AT MY family reunion two summers ago, my husband and I were the only sober ones in the crowd. My uncle had planned a beautiful walk through the woods, accompanied by a sweating bagpipe player, to a stream on beautiful Bowen Island, where he promptly cracked open plastic glasses and scotch and made a toast to his long dead and alcoholic parents. The smell of the alcohol alone was enough to send me packing. Later that night, my uncle "fell" out of the second story window of his bedroom. Sleepwalking or suicide? It depends on how you look at it, I guess. Oh, by the way, welcome to my... Login to read more
Not a subscriber? Click here to subscribe. -- SARA S.

Vancouver, British Columbia