Solstice-wise, this is the shortest weekend of every year, when on Dec. 21, the sun, farthest from the equator, comes up and goes down two seconds earlier than the day before and the day after. Fortunately for me, I got to spend one hour of this shortest day with a man whose long life was exceeded only by his infinite wisdom. It is an hour that will surely last my lifetime.

It was Dec. 21, 2011. I flew from the Twin Cities, Minn., to Seattle to say goodbye to Mel Schulstad. He was a genuine American hero, a bomber pilot who survived 47 combat missions in the hostile skies over Europe in World War II. My personal hero, too, because he freely gave me and thousands of others so much information about surviving alcoholism. Mel got sober in 1965, never took another drink and told me how he did it whenever we met for dinner on the road, or in letters, emails and out-of-the-blue phone calls. He intuitively knew when I needed a boost, even when I didn't know I needed one.

The odds never caught up to him but time did, and at age 93, Mel was dying of old age. He barely moved, never opening his eyes in that hour I spent at his bedside. Nevertheless, his exhaustive spirit floated out of his mouth in snippets of richness about his life that are now part of mine more than ever before.

I wrote about our visit right after he died a month later. Ever since and nearly every day, I hold on to the one insight he gave me, which defines the work I do to help people overcome addiction to alcohol and other drugs.

Why, I asked Mel, did he and I survive our illnesses and find recovery when so many others like us either died or never got well? There was a long pause. Mel knew the answer. First, he had to summon from his fading reserves the energy to articulate it.

"God Almighty saw us through it all so we could tell others the story of our lives."

I don't dare quibble with a man who saw death up close in war, should have died many times because he drank too much and credits his higher power for keeping him safe for 93 years. I believe in God, too. It's just that I don't believe God plays favorites when it comes to picking who lives and dies in war or addiction, or when lightning strikes a tree sheltering a family in a forest. If God can see some of us through it all, then why not see all of us through it all?

But my hunch is that on his deathbed Mel wasn't particularly focused on making his God point as much as he was reminding me that since ours is a divinely-vetted message, we are obligated to pass it on to others. To help them find hope. To remind us what it was like before we had hope.

A short day, a last visit, a long life: The march of time ended them all. But stories like Mel's are timeless, as long as we keep telling them.

William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs. His new book, "Now What? An Insider's Guide to Addiction and Recovery," was published last year. Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.