Bill & Sandy Fifield Artist - Authors - Speakers

INVITE ME TO “BE THE GIFT”

My purpose in writing this blog is to offer myself to your event as a speaker.  Contact me through Facebook or through www.digdeepinoneplace.com and I can send a copy of my talk at WACYPAA 2014.

INVITE ME TO “BE THE GIFT”

In October 2011 my husband Bill and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary with a renewal of our marriage vows and a lovely party in our spruced up Studio helped by our incredible friends.  The path in front of us looked so clear—our next steps seemed destined.    We saw ourselves growing old together to become that impossibly old couple sitting on the porch holding hands, seeing each other with eyes that remembered the way we used to look when we first met so long ago in 1965.  Our health was still good, we looked great.  Bill was probably more handsome than he had ever been—at the height of his powers, intellectually as well as artistically.  He was 64. I was 66—we never felt better emotionally, spiritually and artistically.

 We were looking forward to being invited to present our understanding of the 12 Steps, 12 Traditions and 12 Concepts for World Service and the path to freedom they contain with the story of our relationship both before and after the miracle of recovery.    Our paramount intention was to help others find a solution to the spiritual disease of fear that afflicts every human being to some degree.  The alcoholic is the extreme example but there are many more manifestations, all of which can be helped with the practice of the spiritual principles of the 12 Steps.

  Then everything changed—as Bill was finishing a large wood sculpture in January and February, 2012, he began to lose his vision.  At first we thought it was a floater that would dissipate on its own.  Then his peripheral vision began to diminish and by the end of February, he was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer.   Our focus turned to healing the cancer.  The rest of 2012 was filled with radiation and chemo treatments but we did manage a few speaking engagements.  Then in 2013 the cancer returned and Bill died August 9th.

Our belief in the power of the spiritual principles contained in the 12 Steps never wavered.  Through all the sometimes painful and uncomfortable treatments, he never stopped helping others, never stopped going to 12 Step Fellowship meetings and never stopped sharing his and our experience.  We were invited to speak in several places but his strength was tenuous and we had to take great care.

Since I never thought Bill could actually die, denial equaled hope for me during those difficult days just before he passed.  Today I have moved into a kind of acceptance that is changing every day.  Starting the day after he transitioned, I went to my early morning meeting so I could stay connected to the people and spiritual principles that had sustained me and him for 21 years of sobriety and recovery.  I was asked to tell my story at the Jackson Hole meeting in September and then in January 2013 I was privileged to be asked to be the Sunday morning speaker at WACYPAA which was held in Denver at the Sheraton Hotel.

My connection with Bill is intensified and strengthened when I am asked to speak at any event or meeting.  He was so enthusiastic about sobriety, recovery and the 12 Steps.   I feel that I am privileged to be able to continue his and my legacy of recovery and understanding of the spiritual principles.   We met in 1965 and maintained a relationship that went through many transitions drunk and sober.   Our stories are totally intertwined; we truly dug deep in one place.  Even today I am still exploring our relationship by continuing to create art in our studio, by participating in my 12 Step fellowship, by sponsoring others through the 12 Steps, by writing my experience and by telling our story whenever and wherever I am invited.  The 12 Steps continue to sustain and uphold me as I face this new world without Bill.

FIRST CASA DAY-Sandy

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Casa Early Morning

It’s still dark as we walk to Kelsie’s house for our 6:00 am breakfast and we wonder if the first stage of her security system (the garden gate) will be unlocked.  We walk down the driveway and lean against it and as if by magic it swings open for us to proceed to the door of her kitchen.   We continue to prepare for the full day ahead; it all seems so strange and new.  We are dressed in white clothes, even our underwear is pure white to keep with the spirit of the experience; we even have our white hats with us.  We are entirely ready.

We arrive at the Assembly Hall at 6:45 am and start to wait.  Our efforts are rewarded with seats on the benches nearest to the front and right of the small stage.   This deal is supposed to start at 8:00 am but we have to take into consideration the fact that this is Brazil and Brazilian time is in effect which means that it will start when it starts; there is no rush.   This is an open-air hall with a skylight that lets in air and sunlight; to start with it is quite cool with a breeze; soon enough it will warm up sufficiently to turn on the several fans. There is a line of people carrying pillows and back supports who will go into the Current rooms to meditate during the morning session.  The Hall fills, all the chairs and benches are full, there are people sitting on the edge of the small stage, the empty spaces fill, there are some sitting on the floor, and there are several folks in wheelchairs in the space to the right of the stage.    They will invited in first.   Read More

A New World Opens: Our First Night In Brazil

Brasilia Terminal is open-air, a chaotic place; there is a little café and tables near our entry door into Brazil.   Over there are rows of ATM’s where everyone seems to getting or exchanging money. Banks of taxis and cars line the curb.  If it weren’t for Kelsie we would be hopelessly confused.  Abadiania is a one and one-half hour drive south and a little west of Brasilia.

First Sunrise--Abadiania

First Sunrise–Abadiania

Kelsie has a taxi all ready to go with Bolivar as our driver, he is the proud owner of a white and very clean, nearly new small SUV.  It’s still early and quite refreshingly cool with a wonderful dry breeze; much like a Colorado summer morning but it is the start of winter here and the dry season has just begun.  The traffic is heavy in Brasilia and the city seems to stretch out in all directions endlessly.  There is an area of large buildings to the left and a massive traffic jam going the opposite direction from us.  We are leaving the city while everyone else is going in to work.   It seems to go on for miles. Read More

“PARTNERSHIP”

August 2012

Florida--August 2012

I wake up in the morning overwhelmed with gratitude.  How awesome to have a partner on this journey.  When all this health stuff came down the real meaning of partnership rose to the surface.  Suddenly Sandy had to take over every area of our lives.  I realized that we are really in this together.   The strength of our relationship became even more obvious.   We are so connected that if I want to know how I feel, all I have to do is ask Sandy.   If I’m exhausted, she’s exhausted; if my back hurts, same with her.   The emotional connection is so strong, it’s almost scary.   How she walks the fine line between taking care of me and not treating me like an invalid child is masterful.

We have our little tiffs but because of our commitment to our spiritual life and our partnership we can actually pause and reevaluate our positions.  What an incredible gift.  So many times she is coming from the east and I’m coming from the west that you think we would be used to it.  As we maneuver for position and struggle to hang on, we discover that many times we are headed for the same place.  This has taken practice and a willingness to stand on the beach when the cannibals seem to be pouring out of the jungle.   My first thought is, I have to FLEE!

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“Love Boat”

As I sit here on the “Love Boat” holding Sandy’s hand on my last day of chemo, I am overwhelmed with gratitude and compassion.  Everyone here is hurting or dying and most are scared to death.  To be in a position to reach out, to be an example of the positive, to touch them, to listen to their stories is a gift that has to be experienced. Since we are in the same “boat” approaching them is easy.   I give them each a card with the magic words and they light up.  It’s a feeling of a joyful planting, knowing that only good can come from a positive act, no matter how small.

It has taken twenty years to get here.  From the absolute nadir of despair to a life of happy, joyous freedom at first has to take a lot of effort.  The habit of a lifetime took some doing to turn to a different direction. Automatic negative thinking and a curious twist of the mind made being useful in any way almost impossible.   Everything seemed to be screwed and I thought I liked it like that.   I didn’t realize that just because my reaction was automatic doesn’t mean it wasn’t a decision.   I thought I was a victim of my circumstances; I didn’t know that I had a choice.  Being a victim keeps me from a life of true freedom; it prevented me from experiencing the wondrous rewards of performing a simple act of kindness.  To see people light up, to respond, and to see that spread across the room fills my heart with joy.

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Imagine a Day Without Fear

When I was first introduced to recovery and the 12 Steps, I was convinced they would not work for me. Then I finally asked a person who could lead me through the actions suggested by the Steps and found some willingness to proceed from her enthusiasm.

I could not imagine a day without fear.   I was not sure that I could or would be able to stay in my relationship with Bill.  We had been through so much.  I met him in 1965 when I was 20 years old and almost immediately we began living together.  Our great adventure had begun.   We wanted to create a true artistic partnership but there were no blueprints for this type of relationship at the time.  The closest thing we could find was the artist who married a good little woman and she helped him to achieve success at the cost of her own artistic ambitions. We knew that wouldn’t work for us but I was extremely dependent on him to fulfill my every need and desire, and to pull me into exciting and dangerous behavior.   I loved it but it didn’t quite go along with the partnership we had envisioned.  I remember the first time I actually thought, “I probably could go on living if he left me.”  What a radical idea!  I had always felt like a Victorian heroine who would just retire to bed and die of a broken heart.  How romantic, how silly, how ridiculous!

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“The End of Act Two”

With the installation of the Power Port in the upper right part of my chest, the curtain came down on Act Two of this drama in my life.  Act One was the discovery of the cancer, the subsequent removal of the brain tumor it spawned and receipt of all the information about what we will do about the whole situation in the future.  It seemed joyous; I was filled with gratitude and acceptance.  It’s not about me.  Oh, it hurt, was uncomfortable and boring but it was about what could I bring, how can I help?   What is the meaning of life?  Helpfulness to others.

Going into Act Two, I knew I was responsible for every thought word or action that comes from me. As the fourteen radiation treatments on my brain started, the effects of the Act One medications became really apparent. Combine that with the exhaustion from the radiation and I started losing ground.  I was told to watch out for shortness of breath but I honestly didn’t recognize it when it started to happen.  What a surprise to have a pain like a nail being driven into my left knee.  It was excruciating and began to travel down my leg.  Monday morning of my last week of radiation, the nurse in the office didn’t like my limp and sore leg, so she sent me for a CT scan to discover a blood clot and it’s off to the emergency room for us.   We are sent home with blood thinners.   The next day back for day twelve of radiation. Now I am really short of breath, I’m limping and hobbling along.  Now the nurse is angry.  “How could they let you go?”

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“The Big Lumps”–Sandy

“Then perhaps life, as it has a way of doing, suddenly hands us a great big lump that we can’t begin to swallow, let alone digest… What then?… Can we transform these calamities into assets, sources of growth and comfort to ourselves and those about us?”  The Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, page 113

 Well, this last week has been the down and dirty of this process that started with the diagnosis of a brain tumor in Bill’s head over a month ago.  To watch the man you have loved for 47 years drained of strength, to see him lying there helpless, with no hair, radiation burns on his forehead, his heart racing at 166 bpm, short of breath; it becomes clear, too clear that this is serious and life threatening. 

The first go round with the discovery of the brain tumor and lung cancer was almost glamorous compared with this reality.  His whole being has been beaten down by twelve days of whole brain radiation, the withdrawal from the anti-seizure and steroid meds and recovery from brain surgery one month earlier.  What next?  How about a massive blood clot in his left leg?  How about  embolisms in both lungs?   These put him flat on his back in Critical Care for seven days, IV tubes in both arms, a heart monitor and oxygen tubes in his nose.

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A Gift Wrapped in Barbed Wire

It started out as a weird god’s-eye shaped floater in the left of my field of vision and turned into a brain tumor and lung cancer in a mere three days.  I had gone to my doctor, who referred me to an eye specialist to find out where this irritating thing came from.   Next he’s shining a very bright light into my right eye “Lookup, look down, look side to side” he asks. Then he says, “My, my, the viscous has pulled away from the orb, collapsing with the mesh that holds it.  What you are seeing is the mesh becoming visible as it contracts—in other words, a floater” I ask, “What can we do about that? It’s right in the middle of where I look, kind of an inconvenience for an artist.” The good doc replies, “Well you are lucky it didn’t pull the cornea off with it or you would be blind. It could go away in three days or it could take three months to float to the bottom of your eye.”    Good grief, he sounded like the phone repair guy: “Stay by your phone and we will be there sometime this year!”

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