The bonus room is up over our garage separated from the house by a covered breezeway. My first night is split between trying to be comfortable on the couch and then ending up in a courderoy bean bag chair that allows me to do my typical roll from side to side. I believe that I sleep soundly and the morning sun streaming in the windows greets me early the next day. I survey the room and make peace with my new home, realizing how little time I have spent in this space, the exclusive province of our kids, with parents mostly off limits.

My oldest son is my first and only visitor and he expresses his displeasure with my new location as he swoops in quickly to borrow back a pair of my sandals that he has taken a liking to. A little later, I ponder how a futon might fit into the dormer window nook and spy Laurie down below getting into her car to head off to work. She looks like a vision of feminine loveliness in her red dress, giving the impression that she is ready for a date, not work. I pause to see if she might glance up in hope that our eyes might meet but she never looks up.

Our daughter needs to borrow a car, requiring me to contact Laurie at work to discuss logistics. It is just before noon and Laurie informs me that both our kids are wondering what the heck is going on between us. I suggest a family meeting in the evening after work to level with everyone and she agrees. The meeting becomes moot as Laurie pre-empts and shares what she wants them to know privately.

My therapy is deep, intense and gut wrenching - a reflection of the serious soul searching that is upon me in this present moment. I am thankful for my therapist as he assists me in putting together a "therapy plan" for my top 5 issues, complete with problems defined, goals to achieve and tasks to be completed that can assist in meeting my goals. In the moment, I am overcome with grief at how my life has turned out despite my good faith efforts and best intentions along the way. We journey into the pain of loss, shame, fear, abandonment, lack of security, lack of nurturing that resulted in feelings of anger, rage, self hatred, defectiveness, unworthiness, and other issues that made my plunge into the depths of addiction, seemingly irresistable, inevitable. In a little over 1 1/2 hours, my life is stripped bare as there is no point in holding anything back as there is nothing else to lose.

My therapist has my complete trust and communicates empathy as appropriate to what I am facing. We talk candidly about my 16 month affair from 2 years ago and the "cosmic" connection that I experienced, a source of deep confusion even to this day. He challenges me to come out of denial and express what I know to be true in my heart. I let go and let God and find peace in surrender to divine guidance. In the moment, I experience a profound sadness that cannot be avoided for the sake of my healing.

An old Buddhist saying suggests that suffering is "clinging to that which changes." I am reminded that grief, sorrow and pain simply are part of life and not punishment for my human frailty. I also embrace that my journey to work through the feelings will remain with me, adding depth to who I am. I cannot escape the realization that my life is better than before.

Helen Keller is famous for many quotes, one being, "the only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision." A dear friend reminds that everything is for a reason and that God has me exactly where I need to be. This friend would not exist were it not for my trials and tribulations and I know that truth from deep within. And as if that is not enough, the universe shows me once again how it can provide things I could never anticipate.

I am leaving therapy and decide to find a cup of iced coffee to gather my thoughts for a recovery meeting in 90 minutes - there is no point in wasting gas and going home. Out of the blue, Laurie calls and tells me she is leaving for 2 weeks - having requested a special assignment at her work to be support staff to firefighters in California. She tells me I get the bedroom back for now. Her next comment takes my breath away.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll die in the fire and you'll never have to go back up to the bonus room." I recognize that Laurie's pain is making the comment and I assure her that I would never wish anything bad for her, no matter what our circumstance or outcome. I playfully tease her about driving off into the night with her official government issue tent to rough it and she acknowledges the core issue of needing to discover what she is capable of on her own. I wish her all my best for her great adventure and encourage her to live each moment to its fullest.

And so Laurie is gone and I am afforded more time to focus on my healing. I also have the luxary of time to feather my new nest up in the bonus room. An added bonus - an impromptu sit down dinner with my son and his girlfriend with open and honest conversations about life lessons in male/female relationships.

Later that night, I rub my daugher's feet while she watches something on TV, leading to an improbable dog walk with her where we talk easily to each other at great length. We reminisce about campouts, vacations, doing homework together, college applications, teaching her skiing, boogie boarding, snorkling, tennis - coaching her soccer teams, performing with her in talent shows and the time I was late to her cross country meet. I am reminded in the moment of the journal I kept for her over 16 years, to record the precious moments of her life through the eyes of her loving father. I ask her if she still even has it and she replies sweetly, "Of course! I will always cherish having that as long as I live."

My life in recovery is the gift of writing new chapters in our family history that make the lost years of my addiction more and more, a fading memory for all of us.