The Last Words of A Dying Man, From My Father Figure In Recovery
- Brainz Magazine
- Jun 2
- 7 min read
For nearly 14 years, I've helped individuals navigate the complex landscape of addiction in order to achieve recovery. Nicknamed "The Casual Counselor", my approach is unconventional, but undeniably effective.
I met Larry in 2009. He was my assigned counselor when I arrived in treatment, and thank goodness they gave me to Larry, because the other counselor in the house where I was assigned? Just, no.
Larry was a middle-aged gay man, in recovery himself for 30+ years, and he had worked in the counselor role for decades. In the end, it was prostate cancer that took him from us, but he wasn’t yet sick when we first met. He was gentle, kind, compassionate, assertive, and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever known in this lifetime, and I’ve known my fair share.
Tattooed on his forearm was a rainbow colored, upside-down triangle, wreathed with Gaelic embroidery. I remember a client asking him about it in a group one day, and what it symbolized. Larry told it to him straight: “That’s what the Nazis used to tattoo on the arms of LGBTQ people to designate us as “undesirables”, never breaking eye contact with the client..
I remember feeling like the client actually knew what the symbol meant, at least in the context of it being an emblem associated with queer people that most people who haven’t been living under a rock have seen before, but that he also wanted to see how Larry was going to react to the question in public.
Would he be embarrassed by it? In front of a group of about 25 mostly heterosexual and edgy drug and alcohol users? Would he waver in wanting to “out himself” as a gay man under such circumstances, for the reason that he might be “othered” or disrespected or even shamed for being who he was?
Not a chance in hell. Not Larry. He was out. He was loud. He was proud. He was an activist. He had many loved ones who had died from the AIDS epidemic during the 1980s when the virus was still being reported on by the mainstream press as “The Gay Flu”. He had sat by their bedsides and helped them pass, holding their hands and showing them his unending love up until their very last breath.
A fighter. A warrior, but of the peaceful variety. Larry knew who he was, and the last thing he was was someone who was afraid or ashamed of himself. He was probably the most self-aware person I’ve ever met, and in all directions. He knew his strengths and his weaknesses. His light and his shadow. How he shined. His character deficiencies. All of it. He knew exactly who he was, and he wasn’t scared of any of those things. He’d share any of it with anyone, anytime, and anywhere.
You could never catch Larry in a snare, for he knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about. He knew the wholeness of himself. He was my counselor. Then he became my mentor. Then he became my friend. Then he became my father figure. Then I got to sit with him when his days were growing shorter, when he was dying, and to hold his hand, and to give him my presence and my love in his final days.
It was during those final days that Larry said to me, “Joshua, I need you to listen very closely to me, for I have something important to share with you before I check out.”
“Of course”, I told him, "I'm here for it.”
He told me, “Josh, this world? It doesn’t owe you anything. When I first met you 5 or 6 years ago, I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it, you were so entitled! Do you remember what you used to say to me when I’d give you a suggestion to aid you in your recovery work?”
I replied, “I remember! I always used to tell you, “Larry, I don’t want to do that!”, and you’d always tell me, “That’s irrelevant! I didn’t ask you if you wanted to or not, I was telling you that you needed to do whatever it was if you wanted a shot at getting better.”
“Yeah”, I said, “And you were always right. Wants vs Needs. We used to talk about that all the time. Like how the only reason I had met you to begin with was because I was always doing what I wanted to do, instead of what I needed to do.”
And we both chuckled.
“You’d tell me that, the “it’s irrelevant part”, and I’d always say, “Well, that’s not fair!”, and you’d always tell me, “Josh, if life was fair, you’d be dead”, you fucker.”
More laughter. But Larry was sicker now. Gone were the big belly laughs we used to share. This was a much more subdued laughter in our shared recollection of our early work together.
And, Larry always was right, much to my chagrin in those early days. But I’d always do as he suggested, because I truly did want to get better, and I loved Larry, and I wanted to make him proud, never realizing that he already was, and always had been.
“Here’s what you need to hear, Josh,” Larry went on, in a tone that was much more serious, but still gentle and tender, “This world? It’s been around a lot longer than you, than me, than any of us, and it doesn’t owe you anything. If it does owe us anything, it’s death, and my days are growing short.”
I remember choking up, my lips trembling, and the hot sting of tears rolling freely down my cheeks as I held his hand. He never broke eye contact, but he reassured me with his gaze that everything was okay.
“Joshua”, he said, “If you want “IT”, whatever it is a job, a wife, a family, a career, a house, whatever it doesn’t matter what it is, this world doesn’t owe it to you and it’s never going to come looking for you, even if you do stay sober and stay healthy and work the steps and all that other bullshit. Whatever it is you want, you need to go out there and earn it. You need to sweat for it. Bleed for it. Go looking for it. Ask for it. You need to let people in. You need to let people in so they can help you try to get it. And there’s no guarantee that you’re even gonna get it!”
He squeezed my hand just a little tighter, our eyes locked in unison.
“But if you sit around waiting for it to show up on your doorstep, wrapped in a beautiful box, and tied with a ribbon, you’re going to be waiting forever, and it’s never going to arrive. That’s not how this world works. You need to work for it. You need to work harder than you’ve been working.”
Larry could always see right through me, and he could always see when I wasn’t giving it 100%. Perhaps he was seeing it now. Josh at 80% could function pretty well, all things considered, but in this moment, he was challenging me, in an act of unconditional love, seriousness, and concern, that I needed to step up my game, and start doing more of what I needed to do and less of what I wanted to, despite the fact that I was years into my recovery by this point.
“Are you still going to school at night?” He changed gears.
“Yeah. Creative writing. I want to be a best seller, you know that,” I replied.
“A best seller, huh? You know who the writers are who become best sellers in this life?” he asked, “They’re the ones who write. They write every day. And they don’t give up. They’re the ones who keep trying.”
Larry was always, despite knowing about my lofty dreams of making the list in the NY Times, pushing me to go into human services. He used to tell me, “You have something that can’t be taught, Josh. I think you could help a lot of people doing this kind of work. You know, helping people. Being a therapist. A counselor. You’d be a good one.”
I would always respond to him, “Larry, I’m gonna try to be a writer, but maybe we’ll save human services as a 'Plan B'. I still think I’m too unwell to go into this field, truthfully. I think I’m still too sick.”
And he would always reply, “Ohhhh, you’ll love it!!!! We’re the sickest ones, us treaters!” with such a huge amount of joy and enthusiasm. Those were the days of the belly laughs.
Well, I still write, but as far as a career goes, you can’t just fill out an application or complete a form to be a best-selling author, and somewhere along the way, about 2 or 3 years into my schooling, I pivoted, and changed gears, moving into the realm of human services, per Larry’s recommendation.
He died before he ever got to see me make that change, but I like to believe he’s looking down on me sometimes, and smiling that I did what I needed to do, and not what I wanted to do, and that even if it was partly just to make him proud, I somehow discovered the only job I’ve ever had in this adult life that I can unequivocally say I love to the very core of my soul.
Again, he could always see right through me.
And I bring Larry’s spirit into every single session I have, every single day, with every single client. I really just copy what he used to do with me in our sessions, if I’m being honest, but with a touch of my own personal style and flair.
He was right, you know, if life were fair, I would be dead. Or homeless. Or incarcerated. Or bouncing in and out of treatment centers in perpetuity. I’m forever grateful that he helped teach me how to put my ego aside and to follow his many suggestions as to how I might get healthier and how to become a better man.
Larry did that for me, and for so many other men over a span of decades. Hundreds of men. He taught me life lessons that I’ll pass along to my child.
He created a legacy of eternal life in those lives he touched, and I miss him every day. But, damn! Was I ever the lucky one to get assigned to him? Life might not be fair, but what’s also true is that you sometimes need some luck in this life.
So, I count my blessings, and my luck, and the unfairness of it all, and look up at the sky sometimes and smile back in his direction.
Read more from Joshua Bennett-Johnson
Joshua Bennett-Johnson, Licensed Addictions Therapist
After working for 7 years in an amazing clinic, I launched into private practice in 2018. I love my job. I can say that without reservation. Watching people rebuild their lives is something that is worth more than any dollar amount.
