Last Saturday I stumbled across a small gathering of people clustered in a circle at a street-end park.  They were seated on lawn chairs and beach blankets on a patch of green under a cobalt blue sky.

As I walked by with Charlie, our two-year-old greyhound, I overheard one of the group who looked like the leader.  All eyes were on his. The young man sat cross-legged on the ground, a slight stubble on his chin, gesticulating slightly.

His voice rose in the still morning air.

“Yeah, it’s not easy, you know, but I feel so much better now I can’t tell you, and each morning when I wake up…”

Then it struck me. This was either an AA meeting or a similar gathering for people seeking recovery.

Instantly, out of some reflex, I imagined myself interrupting them with this pronouncement…

“Excuse me.  Forgive me for interrupting you. I know this is none of my business, but I just have to tell you.  If any of you are in recovery or trying to be, you are some of the most amazing people I could ever meet. I just want to congratulate and encourage every one of you.  I don’t know what it’s like to come back from the hell of an addiction, but my son does, and lots of his friends do, too, and lots of friends I‘ve met these past eight years since my son allowed us to learn about his recovery – and since we focused on our own.  I just want you to know it must be one of the hardest things a human can do, but you are doing it because you are here this morning under this brilliant blue sky on this stunning September morning, and I could cry because I’m so proud of all of you.”

Instead, I fought back the urge and continued my walk with Charlie.

But I wonder, what might their reaction have been?