It Was Only Supposed to Be Ten Days
My close friend and collaborator, Timothy Graphenreed, passed away in 2020.
It felt only natural that I would host his memorial service. Because of COVID, it took place over Zoom. It was a strange experience getting dressed up simply to sit alone in front of a camera in my apartment, saying goodbye to someone I loved.
When the memorial ended and the adrenaline wore off, I realized I didn’t feel well.
The next day, I got tested.
A phone call came.
“You have COVID.”
This was before vaccines.
We didn’t know much, but we knew enough to be afraid. We had all seen the images of crowded hospitals and patients on ventilators. We knew that if you could make it through those first ten days, your chances improved. But if things took a left turn, they could take a very serious one.
Like a lot of people during lockdown, I had found myself drinking a little more than usual. Nothing excessive. A glass of wine. A cocktail now and then. It had quietly become part of life.
So I made a simple decision.
For ten days, I wasn’t going to drink.
I wanted to give my body every ounce of strength it had to fight the virus.
The ten days passed.
I recovered.
But somehow, I never started drinking again.
Ten days became twenty.
Twenty became thirty.
Thirty became months.
Months became years.
People sometimes assume there must have been a dramatic reason.
There wasn’t.
No intervention.
No rock bottom.
No declaration that I’d never drink again.
Life simply interrupted a habit, and when it was over, I realized I didn’t miss it enough to invite it back.
As I write this, that ten-day decision has lasted more than five years.
I don’t tell this story because I think everyone should stop drinking.
I don’t.
I tell it because life sometimes makes a decision for us before we realize it has.
What began as a practical choice during one of the most uncertain moments of my life quietly became one of the healthiest changes I’ve ever made.
I never planned for that drink to be my last.
I’m simply grateful it was.
