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MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
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Bruce Oake executive director Greg Kyllo.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Outside the family room, the centre\u2019s hallways are relatively quiet. Fifty men live here, and their morning began the same way it always does, with a group meditation in the cultural room on the second floor. It\u2019s a calming space: dim light, the scent of sage, a fire crackling in the electric fireplace set against one wall.<\/p>\n
After the meditation, the men split up into four groups of about a dozen each, and head off to work together on developing the coping skills they will need to live without using substances. In one of the groups, the men are focusing on how to reframe anger, or resentment. On the whiteboard, a chart, handwritten in marker, lays out a list of situations.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat \/ Who I Resent.\u201d \u201cWhy I Resent Them.\u201d \u201cWhat Could I Have Done Instead.\u201d<\/p>\n
ONE DAY<\/p>\n
Our One Day feature is just as it sounds: we will spend one day documenting the everyday work that helps keep our communities going. This month, we spent a day at the Bruce Oake Recovery Centre, an addiction treatment centre for men.<\/p>\n
All of the men have been with the same group since they arrived. That\u2019s part of how Bruce Oake\u2019s programs are designed, for them to move through their recovery together. If all goes well, they will graduate after 16 weeks. Some leave early, but others stay longer; nobody is forced to go. One \u201cparticipant,\u201d Kyllo notes, stayed in treatment for eight months.<\/p>\n
Participant. It\u2019s a notable word. To staff, the men are never \u201cresidents\u201d or \u201cpatients.\u201d They are only ever \u201cthe guys\u201d or \u201cthe participants,\u201d a word that invokes a sense of active investment. A person\u2019s residence at rehab can be court-ordered; but to truly participate in something, you have to choose it.<\/p>\n
Of the 30 staff members, almost all have their own experience of addiction. Kyllo does too. Originally from Winnipeg, he\u2019d pursued a high-pressure business career in Toronto when he \u201cgot into trouble\u201d with substance use: \u201cI was being the guy in Toronto, chasing that life,\u201d he says. He went to rehab twice, achieved recovery and turned his focus to mental health.<\/p>\n
\u201cHonestly, if you haven\u2019t been through this, it\u2019s not understandable,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
He was about 15 years sober and working at the Canadian Mental Health Association when he met the iconic CBC Sports broadcaster Scott Oake. At the time, Oake was spearheading the creation of a new addiction treatment centre for men in honour of his son, Bruce, who died from an overdose in 2011.<\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n An afternoon group yoga class. <\/p>\n<\/p>\n The two clicked. For Kyllo, the opportunity seemed like fate. He agreed to come home to Winnipeg and start building what they hoped would be a groundbreaking non-profit facility in Manitoba, one that offered a long-term treatment model that didn\u2019t just help men find sobriety, but also convened a lasting community to support them.<\/p>\n Now, five years after the centre opened in May 2021, many things have changed. Substances on the street are evolving; some are more dangerous, cut with contaminants. The complexity of men\u2019s needs has increased. Yet at Bruce Oake, they\u2019ve learned to roll with those punches. The model is designed to be flexible.<\/p>\n \u201cThe most important thing is that this is working,\u201d Kyllo says brightly.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Whiteboard notes detail discussion topics.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n He runs through the numbers. (Part of Kyllo\u2019s job is to gather data, in part to prove to funders that the work is successful.) By mid-June, 569 men had completed the program. Of those, 59 per cent achieved one year of sobriety on their first try, 76 per cent were working after a year, and 97 per cent were housed.<\/p>\n These are not the only stats they track. Nor do they consider such figures the only measure of success. Addiction recovery is not neatly linear. Maybe a participant won\u2019t reach a year sober on their first try, but the skills they gained will set them up to manage life better, or make their next try last longer.<\/p>\n For all of them, the important thing is that their connection to Bruce Oake doesn\u2019t end when they leave. Alumni are deeply integrated into the centre\u2019s operations. They\u2019re always welcome to come and share a meal, or work out in the well-equipped basement gym, or speak with their counsellor. Several are now full-time staff members.<\/p>\n And if their sobriety falters, they are always welcomed back to try again. Just a week before, Kyllo notes, two men who had completed the program years earlier returned after hitting a bump in the road. There\u2019s no judgment here. Nobody will be disappointed to see a former participant come back.<\/p>\n That\u2019s the value of having staff who have been through it. They\u2019ve been there. They understand.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you struggle, you call us, and you come right back in,\u201d Kyllo says. \u201cThere\u2019s no shame in that return to using substances, because nobody wants to. It\u2019s no longer fun. Once you have severe substance-use disorder, you don\u2019t go out and start using substances again and it\u2019s a party. But most people don\u2019t reach out because of the shame.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is the journey, and we don\u2019t prescribe what that should look like,\u201d he adds. \u201cIt\u2019s very person-centred.\u201d<\/p>\n 12:00 p.m.<\/p>\n As soon as the clock strikes noon, the morning\u2019s hallways come alive. Men flow out of the group rooms, lining up for lunch in the spacious dining room. The cooks standing behind the kitchen counter dish out plates heaping with roasted chicken, pasta, steamed vegetables and ice cream for dessert.<\/p>\n Long rows of tables take up most of the room; a trio of oversized couches sits at one end, facing a large flat-screen television, which is currently listing upcoming events including a barbecue and a Scrabble tournament. Canadian flag pennants dangle from the rafters to mark the ongoing FIFA World Cup. Some of the men like to watch the games here together.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Justine Pescasio serves up lunch of roasted chicken, pasta and steamed vegetables.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n Today\u2019s meal is a special one. Every Thursday, the centre hosts a gratitude lunch, where participants, alumni and staff are invited to stand up and share the good vibes. A staff member begins by asking men who arrived that week to introduce themselves. At first, no one moves, but Kyllo is encouraging: \u201cWho\u2019s new?\u201d<\/p>\n Two young men shyly rise from their table, ducking their heads. The room breaks into a thunder of cheers and applause.<\/p>\n One by one, men who want to speak stand. They thank the staff, the cooks, their doctors, each other. They come from all walks of life. Some are young, with shaggy long hair; others are well into middle age. Some have high-stakes professional careers; others came straight from prison or the street. A little over half are Indigenous.<\/p>\n One participant rises. \u201cMy name is John, and I\u2019m an alcoholic,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n The men shout his name back in a unanimous voice. \u201cHi John!\u201d<\/p>\n He beams and continues. \u201cI just want to say thanks to everyone here, staff and the participants, for making me feel welcome. I realize I\u2019ve only been here 10 days now, and I feel like I fit in already\u2026 there\u2019s a lot of stuff to do, and the hellos from everyone, high-fives, it makes a difference. Thanks everybody.\u201d<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Kyllo congratulates a participant for a sobriety milestone during lunch. The centre holds a gratitude lunch every Thursday.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n A man in a Toronto Blue Jays shirt rises and grins at the nearly 100 people in the room. He\u2019s over two months into his stay. When he came, another participant recalls later, he was too self-conscious to speak. Now, he raises his voice confidently and looks his peers in the eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cI want to thank all of the staff and everybody who\u2019s making me feel at home, all my brothers here, I love you guys,\u201d he says. \u201cI remember my first day being here, I was so nervous. Now look at me, I\u2019m standing in front of all you guys. I\u2019ve been sober now for 60 days.\u201d<\/p>\n At this, the room erupts into cheers once again.<\/p>\n A participant in a white T-shirt stands up. His name is Mark. He\u2019s 43 years old and arrived in late March after nearly two decades using cocaine and alcohol. It\u2019s his first time in recovery, and today he\u2019s 80 days sober. It\u2019s the longest he\u2019s gone without using substances in at least 10 years.<\/p>\n \u201cWe graduate next week, and I just want to express my thanks to everybody,\u201d he says. \u201cYou guys changed my life.\u201d<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Participant Mark with his sobriety chips. He graduated from the centre earlier this week.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n Before Mark came to Bruce Oake, he was holding his life together, if barely. He had a career in the trades and a grown son he adores. But every day, the drinking chipped away at that life a little more; after he lost his mother to Parkinson\u2019s disease and his sister to cancer 11 months later, he began to spiral.<\/p>\n \u201cThe way I like to describe it is I was a train wreck that derailed into a tire fire,\u201d he says, chatting after lunch on the patio just outside the cafeteria. \u201cI was trying my best to either die or just not feel anything.\u201d<\/p>\n One day, he noticed his son was growing distant, and asked why, point-blank. His son replied frankly: he wanted his dad to be sober. After that, Mark began calling the centre every day, hoping to keep his spot in line. Sometimes, he\u2019d call drunk, but he still called \u2014 for 120 days straight.<\/p>\n Finally, he got the news a bed was available. He quit his job and moved in the same day.<\/p>\n When Mark arrived, he was \u201cso scared shitless,\u201d he says. He didn\u2019t know what to expect. Yet from the first moment, he felt welcomed. He\u2019s learned to deal with heavy emotions \u201cso much better now,\u201d he says; it particularly resonated with him that most of the staff had climbed out of their own addictions.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen your counsellor is telling you how they used to smoke meth behind a dumpster, you\u2019re like \u2018oh my God, you\u2019re not joking,\u2019 that\u2019s when the light bulb goes on,\u201d he says. \u201cNo disrespect, but it\u2019s not like some bookworm that\u2019s never smoked crack or did a line of cocaine, but tells you something because a book tells him to say it that way.\u201d<\/p>\n Now, he\u2019s almost completed the program. If he was scared to come to Bruce Oake; now he\u2019s scared to leave. But he\u2019s ready to take those steps forward. Staff set him up with housing and even offered him a part-time job in maintenance, to help him get back to work. And he wants all of Winnipeg to know how much that means.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat I\u2019m telling you is from my heart,\u201d Mark says. \u201cThis place saved my f\u2014-ing life.\u201d<\/p>\n 1:15 p.m.<\/p>\n For participants and staff, one of the most precious aspects of the Bruce Oake Recovery Centre is its location, nestled in a crook of Sturgeon Creek. The front doors face a quiet residential neighbourhood; the rear doors open onto a verdant backyard that slopes down to the little waterway, a view that is open and green and dotted by trees.<\/p>\n It\u2019s peaceful in the backyard. It feels a bit like you\u2019re in the countryside. Sometimes, participants with Indigenous fishing rights will cast lines into the creek, reconnecting with the land. There is also lots of space to hold ceremonies: a sweat lodge sits a short distance from the patio, along the neatly landscaped path to a ceremonial circle.<\/p>\n Around the edge of the circle, the centre\u2019s two M\u00e9tis knowledge carriers, Kyle McClintock and Louis Sorin, sit enjoying the afternoon sun, when Terrence Morin walks up. He is preparing to drive out with some of the guys to chop wood for a sacred fire, and he has some questions about the logistics.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Terrence Morin (from left), knowledge carriers Louis Sorin and Kyle McClintock, and staff member Kyle Goertzen by the centre\u2019s sweat lodge, located at the rear of the property.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n Morin is a beloved figure at Bruce Oake, and also a testament to its vision. He first came here four years ago straight from one of his stints in prison. Originally from Thompson, he\u2019d had a difficult life, from a childhood marred by abuse to adulthood struggling with addiction, gang life, violence and a long list of crimes.<\/p>\n But since achieving sobriety at Bruce Oake, Morin has thrived. He earned his high school diploma, enrolled in college and became a peer counsellor. Now, he works on the cultural team at the centre, spending his days supporting participants and alumni through sweat lodges, sun dances and group trips out to the land to connect with nature.<\/p>\n That journey is a prime example of the self-sustaining community the centre has aimed to build since it opened.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s like dropping a rock into a pond of water,\u201d Sorin says. \u201cThe ripples are as important as the initial rock that fell in the water. That\u2019s what we\u2019re cultivating. The alumni are the ripples, the waves, that continue to spread out.\u201d<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Alumni Terrence Morin\u2019s journey from addict to staff member is a testament to the centre\u2019s vision.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n Morin\u2019s transition to staff has not changed his relationship with the participants. He still feels more like one of them, because in the ways that matter, he still is. Some of the men he sees are guys he knew from his life in gangs; now, some say they look up to him, which affirms he\u2019s on the right path.<\/p>\n \u201cI just tell the men, you guys are my people,\u201d he says. \u201cThis is where I come from. My experience being here, I think that\u2019s my purpose. Everything I\u2019ve been through, all the work that I put in, is to lead by example and give these men hope and to support them the best way they know how. If they struggle, I ask, \u2018how do you need me to show up for you?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n Often, the way they show up best for each other is through the cultural team\u2019s activities. Through group outings to the bush, or ceremonial activities, the knowledge carriers aim to give participants space to break down what they learned about being men in the world, and rebuild that knowledge in healthier ways.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know, as men we\u2019ve been taught to suppress our emotions,\u201d McClintock says \u201cWe were never allowed to cry, and so a lot of that comes out in unhealthy ways. So we take them to the water and teach them how to use the water to let go, or how to use a tree, to touch a tree and connect with it and just yell.<\/p>\n \u201cTerrence and I are both from Wolf Clan, so we like to teach them how to howl, to let it out in the bush where it feels safe. When they get that experience, it\u2019s like, \u2018you can use that anywhere now.\u2019 It doesn\u2019t have to be a meeting or a sweat lodge. Now you have a relationship with the land, you can go on your own when you\u2019re struggling.\u201d<\/p>\n Even the journey to nature becomes its own sort of healing. The cultural staff have observed there\u2019s something about a long drive that seems to bring out conversation in the men. As soon as they\u2019re on the road guys will start asking each other how they\u2019re doing; one might reply that he\u2019s struggling, and then the words begin to flow.<\/p>\n \u201cIt becomes a sacred space,\u201d McClintock says.<\/p>\n Morin nods. \u201cI do notice that actually. When you\u2019re driving, you go deep, and that\u2019s when you really connect with the men.\u201d<\/p>\n 1:45 p.m.<\/p>\n If mornings are when participants do the work of healing their minds, afternoons are all about healing the body. After lunch, the men are encouraged to do some sort of movement, whether lifting weights or just going for a walk. Today, the highlight activity is a staff-versus-participants volleyball game.<\/p>\n The gymnasium is beautiful. A stage sits against one wall for ceremonies; large windows let natural light fill the airy space. More than 200 Winnipeg Jets jerseys dangle from the rafters, each emblazoned with the last name of an alumni who reached one-year sober. These are presented at regular ceremonies, and stay here as both testament and motivation.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Addiction recovery focuses on the whole person, from working out and participating in physical activities to meditation<\/p>\n<\/p>\n At one end of the gym, two teams are battling it out at the volleyball net. They cheer each other as they go, praising each attempt. The ball floats over the net and sails toward a lithe man in a white T-shirt. He springs into action, stretches out his arms, and bumps it back over.<\/p>\n His name is Larry and he arrived in late March, around the same time as Mark. He\u2019d waited more than seven months to get a bed; his situation wasn\u2019t as critical as someone who has nowhere to sleep, he acknowledges. He had a steady job at a restaurant, a wife, kids and a mortgage. His employer is supportive; his job will be waiting for him when he graduates in a week.<\/p>\n Twelve years ago, Larry had gone into a different treatment program. It didn\u2019t stick. At the time, he says, he felt as if he\u2019d been forced into it, and after he got out he returned to using alcohol and cocaine. But the toll it was taking on his life, work and relationships was growing; when he first heard about Bruce Oake, he felt impelled to try again.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen they were building this place, I knew,\u201d he says. \u201cI saw it on the news that they were building it and I was just not doing good. I was like, \u2018one day I\u2019m going to be there.\u2019 I wish this place would have existed 12 years ago, because this place has changed my life.\u201d<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t From his first day, Larry says, he realized the centre was \u201cdifferent\u201d than where he had tried in the past. All of the other guys came up to shake his hand. He felt as if he belonged; soon, he realized that feeling wouldn\u2019t fade when he left, and that has given him a new sort of motivation.<\/p>\n \u201cKnowing that I can come back and be part of the community, and the brotherhood, is awesome,\u201d he says. \u201cI want to help other people. I\u2019m not jumping to conclusions yet, I\u2019ve had a 20-year addiction and I\u2019m three months in (to recovery). But knowing I could come back and actually help, I could volunteer, it\u2019s awesome.\u201d<\/p>\n The volleyball game has hit a snag: the ball got stuck in the rafters. One of the men grabs a basketball and the guys take turns throwing it as hard as they can toward the ceiling, trying to knock the volleyball loose, laughing when each attempt falls short.<\/p>\n Soon, this effort becomes a game in itself \u2014 not quite the one they\u2019d planned, but they adapt, have fun and figure it out together. It\u2019s sort of like life, in that way.<\/p>\n 2:00 p.m.<\/p>\n A couple of hours after lunch, Scott Oake strolls into the facility that bears his late son\u2019s name.<\/p>\n He\u2019s one of the most famous broadcasters in Canada. His family\u2019s story is embedded into the very walls of this place. Oake and his late wife, Anne, who died in late 2021, dreamed up the facility and then made it reality. Their son\u2019s ashes rest in the atrium.<\/p>\n The couple even designed the family visit room themselves. Anne picked out the comfy couches; Scott painted the teal-blue statement wall. Anne wanted it to feel like a real living room, so participants could relax and enjoy dinner with their loved ones in a space that felt like home.<\/p>\n Yet for all the importance of Oake\u2019s role, there\u2019s no fanfare when he arrives, no VIP treatment. While he is the self-described \u201cmascot\u201d of the centre, some may not realize just how present he is here on a near-daily basis. He comes by for lunches and events, and just to get to know the guys. Sometimes, he simply lounges in the family room and scrolls on his phone.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Scott Oake describes himself as the centre\u2019s \u2018mascot.\u2019 But he\u2019s much more than that. He is on site almost daily where he makes sure to get to know every participant personally.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n (Participant Larry says Oake is \u201cunbelievable\u201d for the guys: \u201cHe\u2019ll look at our pictures when guys first come in, because he likes to make a point of sitting with you and eating with you. And it\u2019s not just for show, like he\u2019ll sit there and shoot the s\u2014- with you, just talk with you.\u201d)<\/p>\n So often is Oake here, and such a low-key profile does he keep, that his role is sometimes mistaken. On several occasions, staff have witnessed Oake sit down for lunch or start a workout in the weight room, when one of the participants turned and, in a spirit of community welcome, asked how long he\u2019d been in the program.<\/p>\n \u201cI usually say, \u2018oh, I\u2019m not in the program, I\u2019m just here,\u2019\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019m not stupid enough to think that everybody should know who I am. And if you\u2019re not a hockey fan, then you probably wouldn\u2019t have the first clue. So sometimes I don\u2019t tell them who I am, but it\u2019s a measure of how open they are.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd they\u2019ll share their story with me, and then the next day in group, they\u2019ll see a video (with Oake in it), and they\u2019ll go, \u2018OK, I get it now.\u201d<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n The urn holding the ashes of Bruce Oake, the centre\u2019s namesake, is on display in the atrium.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n So he would usually have been at the gratitude luncheon \u2014 he rarely misses one, outside the NHL season \u2014 but he had a meeting with a donor for the new Anne Oake Family Recovery Centre, which has recently begun construction and is set to open in December 2027.<\/p>\n That facility, situated in south Winnipeg near the Victoria Hospital, will be a continuation of the model they have developed at Bruce Oake, but designed for women\u2019s needs. There will be 75 beds and a licensed daycare, so mothers can stay with their children. Staff believe it will be the first of its kind in Canada, and possibly North America.<\/p>\n \u201cWe always said when Bruce Oake was up and running, with successful results and sustainable funding, that we would turn our attention to women,\u201d he says. \u201cA lot of women are reluctant to reach out for help for fear of losing their kids, and prefer to suffer in silence. The Anne Oake Family Recovery Centre will answer that concern.\u201d<\/p>\n He modestly defers all questions about the centre\u2019s programs to the staff \u2014 recognizing, he explains, that he\u2019s not an expert in addictions treatment. (\u201cI\u2019m good at two things,\u201d he says. \u201cHaving lunch and asking for money. The heavy lifting was done by a lot of people who know what they\u2019re doing.\u201d)<\/p>\n Sometimes, Oake jokes, that since Bruce\u2019s ashes are here and Anne\u2019s will rest at the centre that bears her name, eventually there will be his ashes and the whole network will just be a big Oake family mausoleum. This thought raises a question: does he feel their presence when he\u2019s here?<\/p>\n \u201cOh yeah,\u201d he says, simply.<\/p>\n In a good way?<\/p>\n Oake nods. \u201cYeah. I mean, some days it\u2019s a conundrum. You know, at graduations, I wish Bruce was there. If he\u2019d been in a program like the one offered here, he might still be alive. But then this place wouldn\u2019t exist.\u201d<\/p>\n EPILOGUE \u2014 Wednesday, June 24<\/p>\n One week after the Free Press visit, the centre hosts its monthly Ceremony of Gratitude, celebrating the men who are completing the program. There are 11 men in this graduating group, just one off the record; Larry and Mark are among them, sitting on stage, gazing out at the scene in wonder.<\/p>\n These ceremonies are open to the community, and the community has come out in full force. The gymnasium is full of well-wishers, including alumni and supporters, and friends and family of the men. There are snacks, speeches and a framed certificate of completion for each graduate.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t MIKAELA MACKENZIE \/ FREE PRESS<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n The recovery centre opened in May 2021. Since then, nearly 600 men have completed the program.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n Scott Oake takes the podium with his two young grandchildren in his arms. One by one, he goes down the row of 11 men, and delivers a personal tribute to each. He recalls jokes they\u2019d shared and speaks in awe of how they\u2019d changed since he first met them.<\/p>\n Then, it\u2019s time for the graduating participants to have their own moment in the spotlight, to offer their own words of pride and thanks for those who helped them on the journey. When it\u2019s Mark\u2019s turn, he delivers a passionate ode to the centre; he looks at his son, who is sitting in the audience, and tears stream down his face.<\/p>\n \u201cYour dad\u2019s back, baby,\u201d he declares proudly.<\/p>\n The crowd in the gymnasium bursts into jubilant cheers and applause. Recovery is hard work; but it is joyful, too.<\/p>\n melissa.martin@freepress.mb.ca<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t Melissa Martin Melissa Martin reports and opines for the Winnipeg Free Press.<\/p>\n Every piece of reporting Melissa produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print \u2014 part of the Free Press\u2018s tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press\u2019s history and mandate<\/a>, and learn how our newsroom operates<\/a>.<\/p>\n
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t‘Knowing that I can come back and be part of the community, and the brotherhood, is awesome. I want to help other people. I\u2019m not jumping to conclusions yet, I\u2019ve had a 20-year addiction and I\u2019m three months in (to recovery). But knowing I could come back and actually help, I could volunteer, it\u2019s awesome’\u2013Participant Larry”>
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t‘Knowing that I can come back and be part of the community, and the brotherhood, is awesome. I want to help other people. I\u2019m not jumping to conclusions yet, I\u2019ve had a 20-year addiction and I\u2019m three months in (to recovery). But knowing I could come back and actually help, I could volunteer, it\u2019s awesome’\u2013Participant Larry<\/p>\n
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Reporter-at-large
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