An Italian friend, whose brother is struggling with recovery, wrote to me: I wanted to share this poem by Hemingway. During a meeting with my brother and the psychologist of the rehabilitation program, I found myself asking how could addiction happen to us and where is the brother we used to know. I hope that one day we can find the serenity to accept ourselves and to know that he is not only his addiction. He – and we with him – are better than that.

You are not your age,

Nor the size of the clothes you wear,

You are not a weight,

Or the color of your hair.

You are not your name,

Or the dimples in your cheeks,

You are all the books you read,

And all the words you speak,

You are your croaky morning voice,

And the smiles you try to hide,

You are the sweetness in your laughter,

And every tear you’ve cried,

You’re the songs you sing so loudly when you know you’re all alone,

You’re the places you’ve been too,

And the one that you call home,

You’re the things that you believe in,

And the people that you love,

You’re the photos in your bedroom,

And the future you dream of,

You’re made of so much beauty,

But it seems you forgot,

When you decided that you were defined,

By all the things you’re not. 

Today’s Promise to consider: My son is more than his addiction. Yes, it is a part of him as it is a part of us. But he is so much more. He is son and brother; he is kindness and loyalty; he is compassionate and smart; he is the sweetness of his laughter and the dreams he now dreams. He is his own person, who has his own God, his own life and his own loves. He is still the boy with a skip in his step.