Opinion: Expanding Memorial Day’s definition
By Kathryn Reed
Someone is missing. That’s what Memorial Day is all about; remembering those in the military who have died.
This year I’m broadening the definition of Memorial Day. I’m mourning the loss of my 32-year-old cousin who died last month, and whose services will be in June.
She was an alcoholic.
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Christina Reed
No one knew this until it was too late. She was admitted to a Denver hospital on a Tuesday and died that Friday. It was in that brief time that the truth, or at least a small amount of it, spilled forth.
Answers to so many questions are buried with her. So many whys. Why did she start drinking? – Was it her mom’s death nearly five years ago? Why didn’t she tell anyone about her pain? – Did she feel embarrassed? Why didn’t she ask for help? — Or did she and no one heard her? Why wasn’t her life enough to make her happy? Why? Why? Why?
From what I have learned in these few weeks, she had to have been drinking an incredible amount of liquor. It may have started a handful of years ago, maybe it was going on in college.
Christina was so bright and funny; she graduated from Wellesley College, was an attorney for the Bureau of Land Management, a beautiful skier who gracefully schussed down even the most difficult runs at Vail Mountain.
She was loved. Her dad, cousins, aunt and uncle all lived nearby. She had a cadre of friends at work and throughout the country.
No one, though, knew about what turned out to be a lethal secret.
She was a functioning alcoholic. But at the same Christina created a web of lies that only now are starting to unravel. It proves that even those who seem to have their lives together are fighting demons we don’t know about.
I last saw Christina in January 2011. I had the opportunity to ski with her at Vail, to spend some time getting to know my youngest cousin just a tiny bit. We were never close; age and distance were the big obstacles. But she was family and we had a bond that even in death cannot be broken.
I ache mostly for my relatives in Denver who are left sorting through the fragments for answers that may never come. The “what ifs?” that linger; that eat away at you, making you believe you could have saved this troubled soul.
Life isn’t easy – for anyone. Perhaps a death like Christina’s is a reminder to really check in with people who mean something to you. Don’t let canceled get-togethers become the norm without real probing; don’t let questionable answers about health issues be easily dismissed; check in on the person where they live; stop the judgment as much as possible; and start listening – sometimes all it takes is being in a safe place to open up. But also know you can’t always solve someone else’s problems – and that is what can be so painful.