• Treatment is crucial, yet funds slow to a trickle
• Alternative program employs practicality
• Kittery leads way in prevention by giving youths a place to go
• 'Low-risk drinking' can prevent a small problem from getting out of hand
• Problem escalates among women; elderly learn to reach out for help
• 1997 deaths related to alcohol
• Team of reporters, editors, photographer produced series
• Series summary: Maine pays dearly as families are ruined by alcohol abuse

Family photographs fill the wall behind Holly Miles in her Pittsfield apartment as she recounts the day her family organized an intervention in the hope of convincing her to seek treatment for alcohol abuse. Staff photo by David A. Rodgers

PITTSFIELD - It was Tuesday, Aug. 6, 1996, and Holly Miles had just finished another night of drinking with her friends.

Finally out of booze, she sat in the quiet at her kitchen table and cried.

Her life was falling apart. Her second husband had left her and her two children the summer before.And even before her marriage crumbled, her family had warned her that she was drinking too much and neglecting her children.

Now, still reeling from the shock of suddenly being alone, she was digging herself deeper into depression and the bottle. She had stopped getting up in the morning with her kids. Her drinking had escalated to the point where she never went anywhere - even on a five-minute trip to the store - without her liquid comfort, a Tupperware cup filled with coffee brandy.

But the daily liquor consumption was beginning to take an emotional toll. Just that morning, before stepping into the shower, Holly stood in front of the mirror and took a hard look at herself. ''Is this what I'm supposed to be doing?'' she asked herself as she pondered her drinking life.

In the evening, her friends gone, a drunken Holly made her way upstairs to bed. Lying there in the dark, she thought of her grandmother, who had died at age 87. Holly missed their closeness, and she began to pray.

''Gram, my life is such a mess,'' she said. ''You know what? What am I going to do?''

The next morning, nursing a wicked hangover, she went downstairs. Her answer was waiting.

Sisters stage a united confrontation

Her sisters - Dora Miles, Lena Vinal, Heidi Gilliland and Susan Friend - had gathered in Holly's living room for an early-morning ambush that they hoped would open her eyes to her alcoholism. One by one, they described in painful detail the toll they had seen booze take on Holly's life and the effect her drinking had had on her children and the rest of the family.

For weeks they had been setting up this family intervention, a dramatic, last-resort method of getting a loved one with an alcohol problem into some form of treatment.

An intervention can take many forms. It can be a short word of concern from a family doctor, or repeated intercessions by worried relatives and friends.

Holly's intervention was one of 20 intricately planned, formal interventions that have been done in Maine over the past four years by the Maine Intervention Network. The network, according to its director, Dick Loomer, is part of a national organization that has been working over the past few years to standardize intervention methods.

''An intervention done poorly or improperly can create greater problems than ever existed prior to the attempt,'' says Loomer, who has orchestrated interventions for people from welfare mothers to heads of corporations. ''It can alienate families.''

Done right, it can save lives.

In the 20 years that Loomer has been doing interventions, he's only struck out twice. What makes intervention such a powerful tool, he says, is thatthe intervention team is made up of all of the most significant people in the alcoholic's life.

Alcoholics, Loomer explains, usually deny they have a problem at all. If they do admit to an alcohol addiction, they either insist that they can manage it, or they list all of the people or circumstances that make it impossible for them to deal with their drinking.

An intervention strips all that away and makes them face reality. When all of their loved ones show up in the same room at once, all expressing the same concerns, they suddenly realize that they haven't really been pulling the wool over everybody's eyes. The impact can be overwhelming.

''An addicted person is living with a huge secret,'' Loomer says. ''When an intervention happens, it's like somebody took all their clothes away. All their secrets are gone. It's really scary. The jig is up.

''All of a sudden, they discover that everybody knows about their drinking - and they're all there, and they're all going to talk about it.''

She got an early start

Drinking was a big part of family outings and activities when she was growing up. So as the years passed, it seemed natural to make it a part of her own life.

As an adult, she mostly drank at home, but occasionally went out to bars or partied with friends. Before her husband left her in July 1995, Holly says, she probably drank three to four times a week. She preferred coffee brandy, but would sometimes drink tequila.

She drank if something good happened, or if something bad happened. If it was a nice day, that was good excuse to drink. If it rained, that was a better excuse. She'd usually start by noon, but sometimes she'd have her first sip as early as 10 a.m.

For 20 years, alcohol was Holly's constant companion. Even when she was pregnant with her two children, Ashley, 16, and Myles, 14, she didn't stop drinking.

As time passed, her sisters - especially Dora - grew increasingly concerned.

Holly Miles' sisters turned to the Maine Intervention Network to help them convince her to seek help for her alcoholism. From left are Dora Miles, Holly Miles, Heidi Gilliland and Susan Friend. The sisters gave Holly a necklace with a single gold bead to signify one year of sobriety. Next year, they'll add two beads. Staff photo by David A. Rodgers

And on some level, the daily drinking started to worry Holly, too. Sometimes she'd lie in bed and think ''I'm not going to drink tomorrow.'' But then a friend would stop by and that would break down her fragile resolve.

After her husband left, even those small vestiges of concern fell away like petals off a wilting blossom.

Weary, frightened and depressed, she didn't care about stopping anymore.

She wanted to die.

After her marriage broke up, Holly still drank about three or four days a week. But it was a different kind of drinking. She'd drink one day, then be sick all the next. She cried all the time, and it was hard to drag herself out of bed in the mornings. Sometimes she didn't even try.

Where Holly saw endless misery, Dora saw an opportunity.

Dora recalls: ''A couple of times I said to her, 'Holly, what a great time for you to do something about your drinking now.' ''

Holly remembers it differently: ''After (my husband) left, Dora would call all the time and say, 'Don't you think you have a problem?' I would get so mad.''

Holly told her sisters that she wouldn't need to drink if they weren't constantly nagging her about it. To her, they were like a dog with a bone. She started to pull away from them, and stopped visiting their homes. A small sign suddenly appeared in her kitchen: ''Friends Welcome. Family By Appointment.''

Holly didn't know it then, but her liver was already being damaged by her drinking. And it was affecting her health in other ways. Once on a cold December night around Christmas, a night she had been drinking, she broke her leg while trying to sled down a hill on a shovel. She was trying to imitate George Bailey, the main character in the movie ''It's a Wonderful Life.''

Her drinking also was affecting her two children, but in very different ways.

Myles, the worrier in the family, started getting into fights, and his grades began to slip.

Ashley, on the other hand, became her mother's ''partner in crime.''

Ashley, a headstrong girl with ash-brown hair and her mother's pretty, blue-green eyes, had already begun experimenting with alcohol. During the summer of 1996, as things were getting worse, Holly started turning a blind eye to Ashley's budding problem. Sometimes, she'd even join her in a drink or two.

For Ashley's part, she thought she had the coolest mother in town, and that everyone else's mother was a witch.

''I didn't know anything was wrong. I didn't have a clue,'' Ashley recalls. ''. . . I'd have friends over, and she'd sit there with us. It was a blast.''

Dora, worried about the children, became determined to do something. She planted the same seed in her sisters' minds.

Susan approached Holly's doctor. But when the doctor tried to talk to Holly about her drinking, it only made Holly angry and uncooperative.

Dora contacted the Seton Unit of Mid-Maine Medical Center in Waterville and was told Holly would have to come in for an assessment before they could determine if she needed to be admitted.

But Dora knew Holly would never stand for that.

There's got to be someplace we can get some help, she said to the counselor at the hospital. The woman suddenly remembered a brochurethat someone had dropped on her desk, and she pulled it out and gave it to Dora.

The brochure was for the Maine Intervention Network, and it had a phone number: 1-800-234-0246. Dora called the number and talked to Dick Loomer.

Dora thought they could do an intervention the following week, but Loomer explained that it would take several weeks and lots of commitment on the part of the family to prepare for it.

Dora asked her sisters to go with her to Augusta to meet with Loomer, just to hear what he had to say. They agreed.

Preparing for intervention

The good news, he told them, was that interventions are always successful on some level. Even if the person with the alcohol problem decides against going into rehab, he explained, at least the family knows they've now done everything they can do.

The sisters decided to try it. They struggled to get their four schedules to mesh as they met with Loomer once a week for six to eight weeks.

At some point, preparation for an intervention becomes a kind of intelligence-gathering operation. The family members try to think of every possible way the alcoholic might try to wiggle out of the situation, and they come up with counterattacks. If there are kids involved, for example, one of the team members is assigned ahead of time to babysit.

The team also had to choose a time for the intervention. Loomer often suggests early on a Saturday morning because the person usually has been drinking the night before.

''They're tired, they're probably hung over and they generally never get up at 6:30 or 7 in the morning,'' he says. ''It's the most vulnerable time. We want them as weak as they can be.''

During this time-consuming period of group counseling, Holly started growing suspicious. When she'd go over to her mother's house looking for Heidi, she'd be told Heidi was out shopping with her sisters.

''Oh yeah, right,'' she'd snort with derision. ''What, are they at some Al-Anon meeting, or out trying to take my kids away from me?''

When Heidi finally returned from the counseling sessions, Holly would grill her about where they'd been. But Heidi kept the Big Secret.

As the time for the intervention grew closer, the sisters started feeling guilty about all their surreptitious planning. Was this intervention really necessary? Wouldn't it be too humiliating for Holly?

Heidi especially was feeling uneasy because she was the one who often joined her sister in a drink. Wasn't this like the pot calling the kettle black, she wondered?

Then, exactly a week before the intervention, Dora and her husband had a party to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary.

Holly had a couple of drinks before she left for the party. After she arrived at Dora's, she had a glass of wine. But that didn't do much for her, so she poured herself some coffee brandy.

While she was drinking the brandy, a friend at the party made a drink of whiskey that turned out too strong for his taste. He poured it into another glass, and Holly snatched it up. Now she had a glass in each hand, and Dora ''freaked out.''

''Do you want me to take the kids home?'' Dora asked Holly.

''No, I'm fine,'' Holly protested.

After several more attempts to keep her sister from driving home, Dora gave up. But Holly had just confirmed her sisters' worst fears, and at last they knew they were doing the right thing.

Soon it was time for action. The first task was to find a way to get the kids out of the house. Dora called Holly and asked if Myles could come to her house on Wednesday, the day of the intervention, to help with some painting. Holly agreed, but thought it strange that they would pick the boy up at 6 a.m.

Then Heidi called and asked if Ashley could babysit. She said she'd pick Ashley up Tuesday night.

By the time Tuesday rolled around, Heidi was feeling ''really guilty.'' In the back of her mind, she hoped that when she arrived to pick up Ashley, Holly would be sober and she could try to call the whole thing off.

But when she walked in the door of Holly's apartment, Holly was sitting there drinking. In a way, Heidi was glad.

''Enjoy your evening!'' Heidi called as she walked out the door, knowing that this could well be Holly's last night of drinking.

That night, Susan wrote Holly a letter:

Dear Holly,

I pray that today finds you along the way to wellness.

I'm nervous about how receptive you are going to be about tomorrow. Dora, Lena, Heidi and I have been meeting with a counselor, Dick Loomer, for the past month because we love you and don't want you to die. (You know all this stuff now though.)

What will this next year bring?

Her family speaks

At 7 the next morning, she was roused by the sound of Susan calling from the top of the stairs.

''C'mon, Holly,'' Susan said. ''I've got to talk to you. C'mon downstairs.''

Susan sounded bubbly. Holly hoped she had some good news. Maybe she'd found Holly a hot job prospect.

Holly came down the stairs in her nightgown. There in her living room sat all of her sisters holding little pads of paper. Also sitting there was an older man, a stranger.

Susan stood up and said, ''This is Dick Loomer from the Maine Intervention Network. He's an alcohol counselor.''

The sisters had hidden Holly's car keys and locked the front door in case she tried to bolt. But Holly just stood there, seething in anger.

Dick Loomer asked her to sit down. Don't say anything, he said. Just listen to what they have to say.

For the next hour and a half, Holly wasn't allowed to talk. One by one, her sisters confronted her, telling her what they knew about her drinking and how it had affected their lives. One by one, they stripped away all her secrets.

Susan, a teacher, talked about how she would hear things from other teachers about her niece and nephew and how their lives were whirling out of control. They told her that Holly sometimes came to meetings at school with alcohol on her breath.

Holly once had a job showing real estate. Pittsfield was a small town, Susan said. Did Holly really think that people wouldn't notice that she smelled of booze while she was showing houses?

Dora's main concern was the kids. At family gatherings, while everyone else was playing cards and games, Holly would just sit and drink. Then she would get into the car and drive the kids home. Dora used to pray that the police would stop her.

As she listened to her sisters' concerns, Holly chain smoked, sucking so hard on her cigarettes she sunk in her cheeks. Her legs were crossed, with one leg bobbing furiously over the other.

''I can't believe you're doing this to me,'' Holly repeated over and over like a mantra. ''I can't believe you're doing this to me.''

When it was over, Loomer told Holly that her sisters loved her, and that they had made arrangements for her to go to the Seton Unit for an evaluation. They were hoping she'd make the right decision.

''Well, what choice do I have?'' Holly snapped.

Oh, you do have a choice, they told her. It's your life.

As predicted, she had an excuse ready: She'd just started a new job at a convenience store the day before.

''I've got to go to work!'' she protested.

The reality, Loomer and the others told her, was that she probably wouldn't be able to hold down that job if she kept drinking.

Finally, Holly agreed to go into rehab, mostly to get that room full of people to shut up and leave her alone.

After it was all over, Dora, Lena and Dick went to Dora's house to explain to the kids what was going on.

Myles was relieved, but Ashley didn't get it. She thought her mother's behavior was normal.

Heidi and Susan stayed at Holly's apartment while she took a shower.

When they arrived at the Waterville hospital, an intake counselor told Holly she wasn't sure if they had a bed for her.

''You don't?'' Holly said. ''Then I'm going home and I'm going to get drunk, because I've had one hell of a day.''

They found her a bed.

Two weeks of tears

At first, she refused to allow her sisters to come visit her, but she later changed her mind.

The counselors at the hospital gave Holly a lot of homework, and they held her feet to the fire. Holly couldn't pull the wool over the professionals' eyes.

It was a couple of days before it began to dawn on her how serious her problem had become.

Holly stayed for 14 days, crying much of the time. Most people were staying half that time, Holly noticed, but the counselors said they wanted her to get as much help as possible before sending her home to her kids.

After her stay, they wanted her to come back every day for 30 days of outpatient care. But Holly said no, she would only come back for a week, 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. At every visit, she took a drug test.

For the first six weeks after her stay in rehab, Holly was walking on the ''pink cloud'' of recovery. She'd rise at 5 or 6 a.m. and, feeling her oats, start cleaning house.

''Everything is so much better'' in those first weeks after rehab, she recalls. ''Just feeling healthier and not waking up with a hangover, you just feel better. I didn't really have many bad days.''

For about five weeks, she continued to go to bars, but just sat and sipped sodas. For the first time, she really watched how peoples' behavior changed under the influence of alcohol.

''I'd come home and say, 'Gee, I'm glad I don't act like that anymore,' '' she says.

But Holly didn't follow up with a self-help group. She thought, ''I'm not drinking; that's all I have to do.''

When she yearned for alcohol, it was the thought of facing her sisters and kids that gave her the strength to resist picking up a drink.

Still, as the weeks went on, sometimes the cravings were almost overpowering.

One night, about three months after she got out of rehab, her kids were gone for the night and she was home alone.

''I knew my kids weren't coming home, and I thought, 'Well, I can drink tonight, and they wouldn't know,' '' she says. ''So I went out to get into my car. I could have gone to a bar, but I thought no, I wasn't ready for anybody to see me drinking.''

So she decided to drive over to Newport, where she'd be less likely to bump into somebody she knows, to get a pint. But when she started her car, the lights wouldn't work. That strange coincidence was the only thing that kept her from falling off the wagon.

The temptation to drink is greatest when she's under stress. Once she was in a store and a man passed by carrying a sixpack. Holly fantasized about tripping him and grabbing his beer.

Anniversaries are particularly hard. In early May, just before the nine-month anniversary of the intervention, she went out to dinner and desperately wanted to drink. But she was scheduled to speak at a tea at the Blaine House on May 7. How could she get drunk, she thought, then show up at the governor's house?

The whole month before her first-year anniversary was difficult. All month long, she wanted to drink. Holly recalls one night when she went out to dinner with her new boyfriend.

''My body ached. It hurt,'' she says. ''The waitress came up and said, 'Oh, can I get you something to drink?' And I just looked at her and said, 'Yeah.'

''I thought I was going to have one for a second there. I was going to have a big old drink,'' she says with lingering passion, as if talking about an old lover. ''But I didn't. And at one o'clock I felt safe because I had made it through the day. The stores were closed, the bars were closed.''

When her first anniversary of sobriety finally came, her family gave her a party.

Holly's sisters gave her an add-a-bead necklace with a single gold bead commemorating her one year of sobriety. Next year, she'll get two beads.

''The first year of recovery is very challenging because you are living on a daily basis without that mind-changing drug, without your best friend,'' Loomer says. ''You are a person who is handicapped and can't walk, and they've taken your crutches away. I mean, my God, it's challenging. If you do it for a year, it's significant.''

Holly now works in a hospital kitchen and is considering taking adult education classes to become a certified nursing assistant. She has a new boyfriend - the first one in a long time who doesn't drink.

Her family relationships have improved. She has gotten closer to her sisters and her nieces and nephews. Her son's grades have gone up, and he's a lot happier.

Ashley, however, has been a handful. When Holly first came home, Ashley tested her, continuing to drink and even showing up at school drunk. Being drunk at school landed her in a rehab facility for a week.

Now her family says the teen-ager has settled down some and understands better the dangers of drinking. But Ashley says that although she's no longer drinking at school, she does not want to give up alcohol altogether. She vows she won't quit, at 16, 17 or 18.

Holly clearly has plenty to deal with just taking care of herself.

''I still can't believe some days that I don't drink, that I haven't drank in a year,'' she says. ''But I know I don't want to go back to where I was.''

Although Holly's sisters want to see her remain sober, they know that her future is out of their control.

''I don't worry that she's going to (start drinking again),'' Susan says. ''That's her choice. We have done what we can do.''

The odds of Holly staying sober improve the longer she goes without a drink. But she isn't out of the woods yet.

Sometimes, she even dreams about drinking.

''It's so real, you wake up almost with a hangover,'' she says. ''In the past three weeks, I've had a lot of them.''