In February of 2015 I hopped out of a dingy treatment center van and carried my garbage bag of clothes towards a one-story house in a less-than-desirable Neighborhood in Boynton Beach, FL. This house, my new “halfway house,” scared me to death. Having been born with a substantial social handicap to begin with, and having barely survived the “genpop” insanity of my 200 person treatment center, I had no idea how I would endure moving into a house with 8 complete strangers.
Once I was settled, I was introduced to my new housemates. They were, to say the least, an eclectic bunch, including some people I consider brothers today and others I wish well but hope to never see again. In that mix was a skinny, blonde haired kid named Josh. It was clear to me almost immediately that Josh might have actually been even more socially uncomfortable than I was, and under this shared burden of social aphasia we developed a bond.
Because of Josh, my other roommates and the inclusive accountability fostered in this particular halfway house, I was able to shed my fear and develop relationships. I was able to open myself up to others, share my insecurities, and be honest about where I was falling short in my newly developed program of recovery. We laughed, cried and healed together, and without this particular community I stumbled across, I highly doubt I would be alive to write this dedication today.
I also was lucky enough to watch the light return to my friends’ eyes as well, and no transformation was as amazing or rewarding to watch as Josh’s. Josh was the personified definition of a “diamond in the rough.” This young man went from being physically unable to maintain a conversation with someone looking him in the eyes, to sharing his story of addiction and recovery in front of hundreds of people. He chaired meetings, led commitments, sponsored other men and became an example of the hope of sobriety to his friends back home, simply because he found a supportive group of recovered addicts who accepted him for who he was.
But not all of these stories end the way we think they should. In 2018, Josh passed away from complications of drug addiction. I’ve never met a soul who shined brighter than Josh Wakefield. He was a self-taught multi-instrumentalist, gifted poet, and a fiercely loyal friend, son, and father. I remember once encountering him sitting with a young lady on the curb outside the convenience store by our house. She had been kicked out of her own recovery house, and while Josh had little to offer her in terms of money, transportation or recovery assistance, he sat with her for hours to make sure she felt safe. His memory sits with me everyday and I truly believe the relationship between our souls carries on to this day.
Without the type of inclusive, accountable and loving community that Josh, myself, and the other members of this foundation found themselves in, recovery from drug and alcohol addiction would have been a likely insurmountable challenge. The camaraderie, honesty and willingness this type of community fostered in all of us was the keystone of our willingness and success in early recovery. In Josh’s memory, and in the memory of all of our brothers and sisters who succumbed to this disease, we hope to help these types of communities continue to grow and reach the individuals who need them most.
– In his memory
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