Life has dealt Helen D. some hard blows, one of them so hard it is almost beyond imagination, but today she's sober, strong, happy--and hard-nosed.

Helen is the mother of one of the 48 young women who were victims of the notorious Green River killer. Constance (Connie) Naon disappeared June 8, 1983. Her remains were found four months later, but it was not until 20 years later, on Dec. 18, 2003, that Helen joined other parents and loved ones to see the killer sentenced to life in prison without parole. Twenty years before there was resolution! Helen was one of the speakers at the murderer's sentencing. She minced no words.

"I believe we've been sold by the prosecutor for not giving us the justice we could expect," she said, according to the Associated Press. "I believe we still are victimized by some very politically ambitious careers. These self-proclaimed victims have put the victims and their families on a shelf."

I asked Helen how she felt about the murderer escaping the death penalty. "I have mixed emotions about that," she said. "It's not in my power to forgive him, but is taking another human being's life justified? That's God's decision. But my first emotion, my gut feeling, was KILL THE SON OF A BITCH."

Helen has established a scholarship trust fund in her late daughter's name. "I want Connie to be remembered in a positive way. I feel gratitude to this program that I am able to do that."

At the time of Connie's disappearance, Helen was struggling to find sobriety. She'd been in and out of sobriety for six years, going to A.A. meetings every day. Helen said she found little support in A.A. "At first, when all we knew was that she was missing, I shared my fears, and what I got back was 'Oh, she just ran away.' I was told to pray, and my reaction was 'Gee, I'm glad you told me that. I would never have thought of it.' I was on my knees every minute. And there was a lot of 'Gosh, I don't know what to say.' My response was, 'I don't either.' I suppose I distanced myself a little bit.

When Connie's remains were found, "I felt left out, that I couldn't rely on the fellowship. God was my companion in those times. I never felt that He forsook me. I went back to my Catholic faith." She's still a loyal member of the Church. One of her complaints is about "Catholic bashing" in meetings. "More than other faiths, I think. I don't know why."

A doctor who offered to help her through her grief saw her for two months and then cut her loose. "It's always difficult to lose a child, no matter the circumstances. But the way you lost your daughter isn't in the books. You'll have to deal with it on your own," the doctor told her.

Helen was in and out of A.A. for another 3 1/2 years before she was able to make her sobriety stick. She thinks the date was Feb. 14, 1987, but the alcoholic fog was so thick when she came to that final day that she's not absolutely sure.

"What I want to emphasize here is the importance of reaching out. I'd met a fella when I wasn't going to meetings. He invited me to Old Renton, and I went. All I was waiting for was a hand to reach out and invite me back in."

Twenty years later, the Green River killer's trial and sentencing was another trauma. All the old feelings of loss were laid bare. Once again, she feels the fellowship let her down. "Five days after the trial and not one person from my home group had called to ask how I was doing. I was crushed. I even spoke about this in a meeting and an oldtimer said he didn't want to hear about petty little problems.

"But the important thing to emphasize is that I didn't have to drink. I never even thought about it."

Helen says she finally found some support at the time the murderer was sentenced in December 2003. "Just people asking, 'Are you okay? I care about you.' That meant a lot to me."

In spite of her criticisms, Helen says she will never knock A.A. "It's not the program. It's the way it's used sometimes."

She now has an outlet for her concerns. She's writing a monthly column for the High and Dry, Pet Peeves, in which she discusses her problems with the program, and what she hears from other people.

"I love to stir the pot. There's a little bit of mischief in me," she said. "I've been accused by being a chronic malcontent, sarcastic and cynical. I don't deny it. Matter of fact, 'cynic' comes from the Greek word that means you're looking closely at the heart of politics in a non-emotional way."

Helen grew up in Seattle, the product of a sheltered Catholic education. Her parents divorced when she was three years old and she went to live with her grandmother. Then both her grandmother and mother became Rosie the Riveters for Boeing during World War II and Helen went to live in Sacred Heart Villa, a Catholic orphanage. When she was old enough, she was moved to Holy Name Academy, and boarded there until she graduated from high school at 17.

No sooner out of high school in 1957 than this dewy eyed product of a rigid Catholic education met and married a man whose father owned a bottle club in Chinatown. Seven children quickly followed-one girl and six boys. Helen also worked as a waitress and bartender in various upscale restaurants. She never drank much, though, until her mid-twenties, when, she said, "the booze grabbed me real fast."

About this time, she got a degree as a respiratory therapist, but quit because she was afraid she'd kill her patients in a drunken state. Later, she says, she made amends to the institution that trained her by repaying their training costs.

"In those years, I was riddled with fears and didn't know what to do. I tried A.A. for one meeting in the '60s, but it didn't take." She was working in the United Airlines kitchen as a dishwasher when her marriage ended. "I ran for my life bloody and beaten. .It was a matter of life or death." . A fellow worker said "God, I hope the other guy is in the hospital. The doctor told me the next time he saw me it would be in the morgue."

That didn't slow down her drinking, though. She passed out on the job one day and awoke to find her boss and the union shop steward standing over her. "You realize," said the boss, "that you're fired." But the shop steward intervened and got her into a treatment program at Riverton. That was 1978, the first of four treatment programs the company, thanks to the union, provided for her. Nothing worked.

It was nine years later, after nearly a decade of alternating sobriety with binge drinking that sobriety finally took hold. She managed to keep her job, though, and retired from UAL after 20 years of service.

Seven years into sobriety, in 1984, she married again, to a fellow member of A.A.

Helen was determined to give back to the program. She got a real estate license and began buying houses. One became a Clean and Sober house for men, a project that turned out to be a 24/7 commitment for both she and her husband. They are now phasing it out. "We're getting older (she's 66) and tired, but it was a success. The greatest compliment I ever got was when one of our residents called me a 'ragpicker of men.' The men we served were the throwaways, and we gave them a safe place to live. In exchange, they had to stay clean and sober, go to work and go to meetings."

(I commented, when she mentioned her age, that the years have been kind to her. "I had a face lift," she said matter of factly.)

Helen has done other service work too, but she does not sponsor. "My personality-do I need to say more?"

She's stretching her boundaries outside of A.A. too. On her 65th birthday, she bought herself a Honda Gold Wing motorcycle and a 250 Suzuki. She bought the little bike to learn how to ride the big one.

"In many ways, I have a full life now," Helen said."I am a sober and grateful alcoholic."

Interviewed and written by Dick S.