The Ride Home

My sponsor asked me to write my story out fully as part of my program, and this is the piece I keep coming back to. Three years sober now, I think most about the night a stranger in Rapid City drove me home instead of leaving me at the bar where I'd passed out. In the car, half conscious, I remember feeling certain that whatever moved him to help me wasn't only his own decision, that something had used him to catch me before I hit whatever was waiting at the bottom. He never once brought it up again when we later became friends. He just made sure I got home safe, carrying something he probably didn't know he was carrying.