Audio
Transcript
Source: DICOBE-00249 – Ramona B – 1ST FAYETTEVILLE CONV – 1986-03-15.mp3 File: dicobe-00249-ramona-b-1st-fayetteville-conv-1986-03-15.mp3 Duration: 01:14:56
============================================================
Hi everyone, my name is Ramona and I am a member of the original Al-Anon group in Okmulgee, Oklahoma. Hi. Well, by the grace of God and the help of the Al-Anon program, I haven't had a desire to kill anyone or kill myself to get even with them. It's been a long, long time, and for that I'm grateful. I'm very happy to be here. I wasn't happy to be here at 6 o'clock this morning when I got up. I got a little happier at 7 and I felt better at 8 and I'm going to make it now at 9.
But I find the older I get, the harder it is to get up of a morning. And probably in another 10 days I'm not going to be able to make it at all. I am here for one thing, and that's to share my experience, strength, and hope with you. What it used to be like and what happened and what it's like now. May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.
I feel it's a great privilege to have been invited as an Al-Anon speaker for a young people's convention. That's really neat. I remember being not really young people, but a long time ago of the conventions. And then I could hardly wait from one to the next. And I could go from 8 o'clock in the morning, 7 in the morning, until all night, from Friday straight through till I went home Sunday. And I don't know what happened.
I hope I've achieved a little serenity in the program, because now I am not afraid something might go on that I don't know about. I am the daughter of an Indian and a white woman, and I was born and raised on a ranch, and I have one sister. I had a very beautiful childhood, a lot of love and a lot of protection and a lot of security. I had a wonderful relationship with my father. When my father wanted to have a talk with me, I would know it, because when I ate breakfast, my horse would be saddled and tied down at the barn, and I'd see it tied by his.
And I'd know I was going to go for a ride with Daddy, and we were going to have a father and daughter talk. And I loved it. I loved it. And we would ride off in those little old Pahoma hills, and if it was summertime, he'd always find a creek, and we'd tie up our horses, take off our boots, put our feet in the water, and then Daddy would talk. And I loved it. And he would talk about love and dignity and beauty and the gifts that God had given us.
And he would tell me to look around and look at God's world, that this was all made for me, and to cherish it and protect it, because it wouldn't be this way forever, that he could remember when he was a child, the grass was stirrup deep in Oklahoma, and now it's not even ankle deep. The weeds are stirrup deep. And he'd say, protect this. And I would feel good, and I would feel clean, and I would feel happy.
And I loved this spirit that he talked about that gave me such beauty. And I had a mother. I have a mother. My mother is 84 years old now. And she's still tall, and she's still erect, and she's still determined, just as determined as she ever was. And she set about to live her life through these two girls that she had. And she was going to teach us all manner of wisdom. And she typed these things. Can you believe going to take typing lessons just so you could type out dumb messages for your daughter to read?
And she sticks these up in the mirror. She said, girls look there more than any place else, and I'd be bound to memorize it.
[00:05:03]
One was, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. That one damn near killed me later down the road. The other one was, happiness is not something you find, it's something you create. She didn't tell me I couldn't create a person. Now that damn near killed a little cowboy later on down the road. Well I got up about the marrying age. I decided I was the marrying age. And all my friends around me were getting married.
And I was afraid of being left out. And a little old cowboy walked by. Now he was just minding his own business. He heard no wedding bells. In fact, I think he was on his way to a rodeo. And I want you all to know, he had the whitest cowboy hat, and the fanciest cowboy boots, and the shiniest set of blue eyes in between that you ever saw. And right then, another white man bit the dust, and bobbled it down.
He never didn't even know what hit him. And I like to say that began the greatest war between a cowboy and an Indian that ever took place in Oklahoma. Bob and I got married, and we moved to a ranch that had been in his family for years, and we were going to live happily ever after. I mean, everybody lives happily ever after. Every storybook I ever read, they lived happily ever after. I read the last first to be sure they did.
But they didn't end up that way. I didn't want to read it. And I could just see us, you know, out there just riding off into the sunset, just like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. I didn't know we wouldn't even be as good friends as the Lone Ranger and Tonto. Well, I did not know that my husband was an alcoholic. I did not know alcoholism was a family disease, and I didn't know I was going to become sicker quicker than he did.
All I knew was that I loved him, and he drank a little bit, you know, just a little bit. But all cowboys do, don't they? Just a little bit. And it didn't bother me. There was no problem. We'd go to town on a Saturday and get the groceries, and then we'd go to the honky-tonk on a Saturday night. And, oh, I'm telling you, you haven't lived. You've been to one of those Oklahoma honky-tonks. And we'd go in, and that old music would be a-playing, and those old cowboys would be a-drinkin'.
And, oh, Bob would just fit right in, and he'd get to drinkin', and that honky-tonk music would play, and we'd dance, and we danced better than anybody, and it was just wonderful. And he was cute. Bob was a quiet person, and when he drank, why, he talked. And I thought he was cuter than anybody, and I laughed louder than anybody. And then we'd go home. And it was Saturday night. Now, some people here are old enough to remember what we used to do on Saturday night.
Don't act like you don't. And when Bob drank, he was affectionate, and I liked that. So there wasn't anything wrong. Nothing wrong with the drinking. Well, what happened? What happened? There's not one person in this room that can say, well, on October the 23rd of 1976, alcoholism struck our home. That's not the way it happens. It comes in quietly. It steals in, and it gets louder and louder and louder, and there you are.
And that was the way it was with us. We lived in the same place. We went to the same little town on a Saturday, same little honky-tonk on Saturday night, and there were those old cowboys, same ones, drinking that same old thing. And you know, those same old honky-tonk tunes were just grinding out, and Bob would be drinking, and he would say funny things. And everybody laughed, and I didn't laugh. I was embarrassed.
I wanted to go home. He wasn't funny to me anymore, and he wanted to dance, and I wasn't about to dance with a drunk. I wanted to go home, and the battle would be on over going home. And then finally we'd get to the parking lot, and then there was another fight over who
[00:10:01]
was going to drive home, and then we'd finally get home. And then it was Saturday night, and old Bob wanted to be affectionate, and I wasn't about to have any of that, not any of it, and I was going to teach him a lesson. So that began the many nights that I taught him a lesson. He slept in bed, and I laid awake on the couch to teach him a lesson. I tell you, I think about that now, and I think, golly, I don't believe couch sleeping was so damn bad, you know.
And you wouldn't appreciate it if you hadn't slept with a damn drunk. But I'd lie there, and I would make up all these stories, you know, these things I was going to tell him, just exactly what he'd done. Bob didn't know, and if he knew what he did, he wouldn't do it. Bob didn't want to do that, and I knew he didn't, and I'd be getting my story all ready to talk to him, you know, and talk since. Now, do you know you boogers are the hardest people in the world to talk to?
You know, we just can't come talk to you any time. We've got to find the right time. Well, my story was about all fixed, and I was at the right time, it was six o'clock in the morning. And I'd go, and then I'd shake old Bob, and I'd say, Bob, I want to talk to you. And he'd say, Ramona, let me sleep. And I'd say, Bob, I want to talk since to you. And he'd say, Ramona, please, just let me sleep. Bob, do you know what you did last night?
Well, just in case you don't know what you did, I'm going to tell you what you did. And I'd give a blow-by-blow description. Old Bob prayed for the silent treatment. He never got it. And I became sicker. And this was when I started another complete stage of life. I think there are phases in the disease of alcoholism for the alcoholic as well as for the mate, spouse, child, codependent. And this is when I took on a role that I had to be very careful or I'll play it again today.
And I became a fixer. And I was going to fix people and places and things. And he wouldn't drink so much anymore. I looked around and decided that he needed a family. If he was a father, he'd stay home and act like fathers are supposed to, you know, rock the baby and all this kind of stuff. So I decided that's what we needed as a baby and he'd get sober. And I got real busy on that little project. I worked overtime on that little project.
And I had a baby all by myself. I had a baby. You would have thought it was the Immaculate Conception for the amount of credit I gave Bob. And he came into that hospital room and I said, Look, Bob, you've got everything. You've got everything. You've got a ranch. You've got quarter horses. You've got Hereford cattle. Now you've got a little daughter. And above all, you've got me. And you don't have to drink anymore.
But you see, my husband was an alcoholic. The family disease of alcoholism had struck our home. And I was getting sicker. Well, that baby was just about three months old when I took the first trip home to mother. The first of many trips I was going to make home to mother to teach him a lesson. You know, I taught and taught and taught. And he never learned one damn thing. Well, he did just exactly what I planned.
He let me stay three days and then here he came. And here's what he said, those famous words, Ramona, I love you. And I love Robin. And I want you to come home. And I won't drink so much anymore. I taught him the lesson. I grabbed the baby, the bottle, the diapers, and kissed goodbye to mother, and I was on my way. Well, needless to say, the story went on, and I got sicker. And I decided he needed a son.
Now, see, this is the role I played. I never asked God. The role I played, I never asked God, I didn't have to ask him, I knew, I knew what Bob needed, what would sober him up, and I was busy every day working at it, you know, I just look back, I wonder how that man lived through that, hell, he lived, he drank for protection, so I knew if he had a little boy, he'd teach a little boy to ride a horse and do all these things, and warn him, you know, to take care of the ranch, grow up, father, son, all this thing,
[00:15:26]
so I got busy again, and I just prayed and prayed that I'd have a little boy so Bob wouldn't drink so much anymore, now, this isn't what I call prayer in my life today, but then I got up every morning and gave God his marching orders, and I told him what he'd do, and I told him what I'd do, and I called it prayer, well, God, in his infinite wisdom, answered that prayer, and we had a little baby boy, little old fatty, little kid, and his hair stuck straight up, and I thought, I looked at him, and I said, Bob, you know, everything, everything, and nothing changed, nothing changed, I got sicker, I began the moving us in and out of town, it was as far as I could get enough money, I couldn't take, playing long geographical cures, 10 miles was about as much money as we could manage, and things went downhill for me, what happens in a family where there's a disease of alcoholism, I think the loss of communication is the greatest thing that happens in a family, and you see, the art of communication is the art of listening, as well as the art of speaking, and Bob and I had built a wall between us, and it was a heavy wall, and it was built of fear, and guilt, and hurt, and remorse, and hate, and he was on one side dying, and I was on the other side dying, but we didn't hear each other anymore, I didn't hear him, and he didn't hear me, and what happens to your family, well, here I was, a grown woman, a mother of two children, and I run back to this daddy, and I said, daddy, fix it, fix it, you know, I can't live like this anymore, and you know what, my father said, Ramona, get out, we don't want our children, grandchildren raised in that kind of a home, get out, Bob is a good boy, he just drinks too much, how could I tell them that I love this man, I love this man that never came home, I love this man that stayed drunk, I love this man that wrote hot checks, because love was approval, wasn't it, that was what I thought love was, approval, and I didn't approve, oh my God, I didn't approve, so I couldn't talk to them anymore, and then what about his family, well, I thought I had him then, I decided to stick his mother on him, there had not been anything that old lady couldn't get done since I'd been married in that family, and she'd straighten him out, so I took off to see them, and I said, for God's sake, help him, he's your son, he's going to kill himself in that pickup, he's going to kill somebody else, please, please, do something, and do you know what his mother said to me, she said, well, Ramona, he wasn't an alcoholic when he married you, well, that'll send you home a-trotting, I didn't ever speak to her again, didn't like that old heifer anyway, I just finished that up, and what happens to your friends when you have the family disease of alcoholism, what happens to your friends, you know what friends are, friends are the people we have today that come in and out of your house any time they get ready, well, I'm going to tell you, you can't have that going on when you've got a full-blown drunk, you know, I go, I'm real privileged, I have a lot, I go to a lot of open AA meetings, and I have a lot of real good friends in AA, and they let me sit around and listen to them, and they'll just be doing good, and then they get up onto these stories, you know, where they hid their bottle, and I just get the biggest kick out of that, oh, I mean, they've got all these fancy places, and babies take a lesson from us, we tried to hide a live damn drunk, and there ain't no place you can put one of them boogers, you just put them in and they crawl out, you know, and we'd have company, and there'd be old Bob, and he'd just be grinning, one of those blue eyes looking like this, and I'd say, I don't know what happened, he's never done this before, and he would have pulled the same trick the night before, so you can't have any friends, you can't have those people running around, you know, I mean, after all, you're keeping this a secret, nobody knows what's going on in that house, and what about the children, what about your children, I know how it is with our children, and how it is today,
[00:20:25]
Robin and Rusty are grown, and Robin and Rusty both carry scars, and I usually have an opportunity every week to see one of them, and their father didn't put those scars there, you see, they understood their father, their father drank this, and he did this, daddy would not do that, if he weren't drunk, daddy wouldn't do that, but what is the matter with mother, daddy could just come in of an evening to eat supper, and when he walked in that kitchen, and looked at me, and said, hi, honey, one of those blue eyes was like this, and whatever I had in my hand, I threw it, and I'd kick the refrigerator, and I'd say, damn him, I'm going to kill him, and he'd go down the hall to the bedroom, and it was me right behind him, and two little kids right behind me, and there'd be old Bob laying on the bed, that cowboy hat pulled over his nose, and I'd say, what are you doing, and he'd say, taking a nap for a moment, what do you think I'm doing, taking a nap, and he'd pull that hat back down, and I'd say, not in my house, you don't go home drunk and sleep it off in my house, Bob didn't argue, he just got up, pulled that old cowboy hat down, and back he went, right down the hall, me right behind him, two little kids right behind me, out the back door with me saying, where in the hell do you think you're going, and he'd say, to get some sleep, Ramona, just to get some sleep, and I'd say, you better not, if I catch you in bed with somebody else, Bob B., I'll kill you, old Bob would be driving out the driveway in the pickup, and I'd yell, don't come back, if you leave tonight, don't you ever come back, he'd be down the highway, and I'd scream my last insult, I hate you, people five miles away knew Bob wasn't to come home, and I hated him, and two little kids would look up at me and they'd say, Robin said it every time, she said it every time, why'd you run him off for, mother, and I'd say, I didn't run him off, and don't you say I did, get in the house and eat your supper, well, what do you do when you live with a crazy woman, you eat, get through and wash your dishes, and boy, they'd just rush, now go get in the bed, it isn't dark yet, mother, did I ask you if it was dark, get in the damn bed, and they'd get in the bed, they'd have to sleep in the same room, and they'd whisper, and they'd get late, and then that old jealousy sets in, that one, I wonder who he's with, if I could catch him tonight, I'll make a believer out of him, he'll never pull this trick again, and I'll find him, and boy, you know, you just can't, you talk about a craving for murder, you got it, I could just find him, I'd kill him, so I get in the car, turn first, I turn on the light, and two little kids jump up in bed and say, what's the matter, mother, and I'd say, come on, come on, well, what's wrong, mother, where are we going, well, to get daddy, where'd you think we're going, so we get in the old car and around we go, around the BFW, around every beer joint, his daddy's pick up there, no, mama, circle the whole town, his daddy's pick up there, no, mama, no, and you know what those kids told me when they got grown, they saw daddy's pick up lots of times, they weren't trying to take care of daddy, they were just trying to keep mother out of jail, and then we would get home, and the little boy and girl would have to sleep in the same bed, and I'd hear them whisper, and then it would get later, and later, what happens to us between the hours of one and four in the morning in this disease, the loneliness of the onlyest, I knew that I was the only person in the world like this, and there was not a way in the world to get out, and I'd begin the begging and the pleading, oh, God, if you let him come home tonight, I'll do something in the morning,
[00:25:01]
I'll do something in the morning, I promise, it'll be different, God, please, if you'll just let him come home, and he hasn't killed anybody, God, I'll never cuss again, I promise, I'll never cuss, God, I'll be good, I'll go to church, please, God, please, God, please, God, why do I say the things I say, why do I talk like I do? If somebody talked to me like I talked to Bob, I'd never come back, God, if you'll let him come home, I'll never do it again, it'll be different, I promise, and the pleading, and the begging, and the promising, and the crying, and the sharp terror, and then the lights flash on the window, and the old pickup rattles up the driveway, and the front door opens, and there stands Bob, just grinning, God has answered my prayers, he doesn't have a scratch one, and he looks at me, one of those blue eyes like this, and says, hi, honey, and I am so grateful, God has answered my prayers, that I try to kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands.
A little girl chewed her fingernails until they bled, a little boy stammered until he could hardly talk, and he couldn't read aloud in school, and I looked at their daddy, and I said, look at you, aren't you proud of yourself? Look what you've done to two little children, aren't you some father? I didn't look at me, why, there wasn't anything wrong with me, there never had been anything wrong with me, the only damn dumb thing I'd ever done in my life was marry him, and when I got him straightened out, that was going to be all right, and that was the way it was.
My last break in communication was with God, and I pray that none of you have this. You know, a God of any kind is better than no God at all, any kind, even any kind of supreme power is better than nothing, just a nothing, and that was my last break. I had a God, not of my understanding, I had a God that I had heard my father talk about, and this was the great spirit that made a beautiful world for his children and cared for them.
And then there'd been the God that I'd heard my mother's family come, and they'd eat a big Sunday dinner of fried chicken, and then they'd sit in the living room, or on the front porch, and argue about him, and you were going straight to hell and all these things, and so this was the only kind of God I knew about, that he sat up there and rewarded you if you were good and punished you if you were bad, it was just that simple.
And I figured out I was flat getting punished, and so I decided to become good. Lordy, lordy. Heaven help a man when his wife decides to become good. If he's not drunk, he'll have to get drunk just to live with her. And I told God I'd take over his Sunday school and his church and I'd be good, and he could sober up Bob. So I got real busy on being good, and I was at the church every time the doors opened, and on Sunday, the church I belonged to, you kneel when you pray, and I would wait until just the last, before the service started, and I'd walk right down the middle aisle, little child with a deaf grip on either hand, and walk right down to the second row, holding my head down, you know, saintly, and I'd pray.
And I prayed longer than anybody. I thought maybe if God could see me down there, that a shattered light would just shine on my head, and those people could see how good I was, because what you saw was what you got, I thought, you know. And then church would be over, and I'd go right back down the middle aisle, hanging on to those two kids, you know, looking sweet, pitiful, and abused, and people would say, look at her, isn't she precious?
And those two little children, isn't it a shame about her husband? Oh, God. Oh, the more they said, the gooder I got. The gooder I got, the drunker Bob got, you know. And I just took over. and I just took over the Sunday School, the Brownie Scouts, the Cub Scouts, the Heart Drive, the Cancer Drive, and I even ran for Mrs. Okmulgee, and Bob just got drunker and drunker, and I just got gooder and gooder, and I don't give a damn, a bargain is a bargain, I don't care who you make it with, and I told him what I'd do, and I told him what he'd do, and
[00:30:24]
he didn't keep his end of the bargain, and I quit. I was through. Right then was when I figured out God is a white man, and then I entered the stage of, you know, the poor me, the pitiful, pitiful, look what you've done to me, you know. I have to laugh about this because I go to a lot of open AA meetings, and there'll be a new AA member there, you know, and he's maybe got about two months of sobriety, and he is feeling good, he's got the energy, and he's hitting people on the back and hugging them and shaking hands and kissing the girls, and oh boy, his life is great, there's a sparkle in his eye.
Now there's his wife, she doesn't need Al-Anon, there's nothing wrong with her, and here she comes, ooooh. And everybody wondered which one was the alcoholic, you know. Well, that was me, I hit the ooooh stage. I told him he was killing me, and he wouldn't believe it, so I was going to show him, you know. I had long hair, and it came down to my hips, and it wasn't fashionable then, and it just went ooooh. I didn't comb it, and I had an old robe about halfway between my knee and my ankle, you know, just a very unfashionable length, and I think it was made out of an old feed sack. I don't know, Margie, you made that dumb old robe. This is a friend of mine, Margie.
Margie, stand up, I'd like to introduce you. Margie's a very close friend of mine. The beautiful part of this, this is the only woman I know that doesn't have an alcoholic in her family, can you believe it? She's trying to get well from living next door to me. Well, this was a robe that looked so bad, her husband made her throw it out, so she gave it to me. And I was wearing it. It was old brown, yellow, muckily done, and it had a button down the front, and a few of the buttons were missing. And I got up and put that old thing on, and that was my costume. And this old long hair just looping down, my old floppy house shoes, and Mother was up.
Well, the kids liked to go to Sunday school on Sunday, and I didn't care. I mean, if they wanted to go believe that crap, get with it. It wasn't going to get them anywhere, I knew that. So they got ready, and they took off to Sunday school, and Daddy took them. Daddy loved to take them to Sunday school. That was the one time he was home to take them to Sunday school. Because he'd let them out, and then he would go attend his service at the VFW. It was the only place you could get a drink in Okmulgee on Sunday morning.
And then they came home, and here was Mother, old robe, stringy hair, and floppy house shoes. Well, they came in happy. Those kids had had a wonderful time. You know, it was nice at Sunday school and church, and they had punch and cookies afterward, and it's just a great world out there. Well, Daddy was happy. He felt no pain. He liked the punch they had at the VFW. So they were all happy, and they said, Bobbin says, what for lunch? And I said, Beverly, would you be kind enough to get me a drink of water, honey? I said, what's for lunch, Mama? And I said, nothing. And I looked at you-know-who, you know, so they'd know why there wasn't anything for lunch. Fix yourselves a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Well, what do you do when you live with a crazy woman? You know, you just do it.
So they did, and they went in the breakfast room, and Daddy was in there with them, and they were laughing and talking and having the best time. And I tell you, that burned me up. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's when I'm miserable, I want everybody else to be miserable. And I just went in there and broke that party up. I wasn't, thank you, darling, wasn't going to have any of that. Well, Robbin says, Mama, can we go to the picture show? And I said, how? We don't have any money. And I looked at you-know-who, so they'd know why. And Robbin said, Daddy, would you give us the money to go to the show? Sure, Daddy would give them the money to go to the show. He just cashed a hot check at the VFW. He had gobs of money.
[00:35:15]
And I said, how are you going to get there? I'm not going to take you. Daddy, will you take us? Boy, Daddy was up and had that cowboy hat back down. He says, let's go. He had no idea how he was going to get back to the VFW. And off they go. And I'm screaming, he won't pick you up. He won't pick you up. If you leave with him, walk home. He won't come back. And don't call me because I'm not coming. He never picks you up, so don't call me. And we get out on the front porch, and I said, now this time, don't call me because I'm not going to come get you. If you leave this house with him, you walk home. So they get in the pickup, and they're driving off, and I'm screaming, walk home! Don't call me! And they leave, the people know, five miles away. Kids, don't call me that afternoon. They had to walk home.
I rush in, slam the front door, go in and lay down on the bed, and I cried. Because nobody loved me. Nobody loved me. And they didn't know what I did for that family. And I cried, you know, Robin would never have a wedding. Not like other girls, beautiful wedding with a white dress. Because her daddy would be too drunk to give her away. And I cried about that. And Robin was ten years old. And what about Rusty? Every boy has to have a college education to amount to anything. Rusty would never have a college education. There'd be no money to send him to college, and it was time to enroll him. And Rusty was seven. And I laid there all afternoon and cried about that.
And about four o'clock, the phone rang. And I picked it up, and a little girl said, Mama, would you please come get us? Daddy didn't come. And I gave a fifteen-minute tirade over the phone. Didn't I tell you so? Walk! Your father is a drunk. Walk home! And then I finish it up with Robin, above all, don't get married! And I slam the phone down. I rush out, and that old Oklahoma wind is a-blowin' out of the south, and it's hot. I'll never forget that. And I mean, it's a-whippin' across there.
And I get in this old car, both windows rolled in, and out I go, into the picture show. And there are all the other mothers and daddies looking like parents are supposed to look on Sunday afternoon. Driving up, picking up their children, and here I come, just a-flyin' up there. Sweel the brakes. That old hair's flyin' out the window. And the kids come dashing out, and get in the car, and Rusty lays down on the floor of the back seat. He didn't want anybody to know I was his mother. And Robin sat right up there by me. I can see her yet, just as erect. And back we went, right down Main Street.
Do you all know what was on the end of Main Street? The VFW! Boy, I get there in front, and I slam on the brakes. And Robin says, oh, Mama, no, no, Mama. Come on, let's go home. Please, Mama. Well, I wheel the car in, and she says, come on, Mama, go home. And I open the door, and with that, Robin lays down on the floor of the front seat. She doesn't want anybody to know she'd be at the VFW. And out I go, and the front door is right on Main Street. And there are cars driving up and down Main Street. And there I stand, that old wind whippin' that old robe and that old hair flyin', and me punchin' the buzzer to get in. They never would give me a key. I thought that was nasty.
The front door opens, you know, and this guy looked at me, and he just stepped back. And he didn't say a word. I want you to know I didn't speak to him. Trash! Workin' in a place like that. And in I go. Those old houses, she's goin', floppity-flop-flop-floppity. That old robe just a-twistin' and that hair flyin'. Back to the bar. People are sitting at the bar, sanely dressed. Nice on Sunday afternoon. But I don't speak to them. They are beneath me. They are trash up there drinkin' on Sunday.
Back I go to the bar, to the ballroom, and into the focal room. And there's a big old round table, and Bob's sittin' there. And I walk up, and he pushes that cowboy hat back, and he looks at me, and he just looks sorta sick. And he says, Hi, honey. I didn't speak to him. No count man gamblin', drunk.
[00:40:10]
And I just gathered up my robe like this, and I made me a little pocket. And I just rounded that table. And I took everybody's money. Then I stomped my foot, and I said, We're hungry. And out I went. My old robe gathered up in a pocket, pulled up to my navel. Those old hashies goin' flop-flop. Nickels and dimes fallin'. And I wouldn't speak to a bit of that trash. Back I go. Lord, Lord. Gosh. You know, I wouldn't tell that story. I think, gosh, I was in there now, now, six years or more before I was honest enough to even think about the story.
And then I told it, and it's just been in the last few years, I've got honest enough to say, I didn't have anything on under that robe. And back I went out to the car, and there was dead silence. And I got in and slammed the door, and I flew home. And there wasn't a word. And we got out of the car, and the kids ran, and I ran back in that old bedroom. And I laid down on the bed, and I thought, Oh, my God. What have I done? What have I done?
Is there no length that I would not go to, to try to humiliate him? What has happened to me? I had become a monster to fight a monster. I hated him, and I hated me. I hadn't been like that before I married him. I hadn't done things like that. Everything that was wrong with me was wrapped up right there, in white cowboy hat, fancy cowboy boots, and bloodshot blue eyes. And I hated him. Because, you see, my husband had a compulsion, and that was to drink. And I had an obsession, and that was to stop him. And it damn near killed both of us.
Well, I decided that I would get a divorce. If I got rid of him, I would be like I used to be. I'd be that girl that married Bob B.. So I filed suit for divorce. That just plum tickled the hell out of him. He had been trying to get away from me for quite some time anyway. It pleased my parents no end. They did not ever know that I robbed the VFW. My father died without ever being told that story, and by the grace of God, my mother will. They'd never accept that one.
And they thought that their grandchildren would be in a sane, sound, lovely, quiet, serene home if I was not living with an alcoholic. And Bob's parents, my gosh, they were tickled to death. You know, this boy hadn't had a drink before he married me, they said. And he was going to be back like he was, and everything would be great. But what about two little children? They just stood by. They loved their daddy, and they knew he was a drunk, but they loved him. And they loved their mother, and they knew she was crazy, but they loved her, so they just stood by.
Divorce was granted, and I had an orderly life because I ordered it. And right here was when I found that I had lived a life that had to have something to blame. Everything that had gone wrong in my life since I had married Bob B. had been Bob B.'s fault, and I'd always told him so. It wasn't mine. I'd never been to blame for anything, and I wasn't about to start in. Well, I had little things go wrong. I couldn't meet the standards that I had set for my own life. I couldn't meet my own dreams and aspirations. And I had failings. And I didn't have anything to blame.
Now, I'm going to tell you, an alcoholic is the greatest thing in the world there is to blame. If you haven't got one, go get you one. Whatever's wrong, you can say, well, it's your fault. You know, I mean, if you didn't stay drunk, we could have a new car. If you didn't get drunk, you could have a better job. You know, whatever it is, it's your fault. Well, I couldn't meet these things, and I didn't have anything to blame. And Bob, the kids played Cupid, and Bob began to make cooing noises, and I began to help him, you know, along.
Now, I'd been living 13 years in active alcoholism, and here's what he said.
[00:45:04]
Ramona, I'd like to talk to you. And I said, Yes, Bob. And he said, I think it's time that we settled down and made a home for these children like they should have. So let's go and get this divorce set aside and go back together, and I will control my drinking. And you know what I said? Yes, right. Well, we went to the, we went to a big, to the courthouse and got the divorce set aside, and the funniest thing in the world, when we came down those steps out of the courthouse, who should be standing at the foot of the steps on the sidewalk but his mother?
And there she stood, and she grabbed me, and she hugged me, and she kissed me. I was her long lost daughter. She had missed me so. She loved me so, and welcomed me back. See, Bob had moved home. Well, we went to a dance that night, the country club, to celebrate the grand reunion, the second time around and all that sentimental stuff. And you know what happened? I got drunker than he did. I just tied it on, because I knew I'd played hell.
And the next morning, the first truly important thing in my whole life had happened to me, the first truly important thing. I woke, and Bob was still asleep, the children were asleep, and I walked over to the windows and looked out the trees, and I thought, Oh my God, what have I done? What have I done? I'm right back where I started. Bob is not going to quit drinking. Bob is an alcoholic. And there's nothing I can do. I've done it all.
And at that moment, I surrendered. Totally and completely surrendered. And that's a point every one of us must reach, whether we're A.A. Alnan or Alateen. When we surrender, and we know, gut deep, that of ourselves we can do nothing. There was nothing that I had not done. I had gotten down on my knees by that man and prayed to him and made him a God in my life. And then I had gotten up, and thirty minutes later, cursed him.
I had tried to love him to death, and an hour later, taken a butcher knife and tried to kill him. And there was nothing left. I had tried it all. And I surrendered. And this part of my story is all, this is the part I love. I'd like to not share the other part, not that I don't mind, but this is what it is now. This is the glory and the dignity and the beauty and the joy. All those things that I felt when I was a little bitty girl with my feet in the creek.
This is what I feel today. But you see, I must know and I must remember that from the ashes of me, God grew me a new person through this program. I never got here because I chose it or I wanted it. I got here because I died. I died. The self died that I was. And you people and this program and a God of my understanding that you revealed to me has allowed me to grow again. And these were the gifts you gave me. The peace, the dignity, the joy, the beauty, the love, and the protection.
Well, Bob had taken a job. And long ago the ranch was leased out, the cattle were drunk up, he had a few horses left. And he was trying to make a living for us. And it required him to travel and I went with him to western Oklahoma and on the way home we had a car accident. And it left me with a brain injury. And I was led to many hospitals to get something done about me, something done about my condition.
And in a hospital in New Orleans the second great thing happened. I was in the hall on a gurney awaiting brain surgery.
[00:50:01]
And God allowed me to see me. Not for what I wanted you to think I was. Not for what I thought I was. But for what I really was. He had given me hands. And these hands are to be gentle and kind and show love and tender. And I had made them into fists. And I had hit a man and two children. I had crushed them. The more I hurt, the harder I hit. He had given me a tongue and the ability to speak. And that tongue was to just say one thing that would make one of his children feel better.
Just say one loving, kind, gentle thing. And I had made a tongue into a sword and lacerated a man and two little children. Just cut them to death. The more I hurt, the more I hurt back. And he let me see this. Every fighting, screaming, biting, cussing inch of me. He let me see. But the beautiful part about it was, he let me know he loved me. Not because I'd gone to church to teach Sunday school. Not because I thought I was good.
He loved every fighting, screaming, biting inch. For no other reason than I was his child. I was his. Well, I came home from New Orleans, back to Okmulgee, ready to do something about me. Not for Bob B. and not for two little children. But just for me. So I could live with me again. There was no Al-Non group in our town at that time. And Margie had lived next door and in and out of my life. And she'd get the children when I'd chase Bob.
And she'd hug me when I was screaming and crying. I think she doctored Bob when I tried to starve him to death. And she said, well, why don't you go see Tom? Tom was her minister. She said, maybe he could help you. Try something. So I did. I was ready and willing to try anything. And I went to Tom. And that young man, I never knew. He knew all about the program of AA and Al-Non and Al-Ateem. And he was in Okmulgee about three or four years was the length of his stay.
And he came and he gave a whole new world to that little town on the disease of alcoholism. He took me through those steps, up and down and over and backwards. I gave up and I gave out and I wanted to quit. He told me that I couldn't open my mouth if I had felt any resentment. I couldn't say a thing to Bob B. if I had resentment in my voice. So that meant I couldn't talk. He told me that God loved Bob.
And if I would get out of it, he'd probably take care of him. But I didn't give God time. He probably loved Bob more than he did me. Now that sort of, you know, screwed me up a little bit. I said, well, after all, I taught Sunday school. And he said, that doesn't make any difference, Ramona. And he had me read and tell him the story of the prodigal son who had wasted away everything his father gave him and ended up in the pigsty and then took himself home and his father greeted him with open arms and a feast and fine clothes and a ring.
And he said, tell me about that story. So I told him that. I thought it was sort of dumb. I mean, everybody knows that story. And I thought, if he's a preacher and don't even know about that story? And he said, do you remember anything about a brother, a brother who stayed home and thought he was righteous and he was so good? Resented his other brother coming home? I said, yeah, I remember that. He said, is there any similarity between you and that brother?
Yes. He taught me the serenity prayer and this is the way he taught it. God grant me the serenity to accept the thing I cannot change, the alcoholic. The courage to change the thing I can, myself. He says, you stop right there. You haven't even got the wisdom to know the difference. Tom was my program. He was my sponsor. He was my friend. And he was my first, first meeting that I had ever had with love without judgment.
I could not have given that fourth and fifth step.
[00:55:02]
I couldn't have done that if I hadn't had the kind of love that Tom gave me. He gave me love without judgment. He did not judge me. He shared with me. And that's what we have in this fellowship. Love without judgment. And I pray to God judgment never darkens our door. Sometimes my heart aches. Because we will say to the new people, when you come, come in. We love you. We understand. There's nothing you can say that we haven't done.
You can share. We're now on the road to recovery. Let's leave the wreckage of the past. And we wrap our arms around them and our love carries them. And they're here a year. And then the first thing, well, why in the hell aren't they doing better? They haven't done their fourth step right. You know, and here we are judging. You know, well, damn, I stay on one step, one most of the time. That's where I, I'm working on eleven and one all the time.
But I don't, I pray judgment never enters. We, we can't have it in this fellowship. Judgment is not love. And love is what we find here. Love is the healing force that's in this fellowship. You loved me. You loved me until I was able to love myself. You did that. Well, Tom told me that I look like hell. You know, I still look like he was killing me. And he said, if I had a wife that looked like you, I'd stay drunk too.
I wouldn't ever come home. He said, Ramona, you're a child of God. You're supposed to shine in his glory. Well, if Tom said it, I did it. I mean, you don't argue when you've got one program and one sponsor. You just get with it. So I got this haircut. That's when Buffon Hairstyles were, you know, in. And I saved up my money, and I went to the beauty shop every Friday. And I got my hair blown up. And I had a lot of hair.
And I don't believe in doing anything halfway. You get in this program, you go all the way. And so I got blown up bigger than anybody, you know. And I got me some cold cream so I could get rid of the wrinkles in my face. And I said about shining in God's glory. You know, I don't know that he particularly wants Buffon hairdos. Greasy faces, but that's the only way I knew to do it. And this was a Saturday night, and I had been blown up.
And I got ready for bed. Bob had gone to the VFW. Now, my getting ready for bed was an event. Because when you get this hair sprayed, I mean blown up, you've got to spray it. And I mean I would spray. It has to get hard. I hope you all guys understand that. Now, you've got to stay, you've got to stand up until it's dry good. Because if you lay down, you get a flat head on one side, see. And you can't get it pushed out.
Well, I sprayed all up and I got dry. And then I wrapped all that up in toilet paper. You know, around and around and around. Pinned that down. And then I put a sleep cap on my head. But sometimes my head and hair was too big for a sleep cap. So then I put my pants on my head. And then I put my cold cream on my face. And I got in bed. And I had my little glasses on and I was reading my books. Now, I found that you can't talk and read at the same time.
So I became an avid reader. Because, you know, I had to keep my mouth shut if I had any resentment. And I kept having resentment so I couldn't talk. So this book, I'd read everything on alcoholism and I got into faith healing. Now, that is an interesting subject. Now, I just read that and here about midnight came old Bob from the VFW. And he walked in the kitchen and fixed himself a drink and sat in the rocking chair at the foot of the bed.
And took a little sip. Pushed that cowboy hat back and he said, What you doing? And I said, I'm reading a book. And he said, Well, how I can see that. Took another little drink and he said, What's it about? I'd just been dying to talk about faith healing. Now, you know, faith healing is a spooky subject. You just don't go out and talk to anybody about faith healing. And I said, Well, faith healing works.
Old Bob says it does. And I said, Yes, it does. And boy, with that I threw my book down. And I was on my hands and knees in the foot of the bed looking him right in the eye. And I said, Now I, and I said, faith healing works, it's proven medically, scientifically, faith healing works. Now I couldn't do it, but if I can get rid of all the resentment, and all of the fear,
[01:00:02]
and all of the hatred, and just become a channel for God, all I gotta do is put my hand on you and say, HEAL, and you'll never take another drink again. Old Bob threw up both hands and he fell out of that rocking chair and he says, God damn you, don't you touch me! He didn't spill a drop of his drink, you know, he just bounced around. I laughed, that was the funniest thing I ever saw in my life. You know, me faith healing with my pants on my head, and him bouncing around down there, and I laughed, and you know, that laughter leaves a home when the disease of alcoholism comes in, and I laughed again.
Listen to us laugh, we laugh better than any people in the world, and do you know why? Only those people who have suffered true sorrow have a well deep enough to hold pure joy, and our joy just floats out. And I laughed, well you know what, old Bob moved down to the other bedroom, he's afraid I'd do it in his sleep. He found AA, Bob found AA, not because of me, in spite of me. He found AA in January of 1963, and in March of 1963, 23 years ago this month, I was one of the original members that founded the original Al-Anon group.
That group is still meeting, I'm happy to say, if you're ever in Okmulgee, it meets on Tuesday night, 7 o'clock step study, 8 o'clock our closed discussion meeting, and it's at 500 North Bryan, but just look for Ramona, you can find her somewhere. Anyway, we had a beautiful life. I wish I could thank you people for what all you've done for us. I wish there was a way. The only way I know to try to thank you is try to give back just a little bit of what you gave so generously to us.
Bob and I had no marriage, we had completely destroyed it, we had nothing. The only thing we had in common was our love for two children. And we came here and we learned to respect you, and out of that we learned to respect each other, and then we loved you, and out of that we grew to love each other. And we built a marriage on a foundation that you gave us. And we'd go to conventions like this, and it was a ball, and we loved it.
Oh, we didn't just get along like two little angels, you know, but it was 100% better. We had something. Our lives were on the road to recovery. You didn't preach to us, you walked with us. And I don't know how long it was, I don't know whether it was five years, six, it's immaterial, but I went to the doctor and I heard these dreaded words. If he'd handed me my death certificate, I couldn't have been more certain I was going to die.
And he said, Ramona, I'm sorry, report in the hospital, you have a malignancy. And I thought, oh my God, no, not me. Why me? Why me, God? Why didn't you let me die when I wanted to die when Bob was drunk, when I didn't have guts enough to kill myself, and I'd try to drive a car off, you wouldn't let me then. Now I want to live, oh God, I want to live. We're making a home, we're happier than we've ever been in our lives, why are you doing it to me?
What have I done? I didn't walk in my group and say, I can't take this, I'm frightened, I'm scared I'm dying, I hate cobalt, when they slam that door I can't stand it. Help me, help me. But I thought this program only worked on the disease of alcoholism. They couldn't help me with cancer. But I find this program is built, those steps are geared, they're made to lead from sobriety to any dis-ease of the body, mind, soul, or spirit.
Any dis-ease. They work. Well, I took the series of treatments, it was over.
[01:05:05]
I thanked the doctor, had him stamp me grade A beef, and went home to show off to Bob. It was over with. They assured me that I would not have any more problems. The cobalt was just a double assurance that I wouldn't have a recurrence, never worry about it again. And I took them at their word. I don't know whether it was, I don't know whether it was one year or two years or three years. I had continual checkups and the same doctor said the same thing.
Same identical doctor, I'm sorry Ramona, you'll have to go back to the hospital. You'll have another malignancy. And thank God, thank God. I walked in that bedroom where I tried to faith heal old Bob. And I got down on my knees by that chair and I said, God, this wouldn't have come back in my life if I had learned what I needed to know. Just use me and help me. And he did. Never ask from the depths of your being with no reservations if you do not want an answer.
And he did. And out of this, the third great thing happened to me. I walked back in that cobalt room that I had dreaded and I walked back in joy. Because my God, not that he isn't with me all everywhere, but he will be wherever I meet him in the strength that I am aware of him. And I was very aware. And out of this I have a totally new concept of God. The God in my life today doesn't answer my prayers to reward me, and he doesn't deny my prayers to punish me.
My God doesn't bargain. My God doesn't work for pay. My God just gives. My God doesn't love me because of what I am. He loves me because of what he is. And that's my God today. Well, two weeks from the day I took my last cobalt treatment, Bob Belfer took his first. And he had never been sick a day in his life. You know, I only said that because he was never sober long enough. You know, Bob was never worried about being a periodic drinker.
Bob was a daily, nightly, 24-hour drinker. And his favorite answer was, It's 5 o'clock somewhere, Ramona, it's always 5 o'clock somewhere. Bob had terminal cancer and he lived 18 months. What happened in that 18 months? Then I saw the strength and the dignity and the power of this program come to play. And the tenderness and the comfort and the protection. They told me Bob would probably choke or hemorrhage to death.
And he stayed at home. And I would hear him, he would want a cup of coffee and I would take him a cup of coffee. And then I couldn't stay in the room sometimes because he would choke and I would turn my head and walk to the door and look out of the trees. And I'd think, God, please, I can't hear him again, I can't stand it anymore, I can't hear him choke again. This may be the last time. And the front door would open or the telephone would ring and there you'd be.
And you'd say, Hi, how are things? Better? Oh my God, they were better. You were there. We didn't have to do it by ourselves, not one time, not one minute. I saw a group of men come all the way from Oklahoma City and have a closed meeting around his bed, the only AA closed meeting I was ever invited to attend. And by this time he could hardly understand what he said. And the only word he kept speaking over was faith and peace, that we could understand.
And I literally saw the strength from their strong bodies and their love flow into his frail body and put a sparkle back in his eye again. Bob died sober. He lacked three months having his tenth birthday. What greater gift, what greater gift could you have given him than sobriety?
[01:10:02]
Because the sobriety he had, he lived. Death was before he found AA. Life was AA for Bob B.. What am I today? Very little. I don't live in that big old house. I live in an apartment. That was very hard for me to make the decision to move out of that big old house. It has a, had a, that round oak table, the old round antique oak table in that breakfast room, you know, where I'd, uh, kids wanted to go to pick a show.
Had a cigarette burner across it where Bob had been trying to sober up a drunk one night. And I had to give part with these things and they were part of my life. Because one person alone, Bob was dead, Robin was grown, Rusty was gone, what did I need to live in that house? So I had to decide that God had somebody else for that house. And that table, thank God, is in my daughter's breakfast room. And I get to sit there real often and look at that cigarette burner.
And she said she wouldn't have it refinished for the world, and I wouldn't either. I live in an apartment and I didn't think God would like apartments. I thought he only liked big houses. And I tell you what, he likes apartments just as well as he likes big old houses, if you invite him in. But I, I travel some, and my God goes with me everywhere, because I haven't got sense enough to go by myself.
He gets me through airports and he gets me places and I never am alone. I'm never lonely, isn't that great? And then I come back to Okmulgee and I climb up those stairs and my apartment looks out over the trees, and you know, when I open that door, I don't know how in the world God beats me upstairs, but he does every time. And then I see her in my heart, welcome home, child. I thank you. I thank you for sharing this time with me and allowing me to share me with you.
You know, the greatest gift one person can give another is their time. You've given me part of your time. And I hope I have given a gift to you that is mean as much to you as the gifts you've given to me. I love Alcoholics Anonymous. I love it with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my mind. Because A.A. was born of one drunk talking to another drunk. And the man I loved and the father of my children was born again by one drunk talking to another drunk.
I can never thank you enough. How little did I know that that's the path God would choose to answer my prayer. So when I see one of his children now falling on the street, how little do I not know he may be the answer to somebody's prayer later in life. I love Alcoholics Anonymous. I love it with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my mind. And I must stay close. Oh, I get tired of going to meetings.
Sure, you get tired of going to meetings. I've gone to meetings for 23 years. And I think sometimes, don't I know? Can I stay home now, God? And the next thing you know I got all fouled up before even next meeting time. Al-Nan gave me the freedom of bondage from self, the freedom to love me. I don't have to like me and I don't have to approve of me, but gave me the freedom to acknowledge I'm God's child.
And that is a gift. No greater gift has ever been given me because that is the gift of life. I thank you and never forget how much you mean to me and I love you very, very much. Thank you. Please Subscribe, Like, Share, Comment, and Comment on where to head to next!