which concerns itself directly with making amends to such people we have harmed. She talked about how forgiveness had entered into her life, as most everything else in AA’s spiritual program of recovery, through her heart, not her head, and how as she sat in meetings hearing other recovering alcoholics sharing how they have hurt others and how, in almost all cases, relationships have healed, she was reminded of a quotation from the Old Testament’s Book of Joel: “And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten.”

The Book of Joel is apocalyptic in nature, and the notion of redemption and hope and the restoration of all that has been destroyed is a powerful message for a recovering alcoholic like me. The prospect of getting back those 15 years that so many alcoholics give up to the disease is a wonderful spiritual consideration, predicated on my staying sober, one day at a time, and reaching out for a higher power of my own understanding.

“…The years that the locust hath eaten.” It’s so graphic to me, so vivid a description of my alcoholism, and it fits in with some of the terminology of AA’s 12 steps, particularly Step Four which talks about a range of fears which are “the termites that ceaselessly devour the foundations of whatever sort of life we try to build.”

There’s no guarantee, of course, that just because I’m sober my life will be extended by the 15 years I read about in the paper. My early demise is still a possibility—though I’ve lasted well beyond the age of 25, which I once thought would be my absolute limit when drinking.

Regardless of what happens in the future and how many years remain, I’m plenty grateful for the time I’ve already had—years restored from those I tossed so easily aside.