They are fresh-faced and cleanly dressed.  All nine of them.  Young men in their 20s and 30s, they are gathering at my son’s home for a meeting.

Each extends an arm.  My eyes lock on theirs as we clasp hands.   They are clear-eyed, unafraid, entirely cordial.

These men will spend the next hour in what is called a “pigeon” meeting.  “Pigeons” are those in AA who have a sponsor who share a common sponsor – almost like a generational family.

Why “pigeon?”  Because they learn part of their recovery is to carry the message to others.

This was an aspect of AA totally unfamiliar to me – and why wouldn’t it be?

I had no place here.

But thanks to the grace of my son, I was suddenly witness to yet one more miracle of the program.

(Important to note:  I leave before the meeting begins.)

But for these few introductory moments, I am again struck – here in South Florida where addiction and recovery seem an endless cycle – how much I want every one of these young men to make it.

As they gather, I see a father or mother sitting at a kitchen table in a faraway state.  He’s reading a newspaper.  She is clasping a cup of coffee. Their thoughts drift upwards, circling the ceiling like clouds, seeing their son miles away.  Wondering.  Wishing.  Praying.

He is here, I want to shout.

Just look!

See how he is seated on the sofa, nestled in the care of others who jest and jostle him.  They prod.  They promise that he can make it, if he works hard, stays focused, one day, one week, one month at a time.

Tonight, he listens and learns in a well-lit living room with friends who understand.

Your son is healthy, I want those who love him to know.

He is where he needs to be.

He is in the company of those who know him best…

and in the hands of God.