Author Matthew Heneghan

There’s a circle stained to my back pocket. I noticed it the other night after coming back home from Olivia’s hockey game. It perplexed me for a moment until I figured it out. In one epiphanous gasp, a world of realization befell me. As it did, I couldn’t help but to fall victim to a subtle wave of encroaching tears. I didn’t mind though. These were happy tears. Tears that once fell by way of sadness, not glee.

To tell you about the circle, I must first inform you that my name is Matthew, and I am an alcoholic. For more than a decade of my life I hid from my feelings. A life of uniformed service left me with a legacy of dead brothers, and the weight of their loss all too often felt impossible to bear. But bear it I did. I was given no choice in the matter. Losses weren’t simply tied to those I had loved and lost; my chosen vocation was to immerse within death itself — I was a paramedic. I existed within a city of decay and rot, doing my best to reverse the sinister approach of death for others, all while quietly craving it for myself. I did this for almost sixteen years. With each drink I swallowed, a new cut tore itself to my soul.

I would eventually stand at the precipice of life and death, and I would have to choose whether to jump in a leap of faith toward a hope I was unsure of, or remain on the ledge to perish in stagnation and avoidance. Since you’re reading this, I think it’s clear which decision I chose.

In 2018, I entered into a trauma and addictions rehab facility. In 2018, I consumed my last drink. I am now nearing six years sober.

The circle stained to my rear pocket comes from within my wallet. In my wallet there exists a coin. A decorative circuitous piece of metal that might otherwise be meaningless in another’s hand, lives in my wallet as a constant companion of truth and transformation. It’s a symbol of a path I chose that pulled me from a life I was once stuck. It is my five-years of sobriety celebration coin. My loving Sheena got it for me last summer. The shape of it made itself known by way of faint dirt and dust that I had encountered through the day. At the close of the evening, at the end of a long and enjoyable day of watching a nine-year old play hockey, I was confronted by this peculiar little mark on my rear pocket.

When looking at it, I smiled and wiped a tear or two away from my cheek. You see, in this life of sobriety, I have the ability to go and watch a zealous nine-year old girl skate as fast as she can, shoot as hard as she might, and rejoice when scoring a goal, only to then scan the crowd to make sure that we were watching. I was, Olivia — I was watching. Watching through blissfully sober eyes and mind.

My name is Matthew, and I am an alcoholic. I always will be. The difference now is that with sober tongue I can claim without doubt or disbelief that, I Matthew J. Heneghan, am well and truly, undeniably… grateful.

I don’t mind that little blemish on the back of my pants. In fact, I think I’ll wear it like a medal earned. So, now for those of you that know me, I give you full license to stare at my butt! And if you see a circle, come give me a high-five. Because whatever day that might be, it’s guaranteed to be better than things once were. I love this life of mine. And I love all of you within it.

Thank you.