‘THEY GAVE ME MY LIFE’
Serenity House saves many
Serenity House began small in 1969 in a rundown house in Lowertown, kept alive on $250 a month and the iron will, the open heart, of a Grey Nun best-known as Sister Bertrand.
She would keep photo albums of all the alcoholics returned to sobriety — it was no small book — and for her efforts, she became a legend in addiction circles and on skid row, even receiving the Order of Canada (1984).
One day last week, seven men graduated from what Serenity House has become, a suburban house tucked behind a tall cedar hedge off Riverside Drive near Mooney’s Bay. They had spent 12 weeks living together, scraping — to different degrees — their inner lives to the bone.
Each addict spoke, addressing family and especially mothers, sometimes the very people they had wounded most. It was a tender hour of confession and gratitude, and the tears were genuine and many.
(A great privilege of this job, by the way, is being invited to witness these poignant turns in the lives of men who have suffered so for their imperfections. Yet they walk out the door sober and clear-headed, as though reborn — possibly the most altering day of their lives.)
Today, Serenity House operates its main treatment base at a sprawling house on Leopolds Drive, where 15 men are treated at once, in two groups. Beyond that, they operate three transition houses where the recovering can live for up to one year while getting stabilized.
It operates on a budget of just under $1 million a year (mostly provincial funds), with a staff of 11, not a large complement when you consider the house is staffed 24/7. In total, it has a capacity for 39 clients.
One of the grads is Dale Moger, 41, a restaurant kitchen manager who was born and raised in Montreal. He discovered alcohol and marijuana at an early age, dabbled in cocaine, only to find crack was his real poison.
It did not help when his mother died 16 years ago. “The first time I tried crack, that was the end game. I thought, ‘Wow. I can see why this ruins people’s lives’.”
He estimates he used crack nightly, after his shift, for seven years, but miraculously stayed on relatively small doses. Life, however, was a treadmill, working and making just enough to pay his rent and supply his habit. The restaurant job was an enabler, cutting his food bill. “I basically didn’t do groceries for 10 years.”
It was not sustainable and cracks began to appear. He missed an important date to help a friend volunteer at a charity event.
On a family trip to Toronto, organized by his father and including his brother from outof-town, he showed up with $15 in his pocket to last three days. His family was suspicious. He was deeply ashamed.
Eventually, he would go AWOL for a work shift and be suspended for a week. He made a phone call, finally got help. “I needed a threemonth vacation from my life,” he says.
“I knew I had to relearn how to live.”
(It is interesting a wise nun would call it “Serenity” House, as though addicts need a place to get away from all the noise and chaos that is addiction, a place to quietly reassess their own character and motives, rearrange their trauma.)
Moger, who is single, said he found the nightly support group meetings to be particularly helpful. There is a feeling of unity, he said, in a non-judgmental atmosphere.
“Nobody saved my life,” he said of the Serenity House experience. “They gave me back my life.” Indeed, much of the program probes into the causes and triggers for addiction and develops coping mechanisms for each individual.
“I’ve learned about addiction, but I’ve learned even more about being a better human being.”
He is, in a sense, lucky. His employer, the Royal Oak group of pubs, was supportive of his treatment and gave him his old job back. His father was there last week to embrace him. He has a place to live. He has a fresh start.
“The world is gonna spin,” he answered, when asked about a spiritual read on his travails. “The world is gonna spin. “Just don’t fall off.” And that is what happened to your Lowertown refuge, dear Thérèse Saint-Bertrand, Sister of Charity, since you left us, Feb. 24, 1999.
We remain, as ever, weak, imperfect, and yearning yet for better days — the same search, as in 1969, for the serene.