The first time I met Roger, he walked up to me after a recovery meeting, wearing an eye patch, asking if I could help him stay sober.
“I’m not a pirate,” he explained, which I’d already mostly surmised since he didn’t greet me with an “ahoy” or long-drawn out “aaaaarrrrrgggghhhh.” He told me the eye patch was a precautionary measure after injuring himself at work. With that mystery solved, there was one other thing abundantly clear to me at our first encounter: this guy cared very little about recovery aside from going through whatever motions were needed in order to appease the courts.
And that was fine. I got it; I’d been there too.
His initial reluctance is actually part of what made the next few years such an awesome experience, for both of us. Over time, working together, I was blessed to witness a light bulb come on within Roger, brightly and brilliantly, nothing short of a psychic change as the realization took hold that not only was recovery possible but that he was doing it, and discovering his best life and best self in the process, even in the face of life’s trials still trying to take him down.
Now, as I wrestle with concreting these memories on the page, my first time writing in my new office in my new home, the tears are starting to flow right along with the words.
My first meeting with Corey was much different from that first meeting with Roger, as was our relationship in recovery. Corey was recently sober when I first met him, wanting to start a new meeting in the area. He befriended a small group of people in the recovery community who I also knew, and I was pulled into the first meeting for this new recovery group.
While I never worked with Corey one on one, I still had the pleasure of watching a change quite similar to the one that happened with Roger. Finding himself among a group of like-minded individuals, and starting a meeting that gave him a purpose each and every week, Corey broke through the barriers of his addiction and was able to thrive in recovery.
As Corey built a strong foundation in recovery, he moved up to northern Indiana to continue living all the miracles that sobriety had bestowed upon him.
I considered both Roger and Corey brothers in my recovery, at different times and different places in my journey. Both of them helped me in different ways.
And in the past month, both of them passed away.
This isn’t some sort of cautionary tale on the dangers of relapse. Roger fought many demons outside of his alcohol addiction, the kind that strangle you in the darkness of depression and continue to pull you down even as you fight and claw. For Corey, it was cancer, the fast and aggressive kind that hits right when you are getting married and have just hit your full stride in recovery and life.
As I grieve the loss of these two friends in recovery this holiday season, I am also in awe of the miracle that I was able to know both of them at their absolute best moments. I continue to be sober today because of these two men. While I hadn’t talked to either of them in the past few months, they each impacted me when alive, each in a way for which I will always be grateful.
Mourning both Roger and Corey in my own way these past few weeks, I’ve been reminded of my own journey in recovery, and the pain of getting there. Many Christmases past I spent somewhere in the throes of addiction, which I was reminded of this holiday season as I began cleaning out the attic over at my soon-to-be old place on First Street, uncovering an empty Jim Beam bottle as I sorted through boxes, a relic symbolic of me in a past life.
Aside from me knowing each of these men as part of my recovery community, another similarity between Roger and Corey was the love they showed me as I released and promoted Lucy’s Way this year. I didn’t get a chance to see or talk with them at any of my events. I don’t know if either of them even had a chance to read the book.
What I do know is their social media reactions told me they were right there beside me in this journey, watching the joy and miracle of Lucy’s Way unfold, much as I did with their recovery. Their little digital social media thumbs let me know they were right there with me, giving me that little extra punch of hope as I pushed through the uncomfortable moments of being out of my comfort zone. Just like I did in recovery.
And just like recovery, I’m so glad I walked forward into the uncomfortable. I’m glad I didn’t give up. Too many people give up on recovery, and all of the other difficult things life poses. They stop just short of the miracle.
As I close the door on 2025, the first eight months of the release of Lucy’s Way have been full of love and miracles as I’ve had the opportunity to connect with friends and family in new ways, meet many new friends and connections along the way, and hopefully touch a life or two with the story of this wonderful dog.
On December 13, a snowy Saturday at Barnes and Noble in Noblesville, I wrapped a whirlwind seven-stop fall tour that lasted just under two months. Since starting to promote Lucy’s Way, I’ve participated in 12 events since July, ranging from signings to readings to author fairs and speaking engagements, trying to get Lucy’s Way into the hands of anyone who may benefit from its message.
And there’s still time to grab a really cheap digital copy as part of the Smashwords year end sale. Right now, if you head over to http://smashwords.com/sale you can grab a DIGITAL copy of Lucy’s Way for just $4.97 all the way up until 11:59 p.m. on Jan. 1.
After some rest and rejuvenation over the holiday season, we’ll see what’s in store for the new year.
Actually, my newest project is unfolding right now as I delve into this attic project over at First Street. It’s a process that I want to be mindful of, making sure to engage myself in it, to feel each and every moment as I sort through all of the memories, bidding farewell to many of them, some good and some, like the empty Jim Beam bottle, a reminder of where I was and where I am today.
One of the great finds so far has been some of the albums that I described in detail in my first draft of Lucy’s Way. One album that I failed to mention in that first draft was Billy Joel’s The Stranger. This album was such a wonderful introduction to music for me, and I haven’t been able to find it yet, but I’ll keep searching, because there’s a connection to Lucy’s Way there, and a connection to my journey. But that’s another story, one for the next blog.
I’m headed into 2026 with a blank canvas of possibilities for Lucy’s Way, one I can’t wait to start painting.
And to Roger and Corey, neither of whom were likely aware how much they meant to me, I’ll settle for sending them both a big thumbs up out into the afterlife. Because I am a better person for having known each of them.
Perfectly said, Mark. Two great men, who inspired many. Greatful you were there to help both of them. You are a light to so many. Thank you.