Family Of a Vet - PTSD, TBI, & Life After Combat

“The Demons of War are Persistent” - A Personal Story of Prolonged PTSD

2013-05-14T07:11:00.000-05:00

As friends and family gather to celebrate another joyful holiday, I am often disheartened, reminded by vivid memories of lost friendships and battlefield carnage that erratically seeps from a vulnerable partition of my mind. The cerebral hiding place I concocted, decades before, as a mechanism to survive in society. I unwittingly clutch at a profound loneliness as I avoid searching for memories of my youthful years. If I dare to gaze into my past, I must transcend a cloak of darkness weaved to restrain the demons from so many years before.

My pledge to God, Country, and Marine Corps was more than forty years ago. As a young, unproven warrior, I consented to the ancient rules of war. At eighteen, like many others, I was immersed in the ageless stench of death and carnage, in the mountains and jungles of Vietnam. However, my journey began much earlier, on a sixty-mile bus ride with other nervous teenagers, to New York City’s legendary Induction Center at 39 White Hall Street.

We went through lines of examinations and stood around for hours, recognizing one another’s bare asses before we could learn each other’s names. We did not realize so many of us would remain together in squads and fire teams, building deep-seeded bonds of friendships along our journey. Our initial ‘shock’ indoctrination began immediately at Parris Island; intimidating Drill Instructors scrambled our disoriented butts off the bus, organized us into a semblance of a formation, and herded us to the barracks for a night of hell!

Anxiety, second-guessing our decision to join, and apprehension was our welcoming. Following what we thought would be sleep (but was actually a nap), we awoke in awe to explosive clamor, as the DIs banged on tin garbage can lids next to our bunks, yelling ‘get up you maggots.’ Even the largest recruits trembled.

We remained maggots for the next few weeks and began intense physical and mental training, slowly recognizing the importance of “the team” instead of “the individual.” In less than sixteen weeks we were proud United States Marines. It was a short celebration though, as we loaded our gear and headed, in order, to Camp Lejeune, Camp Pendleton, Okinawa and then the Philippines, where we continued to enhance our stealth and killing skills, before executing these talents on the already blood-soaked fields of Vietnam.

We argued and fought amongst ourselves as brothers often do. Still, we never lost sight of the bonds we shared: We were United States Marines with an indisputable commitment to “always cover each other’s back.” Crammed into the bowels of Navy Carrier Ships, we slept in hammocks with no more than three inches from your brother’s butt above you. The sailors laughed as these self-proclaimed “bad-ass Marines” transformed into the wimpy “Helmet Brigade.” We vomited into our skull buckets for days on our way to Okinawa, where we would engage in counter guerrilla warfare training. Aware that we were going to Vietnam, we partied hard in every port. The first of our battles were slug fests in distant bar-room brawls.

Conversely, our minds were opened to the poverty and living conditions of these famous islands in the Pacific. Their reputations preceded them, but stories about war with Japan—John Wayne movies—were not what we found. Instead, we found overpopulated, dirty cities; we were barraged constantly by poor children seeking any morsel of food. In the fields, families lived in thatched huts with no electricity or sanitary conditions. While training I experienced the horror of being chased by a two-ton water buffalo (with only blanks in my rifle). Moments before, this same beast was led around by a ring through its nose by a ten-year old boy. Worse than the chasing was hearing the laughter of brother Marines watching me run at full speed, trying to find something to climb. In a tree, I felt as though I was losing the “macho” in Marine, and we were still thousands of miles from Vietnam.

In confidence, we spoke as brothers about our fears, hardships growing-up, family, girlfriends, times of humiliation, prejudice, and what we planned to do in our lifetime once our tour of duty in Vietnam was over. We knew each other’s thoughts and spoke as though we would all return home alive, never considering the thought of death or defeat. We had not learned that lesson, yet. Moreover, we dreamed of going home as respected American warriors who defended democracy in a remote foreign land, standing proud, feeling a sense of accomplishment, and experiencing life, as none of our friends at home would understand. Our country had called and we answered.

We transferred to a converted WWII aircraft carrier that carried helicopters and Marines instead of jet planes. We were to traverse the coast of Vietnam and deploy by helicopter into combat zones from the Demilitarized Zone, the imaginary line separating North and South Vietnam, to the provinces and cities of Chu Lai and Da Nang. Then further south, to the outer fringes of Vietnam’s largest city, which was, at that time, Saigon.

Within sight of land, we heard the roar of artillery, mortars and the familiar crackling of small-arms fire. These were sounds we were accustomed to because of months of preparing ourselves for battle. However, for the first time, we understood the sounds were not from playing war games. Someone was likely dead. Anxiety, adrenaline highs, and fear of the unknown swirled within my mind.

Was I prepared? Could I kill another man? Would another man kill me? From that point forward, death was part of my life. We would eventually load into helicopters, descending into confrontations ambivalent, yet assured we were young, invincible warriors. We were convinced the South Vietnamese people needed us; many of them did. Thus, our mission was simple: save the innocent and banish the enemy to Hell!

The first time we touched down on Vietnam soil, we mechanically spread out in combat formation. Immediately, everything I was taught to watch out for rushed through my mind: “Was the enemy around us?” “Was I standing near an enemy grenade trap, or stepping toward a punji pit filled with sharpened bamboo spikes?” Seeing our company walking through the low brush gave me comfort, until an unexpected explosion deafened our senses. We immediately hit the ground and went into combat mode, establishing our zones of fire. There was nothing to think about except engaging the enemy. We were ready for battle.

We waited, but heard no gunfire or rockets exploding, only a few Marines speaking several hundred feet away. One yelled, “I can’t F’N” believe it!” We learned our first meeting with death was due to one of our brother’s grenade pins not being secured; we assumed it was pulled out by the underbrush. Regardless, he was dead. Staring at his lifeless body, I felt the loss of youthful innocence gush away.

One engagement began with us being plunged into chaos from helicopters hovering a few feet off the ground. We anxiously leapt—some fell—into the midst of an already heated battle. The enemy sprung a deadly assault upon us. I became engrossed in the shock, fear, and adrenaline rush of battle. It was surreal! It was also not the time to ponder the killing of another human being, recall the rationale behind the ethics of war, or become absorbed in the horror of men slaughtering each other. Thoughts of war’s demons certainly were not on my mind.

When the killing ceased and the enemy withdrew, I remained motionless, exhausted from the fighting. With only a moment to think about what had just occurred, the shock, hate, and anger were buried under the gratitude of being alive. I had to find out which brothers did or did not survive, and as I turned to view the combat zone, I witnessed the reality of war: dreams, friendships, and future plans vanished. We knelt beside our brothers, some dead, many wounded, and others screaming in pain. A few lay there dying silently.

As I moved about the carnage, I noticed a lifeless body, face down, and twisted abnormally in jungle debris. I pulled him gently from the tangled lair, unaware of the warrior I had found. Masked in blood and shattered bones, I was overwhelmed with disgust and a primal obsession for revenge as I realized the warrior was my mentor, hero, and friend.

My voice fragmented, I spoke at him as if he were alive: “Gunny, you can’t be dead! Son-of-a-bitch, you fought in WWII and Korea, how can you die in this God for-shaken country! Get up Marine!” Tears seeped down my face; I whispered that he would not be forgotten. I placed him gently in a body bag, slowly pulling the zipper closed over his face, engulfing him in darkness.

Navy Corpsmen—our extraordinary brothers—worked frantically to salvage traumatized bodies. We did our best to ease the pain of the wounded as they prayed to God Almighty. “With all my heart I love you, man,” I told each friend I encountered. However, some never heard the words I said, unless they were listening from Heaven. I was unaware of the survivor’s guilt brewing deep inside me.

In two or three weeks our mission was completed; we flew by helicopter from the jungle to the safety of the ship. None of us rested, instead remembering faces and staring at the empty bunks of the friends who were not there. I prayed for the sun to rise slowly, in order to delay the forthcoming ceremony for the dead.

Early the next morning, we stood in a military formation on the aircraft carrier’s deck. I temporarily suppressed my emotions as I stared upon the dead. Rows of military caskets, identical in design, with an American flag meticulously draped over the top, made it impossible to distinguish which crates encased my closest friends. As taps played, tears descended. For the first time I understood, that in war, you never have a chance to say goodbye. I pledged silently to each of my friends that they would never be forgotten: A solemn promise I regretfully only kept through years of nightmares or hallucinations.

Combat is vicious; rest is brief; destroying the enemy was our mission. We fought our skillful foes in many battles, until they or we were dead, wounded, or overwhelmed. Engaging enemy troops was horrific in both jungles and villages. We had to either accept or build psychological boundaries around the terror.

Nonexistent were the lines of demarcation; we constantly struggled to identify which Vietnamese was a friend and which was a foe. The tormenting acknowledgement that a woman or child might be an enemy combatant had to be confronted; it was often an overwhelming decision to make.

I was not aware of the change in my demeanor. In time, I merely assumed I had adjusted emotionally to contend with the atrocities and finality of war. I acquired stamina, could endure the stench of death, eliminate enemy combatants with little or no remorse, suppress memories of fallen companions, and avoid forming new, deep-rooted friendships. I struggled to accept the feasibility of a loving Lord. I never detected the nameless demons embedding themselves inside of me.

At the end of my tour, I packed minimal gear and left the jungle battlefields of Vietnam for America, never turning to bid farewell or ever wanting to smell the pungent stench of death and fear again. Within seventy-two hours, I was on the street I left fourteen months prior, a street untouched by war, poverty, genocide, hunger, or fear.

I was home. I was alone. Aged well beyond my chronological years of nine-teen, I was psychologically and emotionally confused. I was expected to transform from a slayer back into a (so-called) civilized man.

Except for family members and several high-school friends, returning home from Vietnam was demeaning for most of us. There were no bands or cheers of appreciation or feelings of accomplishment. Instead, we were shunned and ridiculed for fighting in a war that our government assured us was crucial and for an honorable cause. I soon found that family, friends, and co-workers could never truly understand the events that transformed me in those fourteen months.

I changed from a teenage boy to a battle hardened man. I was not able to engage in trivial conversations or take part in the adolescent games many of my friends still played. For them, life did not change and “struggle” was a job or the “unbearable” pressure of college they had to endure. It did not take me long to realize that they would never understand; there is no comparison between homework and carrying a dead companion in a black zipped bag.

The media played their biased games by criticizing the military, never illuminating the thousands of Vietnamese saved from mass execution, rape, torture, or other atrocities of a brutal northern regime. They never showed the stories of American “heroes” who gave their lives, bodies, and minds to save innocent people caught in the clutches of a “controversial” war. For years, my transition back to society was uncertain. I struggled against unknown demons and perplexing social fears. I abandoned searching for surviving comrades or ever engaging in conversations of Vietnam.

Worse, I fought alone to manage the recurring nightmares, which I tried to block away in a chamber of my mind labeled; “Do not open, horrors, chaos and lost friends from Vietnam.” However, suppressing dark memories is almost impossible. Random sounds, smells, or even words unleash nightmares, depression, anxiety and the seepage's of bitterness I alluded to before. I still fight to keep these emotions locked away inside me.

Today, my youth has long since passed and middle age is drifting progressively behind me. Still, unwelcome metaphors and echoes of lost souls seep through the decomposing barriers fabricated in my mind. Vivid memories of old friends, death, guilt, and anger sporadically persevere. There may be no end, resolution, or limitations to the demons’ voices. They began as whispers and intensified—over decades—in my mind.

“Help me buddy!” I still hear them scream, as nightmares jolt me from my slumber. I wake and shout, “I’m here! I’m here my friend,” and envision their ghostly, blood-soaked bodies. I often wonder if more Marines would be alive if I had fought more fiercely. “I had to kill!” I remind myself; as visions of shattered friends, and foes hauntingly reappear at inappropriate times.

Guilt consumes my consciousness as I recall the mayhem of war, and what we had to do to survive. As well I question: Why did I survive and not them? Most horrible, however, is the conflicting torment I feel when I acknowledge that I am thankful it was others instead of me.

Regardless of which war a person fought, I am sure many of their memories are similar to mine, as many of mine are to theirs. I never recognized the persistence of the demons, nor realized how quickly they matured deep within my soul. Disguised and deep-rooted, the demons cause anxiety, loneliness, depression, alcohol abuse, nightmares, and suicidal thoughts; traits that haunt many warriors for a lifetime. For thirty-five years, I would not admit these demons were inside me, and believed seeking medical assistance for what was going on in my mind, was a weakness in a man.

It was not until the first Gulf War began in 1990, that I sensed the demons were again bursting from within. No matter how hard I tried to avoid them, I could not escape the vivid images and news coverage of every aspect of the war. Eventually, the bodies and faces in the media were not strangers anymore; they were the faces of my brothers from a much older and forgotten war. Encouraged by peers and several family members, I finally sought assistance from VA doctors, who immediately diagnosed me with PTSD and began an ongoing treatment program.

During my third or fourth group therapy session at the VA, the psychiatrist leading the meeting persuaded me to speak about myself, starting with my overall thoughts of my tour in Vietnam, but then focusing on what I accomplished instead of what I lost. After a long hesitation, I told them the greatest accomplishment in Vietnam was the hundreds of people our teams personally saved from rape, torture, or savage death.

We did not give a damn about the politicians and college students arguing back home, or running off to Canada to avoid the draft. We were enlisted Marines, on the front lines, protecting innocent people caught up in a horrific war.

My most positive moment, I continued, was when I lifted a three-year-old girl from the rubble that separated her from her parents, who were slaughtered by the Viet Cong for giving us rice the day before. Though traumatized and trembling in fear, she reached up to me, and I cradled her gently in my arms and made her smile for only a moment. I handed her to one of our extraordinary corpsman, and continued to seek out the enemy who committed these atrocious murders. It was then I understood why I was in Vietnam.

However, as with everything I masked in my subconscious, I obscured that moment of compassion for decades until this small therapy group encouraged me to glance back and look for positive events buried within the worst of my war memories.

Regarding my post-war years, the doctor asked me to focus on my career, an area where he knew I had some success. I explained that when I left the Marines after four years, I was youthful and confident in myself. I had no clue what depression and anxiety were, and I thought the nightmares were personal and temporary. I was determined to look forward, and in no way backwards to the war. Unfortunately, today I realize that while constantly looking forward helped me avoid chaotic memories of war, it also cloaked the memories of my formative younger years, and positive events throughout my life.

I never relished talking about myself, and thought it would be a good time to stop. However, the group asked me to continue. As peers, they knew I needed to feel a purpose, and not think my life was a second-rate existence. I was reluctant; as I looked around the room and knew many of the Vets succumbed to PTSD early in life and did not fare as well as I did. I felt I was about to sound like a wimp, or worse, a self-centered ass.

Awkwardly, I began to tell them - with many gaps - about my career after Vietnam. My first recollection was one they all understood. I went through eleven or twelve jobs feeling totally out of place. Watching sales managers gather their teams, and with fanatical enthusiasm tell us how great we were, and together we would attain the highest sales revenue, whipping all other regions. To me, compared to combat in the jungles of Vietnam, this was a game.

Feeling extremely frustrated within the environment of civilian life, I was ready to head back to the military. However, before reenlistment happened, I got married to my current wife of 40 plus years, who will be the first to tell you living with a type-A personality with PTSD is often a living hell, especially since she had no idea what I was battling. But, neither did I. Like millions of warriors before me, I never spoke to anyone about the war, or the nightmares that abruptly woke me, soaked in sweat and tears.

I decided not to reenlist and pursued a career in business. After numerous jobs, I finally landed a position with a bank repossessing cars - a small-scale adrenalin rush, at times. Within five years, I worked my way up to branch manager.

Bored, of my repetitive tasks in banking, I accepted an offer from a very large computer company to join as a collection administrator. Though it seemed as if it was starting over, I was promoted into management within a year. Focusing on new business challenges aided me in keeping the demons at bay. Subsequent promotions followed.

Within roughly eight years, I was selected to attend Syracuse University to attain a degree in Management - paid by the company at full salary. I continued to accept challenging positions in finance, marketing, business development, sales and world travel.

At first, traveling to other countries was great, but after the second or third twenty-one-hour flight to Bangkok or Singapore, it got old quick. I began to realize boredom and repetition were major catalysts for my emotional setbacks; having too much time to think was a recipe for falling hard into the bowels of PTSD.

As years passed, anger, frustrations, mood swings, and depression were common events affecting me, my family and career. I stopped moving forward, and spent more time battling the memories of the past. It was at that time I understood the demons never leave; they simply wait for a sliver of weakness to overwhelm you.

Consequently, these conditions, as well as heightened road-rage, quick to anger, and sometimes not able to carry on an articulate conversation, I unenthusiastically retired early from my very well-paying job. This, of course, decreased my income significantly, and opened new crevices in my rapidly deteriorating armor. The demons seized a stronghold; they are persistent.

I have still not won the battle against the demons, but, with the help of therapy, outside physical activities, medications and writing; I look ahead again. The demons continue to haunt me with nightmares, depression, memory loss, anxiety and the need for solitude.

Although I am not able to sit down with a vet and talk about war, I have taken on a cause through writing stories, to reach out to young and senior veterans to help break the stigma of PTSD, by seeking reinforcement. It took me, with present-day support from younger vets at the Journal of Military Experience [http://militaryexperience.org], over the course of six years to finalize this story. I mention this so others can move forward in his or her life; by knowing what I and others know now.

I wish someone cited the following recommendations to me earlier in my life; although being young and macho I probably would not have listened. However, here are a few suggestions from one old warrior, to those of all ages:

· Break through the stigma of PTSD and get medical assistance - PTSD is real!

· Unless you are in a high-risk job, you will probably not experience the adrenaline rush and finality of your decisions as you did in combat. For me, I lived by playing business games - never finding the ultimate adrenaline rush again. It is a void within me, I think about often.

· The longer you wait for treatment, the harder it will be to handle the demons. They do not go away and can lay dormant in your soul for decades.

· Understand that it is never too late in your life to begin looking forward and achieving new objectives.

· If you do not want to speak about PTSD with your family or friends, then hand them a brochure from the VA that explains what to look for, and why you need their support. You do not have to go into detail about the tragedies of war, but without your loved ones’ understanding of your internal battle, your thoughts can lead to divorce, loss of family relationship, or suicide – a terrible waste of a hero.

· Silence and solitude is not the answer! If you have PTSD you may not be able to beat it alone.

· If you are concerned about your military or civilian job, seek help from peer resources. They have experienced what you have been through, and will help keep you living in the present, instead of the past.

· Or contact a person in a peer support group anonymously. They will not know you, but will talk for as long as you wish.

· You cannot explain the horrors of war to someone that has not experienced it, except maybe a PTSD psychologist.

· Get up off your ass and take a serious look into yourself! Accept the fact that if you have continuous nightmares, flashbacks, depression, bursts of anger, anxiety, or thoughts of suicide, you have PTSD. If so, talk to someone who can help.

· There is also financial assistance through the VA, which may help you avoid living a life of destitution.

Finally, let your ego and macho image go. There are many individuals and groups today wanting to help you. If you do not seek help, you may find yourself alone and bitter for a lifetime. The demons are not going away, but with help, you can learn to fight them and win one battle at a time. Please contact the resources below!

Semper Fi!

Submitted By: AW Schade, USMC 1965/69, Vietnam
awschade@gmail.com www.awschade.com

HEY VA, CAN YA HEAR ME NOW!!!!!!

2013-04-10T17:53:00.002-05:00

Funny how things play out in life. You know that little voice in your head or gut that often you hear most clearly laughing and saying, "I told ya so!".... You know what I am talking about?

Well, my inner voice is pretty well developed, I just have behavior problems and often chose to ignore it. I actually have grown tired of it saying, "Told ya so", and have decided to start changing my *behavior*.

Red flags, knots in my stomach, electric zings up and down my body, sudden flushes of heat, that annoying, nagging, "Something isn't quite right here" in the back of my head. These are ways my inner self, my already installed security system, this is how it alerts me.

And I love to set it off, and then ignore it.

Here is the latest example. I should have acted sooner. I am as MUCH to blame for delay in care as anyone else. Should have pushed harder. Sooner. Listened to my inner voice.

My husband has had a marked decline in hearing for the past year. He has always been hard of hearing since Iraq, but the VA only diagnosed it as Tinnitus.

"Now Mr. Peterson, if you are lying, we will know. You will prosecuted, you could even go to jail", Dr. Peck said. This was in 2006. You think after being threatened with jail for HEARING problems this Soldier was going to "complain" about anything else?! Hell no.

And so he didn't.

But I knew. I saw. I watched. I lived.

My husband is deaf, my little voice would tell me. There is NO way he could NOT hear me. And the thing is, his hearing only became more non existent in crowds, busy environments, and cluttered places. Like sensory overload.

I also watched nurse after nurse, doc after doc, at the VA, tell my husband, "yep, fluid on your ears". And pass it off as nothing. No professional ever connected WHAT THE WIFE WAS SAYING, WHAT THE VET WASN'T HEARING, and WHAT THEY THEMSELVES WERE SEEING with my husbands multiple blast exposures.

BAROTRAUMA!!!!!!

But I digress. My husband went to ENT today, and the confirmation was turned into validation for me. He has moderate to severe hearing loss in BOTH EARS across the BOARD.

NO SHIT.

Tell me something I don't know.

It is 7 years of delayed diagnosis and failed treatment AGAIN. To which I say, BRAVO! But, such is life (at the VA).

They are overworked, the system is TOO full, and I know hundreds of Veterans and their stories to prove it. However, those are not my stories to tell. And I am okay with that. My world finally, FINALLY, just got a little clearer.

HEY VA..... CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW!!!??????

~LOVE ALWAYS,

Kateri

Kateri is the proud wife of an OIF Army Veteran, fierce advocate, and loyal supporter of FOV. Kateri's writing is often the in your face, this is how it REALLY is, exposé that our community needs. Often her writing comes with a disclaimer.

Trendy Update to a Mundane Caregiver Task

2013-03-27T01:43:00.002-05:00

The silver linings of meltdowns is the opportunity to recreate your environment to allow for positive change and growth. This has been an incredibly long winter for my family, full of tantrums, homework, exhaustion, medical appointments, and existing awfully close to "crisis". Things came to a head over 2 weeks ago, and with the support, mentoring, and "boots on the ground" intervention of a beloved friend, we were able to not only just "get through" this time, but do so with an added benefit: A trendy update to the most annoying and more complicated than it has to be job as a caregiver, wife, mom, household six... and that is the CALENDAR!

Picture a desk calendar taped to my cabinet in the kitchen. It visually disrupts the flow of the area, and the small spaces and multiple horizontal lines subconsciously repels my husband from ever looking at it. My friend, a woman who lives states away and is also a caregiver, is absurdly well versed in this life after combat stuff. She sees my family from afar, yet is able to intimately and with marksman like accuracy, is able to anticipate needs and identify trouble spots. More importantly, she had a real world solution for my family that was implemented within days of identifying the stuck point and made sure to follow up with me by phone calls, texts, and even a Google Hangout session involving both myself, AND my husband.

Ever since I left my job late last year, I have found myself often standing in my kitchen, or living room in a daze, overwhelmed, exhausted. I was not adjusting as well as I wanted to being at home full time for my husband. Everyone else around me seemed to be status quo, either no improvement (in husband- well, some....lets be optimistic), or vast improvement (kids not having to deal with overwhelmed, can't-process-the-movement, or I-don't-get-what-you-want daddy). I was feeling overwhelmed. The husband was still forgetting appointments, even though I would tell him when I wake him in the morning. He was still forgetting breakfast, often not eating until I notice his color in his face goes from normal to ashen. I was beginning to lose hope.

One thing I noticed was things started to pile up in the hutch. Charing cords, crayons, books, papers, pictures.... Whatever needed to be stashed quick so the kids didn't monkey with, went into this big black hutch in our kitchen. Something in my home didn't feel right. It didn't flow. In fact, visual clutter disturbs and agitates my husband, so that is why the quick tuck it away habit became routine. I was starting to feel like my home was not reflecting our personality as a family, and it was beginning to wear on me. It was no longer feeling like home, and here I am, now home full time, not understanding why.

On top of this "feeling out of place", I was feeling like a failure because we were always rushed, always remembering appointments at the last minute, trying to catch phone calls, trying to remember where he put the mail. I didn't have the energy for pretty updates, adding my flavor to this house, etc. When my friend intervened, she must have sensed that, and gave me the perfect solution to what clearly was several areas of stuck points.

Mission Control

Instead of using the hideous wall calendar taped to our cupboard, we found a super cheap way to use aesthetically pleasing arrangement of frames as white boards for the days of the week. Here is a picture of the Husband approved (which means it doesn't annoy him, he LIKES it, and.... he LOOKS at it) area.

The most important aspect of this beautiful masterpiece, is the Sunday Night Meeting. Every Sunday evening, the kids, the man, and myself, go through each day, and with a dry erase marker, write down appointments on the glass. We review the family rules. In the picture, you will 3 picture frames on the table (that is the hutch, we took off the huge top part, and stored it). One frame is typed, easy to read phone numbers essential to our family. Doctors, hospitals, police, poison control, and friends and family members that we can call no matter what at any time for any reason- this is a MUST. If your family is experiencing a crisis or emergency, it can be difficult to remember who you can call for support. The two larger frames on the table contain a spot for "Mommy time" and "Daddy time", and "Family time" and "Mom and Dad" time. I have realized that my years as a nurse, my education, my street smarts didn't follow through on the home front. Just like at work, things are scheduled so the operation runs smoothly. It is easy to overlook "mom and dad" time I realized. I can't remember the last time my husband and I took the time to purposely and meaningfully attempted to plug in to each other. I realized that the redundant "family movie night" in on friday nights with the family (our usual family time) was just another way for my husband and I to decompress and unplug while we essentially faked real, meaningful "family time". Now that we have to write down (and let the kids give us input for the activity), we realized we sure were watching a LOT of movies, and that the kids didn't even want to have family movie night every week.

A thought about scheduling "alone" time for each parent: It is imperative. I know I often feel more relaxed and in control when I am centered. Mommy time, or daddy time, means just that. Free to decide, no kids, time to yourself. And how much time is appropriate? Since this is new to us, we decided to try a few 2 to 3 hour blocks for the husband more frequently, and for me, once a week for a few hours. He is much less grumpy when he is allowed more time, it takes longer for him to decompress, and just the normal chatter of kids can be a source of frustration to him. The great thing about this is we decide something needs to change, you just wipe away, and rewrite. Much better and visually acceptable to him than scratching over pen on a paper calendar.

My husband and I have agreed that we need our together time, and we have made small steps toward rebuilding the friendship and intimacy again. We recently bought the Scrabble board game, and he enjoys it, and often wants to play multiple games. We LAUGH at each other. We are both fierce competitors, so sometimes, these games can last a very long time (which I am okay with, because he is pushing himself, and showing interest). You don't have to go OUT of your house for together time. That is simply not feasible with my husbands anxiety and his skin issues. The kids go to bed, and we are left to our own devices. Something as simple as a board game, who would have thought... but I found myself feeling that very fond, "this is why I fell in love with you feeling".... Silly me. I had forgotten it is the small things that make a marriage. That had gotten lost in life after combat.

So back to our trendy update to schedules, let me tell you, my domestic prowess is lacking. I had no clue how to hang a picture... dry wall anchors? My husband cringed everytime he heard the drill. He attempted to take over, but we were unsatisfied with the frames that kept tilting and not hanging flush with the wall. I searched online (Pinterest!) and found a CHEAP, easy, NOT wall damaging solution; Curtain rod! I used ribbon to hang the picture frames from the curtain rod to add a fancy touch. Everything was affordable, available from local stores, and total time to complete project was less than 6 hours (unless you are me, which then it takes about 10 hours over 2 days, plus the time to spackle multiple erroneous holes).

Here is the breakdown:

Curtain rod: $10 (sale)
Ribbon: $1.50 per spool (sale)
Frames and
Spray paint (if you want to paint your frames): less than $20
Dry erase markers: $3

So with a little planning, and if you are like me, major life interventions from those who love us most, you can make your house feel like a home, create an easy to read and use family calendar system, and engage the entire family.

Written by resident blogger and advocate for Family of a Vet, a wife of a combat Veteran with PTSD/TBI and other war related things, ~Kateri

I Refuse to Be Shamed into Silence

2013-03-25T19:53:00.000-05:00

I am the wife of a "good soldier" who has and continues to serve our country bravely and valiantly. He, as a soldier, is my hero and I will always be proud of his service to our country.

From the outside looking in, it appears that we are living the American dream. In measure of material things, we have more than most. When we are in public, he seems to be a caring and supportive husband. Often other women will tell me how lucky I am because I have such a good, hard working and loving husband. I flash them that "Yes I Know" smile, hoping they don't detect it is only a mask I hide behind to cover the tears that have often flooded my marriage since my husband returned home from deployment in 2006.

The man who came home from that deployment was not the one I sent off to war. Before the deployment, I had a loving, caring and attentive husband. After, I had a husband who was paranoid and full of rage. Before, I never knew my husband to have a headache. After, he had headaches so bad he would almost drop to his knees. Crowds made him nervous and he often had nightmares.

He also did things that revealed he was struggling with impulse control. One day, shortly after he returned home, we had just finished grocery shopping and were pushing a cart full of food to our car. He decided someone had parked too close to our car, so he grabbed a bag of groceries, raised it up in the air, and looked like he was going to throw it on their car. When I frantically asked, "What are you doing?" he froze in his tracks. Not only was I shocked by his behavior, I became more concerned than I had been before. It was at that moment that I realized something was wrong, seriously wrong, but I didn't know what to do about it.

Since that time, we have dealt with many other episodes of his poor impulse control and explosive temper. Most of the time, he seems like a shell, devoid of the ability to love or care about anyone, as if he is empty of all emotion. If anything goes wrong, it is always the fault of someone else, never him. Despite all this, he is still a "good soldier" because he does his job and he does it well. He has become a workaholic. I'm not a doctor or psychologist, but I think he buries himself in his work so he doesn't have to deal with or think about what is causing his anger issues. Because he is a "good soldier", his chain of command does not acknowledge there is a problem and won't have him evaluated for PTSD or anything else that might have caused this change in his personality. After all, he is a "good soldier." A wife and children are unneeded extras in his life. I mean, who hasn't heard the old saying, "If soldiers needed wives and children, they would be issued to them."

If not for my strong faith in God, I know I could not have emotionally survived the last seven years. I don't expect people to understand why I have stayed with him because most don't get it. But in my heart, when I took my vows to him and before God, I fully meant everything I promised. No matter what, through richer and poorer, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, I intended to stay the course and to protect and nurture our marriage. That is what I have tried to do. I am not going to say it has been easy, because it hasn't. At times, it has been nothing but hell on earth. My husband, or the man the military sent home to me after the deployment, became emotionally abusive. I thought I was good at handling it, knowing that it wasn't my husband, but instead some monster inside him. I just wanted to take care of him and help him get better. But somewhere in the process of trying to take care of him, I forgot to take care of myself. The harsh reality of that fact hit me when I found myself being taken to the crisis center in an ambulance in the middle of the night after my husband's intentionally cruel treatment sent me into deep despair. It was then I realized I must take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else.

Healing doesn't happen quickly. I'm not sure I will ever be completely healed. I know I will wear the scars from this for the rest of my life. After hours upon hours of prayer; after struggling with my faith at times; after feeling like God had abandoned me and my marriage; I came to the realization that God was giving me insight that needs to be shared. By doing so, I believe He will help me to continue to heal from the horrors of "this war at home."

This is a difficult topic to write about because there is shame attached to it. This shame causes many to remain silent and suffer alone. It shouldn't be that way but it is. Society tells us we should leave certain types of relationships, so people can sometimes be very judgmental. They don't understand that war has caused "invisible" damage to many of our soldiers and despite news stories to the contrary, our military leaders are still often ignoring this. Wives and children are now becoming causalities of war as our soldiers return home. Our pain is simply the cost of war and we are just collateral damage in the eyes of many. I refuse to accept that.

I refuse to be collateral damage in America's most recent war. I refuse to become a statistic of combat related PTSD and domestic abuse. I refuse to allow people to shame me into silence.

I know I am not the only military wife going through this. I know I am not the only one struggling to get some help for a husband who came back from war an entirely different person. I know I am not the only one who has a need to be heard. I hope that by my sharing the trials and tribulations my marriage has endured due to my husband's military service, not only am I able to continue in my own healing process, but to also help others who need to heal.

Submitted By: "Military Wife"
"This War Is At Home"

Defying Logic

2013-03-12T19:37:00.001-05:00

Do you know that in Montana even the snow defies logic? It doesn't fall down, it goes sideways due to the 50+ mile per hour winds that usually accompany it. It's mesmerizing to watch it swirl and fly by from inside your window curled up with a cozy blanket and a cup of hot cocoa.

It stinks to drive through it 30 miles one way to pick your TBI husband up from work because his migraines have gotten so bad at 11 PM that you have no choice but to drive in and bring him home safely. But you load up the kids, warn them to silence, turn on the radio, and make a go of it anyway through the horizontal blizzard while praying silently in your head while you sing out loud mindlessly to the tunes that you make it there alive.

I arrived over an hour later to a husband who's speech was slurred and vision was clearly off. His memory was worse than normal and his movements reflected the rest of his state. I was glad I made the choice to drive in and get him - there was no way he could have even gotten himself safely to a hotel in town, much the less survive the drive home.

I took a moment while filling my gas tank to thank God that it happened today instead of the past two days when I was sick with some variety of food-borne illness. I thanked God I'd had the sense to not put the kids to bed on time. I thanked Him for the friend that stayed up chatting with me about baptism outfits for our sons until she couldn't stay up anymore. I thanked Him for kids that were quiet, that McDonald's was still open at 10 minutes to midnight, and knowing that when I got home, this blog and my FOV friends would still be here to hear the words I can't say to anyone else.

While standing there I couldn't figure out why I was so cold...then I realized I'd left the house in such a rush I forgot to put on a shirt...well, that explains it. Took a brief moment to thank God once again for a thick, heavy winter coat that no one would be able to tell that under.

As I drove home the experience varied between treacherous road conditions, a husband that was apologizing profusely for "making me come out in this", and a husband that is scared to death he may not be able to work anymore because of these migraines. My mind was preoccupied with what I had to do when I hit the door - and not just the normal "get everyone to bed". My mind is focused on the phone calls I'd need to make, the emails I'd need to send. Who I need to get on board to help solve the problem? What was the name of that neurologist we saw back in 2009? Where did I put the phone number of the new local VA employment guy that I can't even remember the name of right now?

Tomorrow will hopefully hold a pile of phone calls and possibly a few meetings - if I'm lucky a run to the doc's office and a trip over to the pharmacy. Tonight will hold fear - while he sleeps I will have nightmares of what the next few months will hold.

TBI Help Ideas Found On Pinterest

2013-03-09T20:58:00.000-06:00

Pinterest has become a pretty popular way to find all sorts of helpful things from meal recipes to fun crafts to do with children. However, have you ever thought about using it to find helpful tips and tricks to help ease some of the stress in this Life After Combat? Well, with March being TBI Awareness Month we thought we would share some great ideas we found on Pinterest that could help you out!

Menu Board Tutorial

What a great way to help answer the question, "What's for dinner?"

Dry Erase Weekly Planner

An easy and attractive way to keep up with your weekly schedule!

Another Option for a Dry Erase Weekly Planner

This one is just as attractive but with a more whimsical feel!

Chalkboard Pantry Labels

A much neater and organized look with the ability to change out containers as needed! I love it!

"I Love You Because..." Frame

A great way to help remind our hero just why we love them and to help ease their doubts! :)

Cheapo Chalkboards

The uses for something like this are endless!

Individual Box Shelf

What a cool way for our heroes to have their own place to keep things like keys, sunglasses, hats...etc.

Laundry Basket Dresser

Even just one column of these would make laundry organization so much easier to track!

Important Times Center

Though this is more for the classroom I think it could be utilized in the home to help out our heroes with TBI keep track of important times throughout the day.

Have you found any great ideas on Pinterest that would be helpful to a TBI household? Share them with us and we can add them to our list!

Connections

2013-03-08T11:59:00.000-06:00

Isaiah 40:30-31
Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

This is a hard thing to remember sometimes. Even youths will grow tired and weary. For years, I felt like Stretch Armstrong trying to keep my arms wrapped around a family falling apart. In the beginning it was a whirlwind. All I cared about was getting my husband the appropriate medical care, the right doctors to fix whatever was broken. Then years later, I am looking at a husband who works strenuously to keep himself under control, an angry teenager, a depressed daughter and my young son who has no idea that dad changed at all. Oh and me, completely exhausted and not able to recognize myself in the mirror anymore. For my youngest son, it was the easiest. He didn’t see dad go to his baseball games, take him fishing or on a bike ride. So the new dad never wanting to leave the house was ok. Sure he got angry, but it wasn’t too bad. He doesn’t remember the powerful outbursts and raging fits that happened when he first came home. Regrettably, my two older kids remember i!
t all too well. Words were shouted at them in anger, and unfortunately their dad doesn’t remember most of it.

My husband fought so hard to get treatment and it was very difficult to come by, and that is why I stayed with him through it all. Debatably, putting the kids through some horrific fights filled with screaming and hurling objects. My husband was going to any counselor, psychologist and psychiatrist he could. We were going to marriage counseling, but the kids had nothing. I was so consumed with fixing what was broke; I didn’t see what was falling apart right in front of my eyes. My kids were hurting. Instead of beating myself up over the kids’ emotional neglect, I became just as obstinate and stubborn over mending them as I did my husband. My first step in this direction was recognition. Telling the kids, I see what has happened and I know they are in pain. The hard part, after this omission was not letting them get away with murder. I, also, had them evaluated by a counselor. Honestly, she just told me they seemed more grown up then most kids. I didn’t accept her pacified!
conclusion. I knew there was much more going on though, especially, with my two teenage kids. My next move was really penciling in time for them. This is still difficult. Time is always my enemy. It never seems like there is enough. The absolute best move we made though was getting them into a church. Not only, did they have great counseling with the pastors, they had mentors. These mentors for my teens, served as their big brother and sister. It really encouraged the kids to talk, talk and talk some more about everything. It radically changed their perspective.

The last step to transforming the family is taking care of me. It is so important for me to stay healthy, mentally balanced and emotionally available for the kids. It is utterly exhausting to hold my Stretch Armstrong pose around my husband and kids. Sometimes, I need to let go and take care of myself, before I snap. Getting connected is the best advice I can give. It seems so hard, because it’s one more thing to do. Attending events or gatherings is difficult and I absolutely hate making plans, just for them to fall apart at the last minute due to PTSD moments or my husband’s health issues. Either my husband won’t go with me or I can’t leave him home if he’s feeling anxious or angry. It’s nice though to be able to go online a chat with someone. I can do it in the middle of the night, because there are women just like me going through the same thing: sitting up, late at night, alone, can’t sleep, stressed with the weight of the world on their shoulders. Family of the Vet has really helped me connect with some amazing ladies. I can’t thank them enough. Please make time for yourself and connect.

Submitted By: SandyO

Monday Momism: Bubbie Bear

2013-03-04T10:52:00.002-06:00

I want to start today's Monday Momism by clarifying that this post is not political/religious but rather my own feelings and experiences regarding what happened ten years ago.

Ten years ago this month, we went to Iraq. On a more personal level, my son and his unit went there. The irony is they weren't suppose to tell where they were going specifically but thanks to a media personality drawing into the sand, it wasn't long before everyone knew what was going on if they didn't already. From March, 2003 until my son came home over a year later, I spent every waking (and sleeping moment) in front of the news when I wasn't working, spending time with my two younger children or writing out on the front porch in case we got an unwelcome visitor bringing bad news. (I wanted to make sure one of my children didn't answer the door should that be the case.)

Before he left, we went to Ft. Polk to tell him goodbye. I already knew the situation. I had been on the phone with an operator because I got a “Mom” feeling and he told me that the unit had indeed received orders. This was before I spoke to my son. With just an hour's notice, I told the wonderful priest I worked for that I had to go out of town. Being former military himself as well as a man of God, he understood.

Before he left, my son gave his younger brother a sleeping bag and told his baby sister that the bear he had won at Six Flags two years earlier was now hers. He wanted her to watch over “Bubbie” Bear and told her the bear would watch over her as well. That very night while we stayed at a relative's home in Lake Charles, my younger son got the sleeping bag out of the car and slept in it. He did that every night over the next year.

When we returned home, my daughter ran to the bear first thing and hugged it, telling Bubbie Bear that her Bubbie had gone away. She began her own ritual that night. She would hug the bear which was literally taller than her. She would whisper to it. I overheard some of her friends ask her one night why she did that. She told them so her brother could feel her hug across the miles.

What my children didn't know until the release of my book was that I had my own ritual with those two gifts from their older brother. I would go into my younger son's room and wrap the sleeping bag around me from time to time, especially when I would hear something heartbreaking on the news. The day I got one of my letters returned unopened I sobbed into Bubbie Bear's furry arms myself while the Red Cross worked to see what was going on because I had been told the recipient was deceased, yet my son's stateside unit had no information. It was a tragic error due to the loss of someone else's son with a similar name. Many times I learned and experienced survivors' guilt here at home.

Over the years I have taken Bubbie Bear to after-school events and children's church to share our family's story. This usually happens the week before Veteran's Day. They fall in loth Bubbie Bar just as our family has. Several have told me they can feel the love in his arms when they hug him as well.

Over the past few weeks, Bubbie Bear has comforted me tremendously. I have been experiencing memories dealing with my son's deployment ten years ago this month. I have completed a story for children that is fictionalized that I hope will help children dealing with the deployment of a loved one.

My son now has a four year old son. He hugs Bubbie Bear whenever he comes to visit and talks to him also. Bubbie Bear has truly become a member of our family and a wonderful support system in his own way.

If you are dealing with your own memories and feelings as the family member of a veteran, please feel free to ask us to help you find the right resources or someone to talk to. Whether you are a spouse, sibling, child or parent of a veteran dealing with PTSD and/or a TBI, we have been there and can help. We understand because we have shared your journey. Please contact us if you have any questions or would like to be a part of Family of a Vet.

The Love Letter Campaign ~ From the Ashes of Our Lives We Are Building Our Dreams

2013-02-14T17:00:00.000-06:00

Kenny,

As I write this it has been 1 year, 2 months, and 22 days since we started talking on Skype.

What a journey we have been on in this very short time.

When we met I had only been living on my own for four months. This was a big step for someone who had married at 16 and never lived alone. Almost 11 years of not having to depend solely on myself was a difficult habit to unlearn but I was determined that I’d never be so codependent again. And although it would be dreadful to live without you - loving you has taught me more independence than I could have ever learned on my own.

When we met it had only been a month since you drove out from North Dakota and were living in your 24 foot fifth wheel on a beachside campground so you could be closer to your kids.

When we talked on Skype on Halloween night 2011 - my first thought was that you had the nicest face. I trusted your face immediately.

It was a gamble for me to get on a train six days later to visit a stranger but I never make decisions where I don’t trust myself. I told one friend who lived nearby you, where I would be.

When I got off the train and hugged you for the first time, you felt so soft and cuddly. You felt comfortable and safe and although I was nervous that you wouldn’t like me - I never felt unsafe as I climbed into your truck.

When you pulled over at the Beaver Boat Ramp to turn on my air bag and you kissed me - I wanted so badly to keep kissing you. The dark hour long drive back to your oceanside retreat was fantastic. We talked as if we were old friends and electricity jumped between us as our hands brushed and eventually embraced. It was exciting and exhilarating in the way that only falling in love is.

When we finally made it back to your place we couldn’t stop kissing. The evening was amazing and mind blowing. I questioned myself only once briefly but decided this was all too good to think too hard about. It was beautiful and passionate.

You showed me your scars. You let me touch them. I heard the shame you felt in your voice. I kissed each of them softly and told you I didn’t find them ugly at all.

The next day we walked hand in hand along a cliff overlooking the ocean and although we barely knew one another; without noticing the almost absurdity of it - made plans to return there in the summer.

It wasn’t too much later that you told me you had PTSD. As you explained the severity to me over the phone, I cried as silently as I could as I listened to the heartbreak in your voice. I didn’t have a good understanding of PTSD but since you had already taken it upon yourself to read and learn about polyamory which is important to me - that gave me the idea that I should learn about PTSD. So that is what I did. I started reading and learning and I still haven’t stopped.

For the next month we saw each other almost every weekend and then some. You surprised me, I surprised you. You brought candles, you sang to me, you danced in my living room with me, and your presence stole all of the oxygen in the room. The line between reality and dreamland got very fuzzy. Every time we parted ways it was more difficult than the last. Never knowing when we would be able to see each other again.

The longest we were apart was nine grueling days before Thanksgiving. Both our first Thanksgiving without our kids but at least we were together.

Not too long afterwards you tried to run away. You told me that you were too messed up and I should walk away. I told you that was stupidest thing you had ever said to me.

Exactly a month from when we met in person your world fell into disrepair and you had no one else to turn to. Panic was in your voice as you told me you had nothing left to live on after your card had been stolen.

Without thinking twice I told you to come stay with me. You had met my children the previous weekend and they were absolutely smitten with you. I told you I would help you and that we could figure this out.

So you came to stay with me and Madison. You changed our world. Suddenly we had a man in our lives who wanted to spend time with us. Who cared what we did and that we all sat down to dinner together. By the end of the first week I knew I never wanted you to leave.

But you were broken. Not even one year prior you had woken up in a hospital following one of your many surgeries to a balloon with a note tied to it from your now second ex-wife; telling you she was leaving and taking your kids. Well over a thousand miles away she took them.

Your kids, your reason for living... your inspiration, your heart and soul were ripped out of your life with absolutely no notice.

Moving in with me meant being hundreds of miles away from them when just two months prior you had sold as much of your belongings as you could and driven over a thousand miles so you could be less than fifty from them. But she wouldn’t let you see them when you were that close, what difference did it make that you were a few hundred miles away when the risk to staying was ending up homeless; you reasoned.

Hell followed close behind though as the anxiety and stress accumulated from her never ending lies; complicating the simplest tasks.

In the end she got her wish of never having to feel like the mother of a wounded soldier again. No longer will she be burdened with caring for you.

Perhaps she could never accept that the man who went to war was not the man that came home. This is not uncommon but either way she punishes you and your poor children to this day for her own pain that she cannot handle. The pain she causes radiates to everyone who loves you and them.

I guess I’m lucky. I have known you are broken from almost the beginning. I have known that one day you will be wheelchair bound. I have known that your wounds will never completely heal. As Plato said - “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

It is my honor though to walk alongside you, learn from you, and grow as individual because of the insight I am given in this position as your partner, caregiver, and advocate.

We spent a bittersweet first Christmas with my children. You sobbed big crocodile tears for your little ones that you missed so much and weren’t even allowed to speak to on the phone. I thought you might die of a broken heart.

Somehow we made it through to the new year though but spent January battling the lies and bullshit. Still we had moments of extreme pleasure and extreme hell.

Our first Valentines Day together was amazing. My doctor had just told us that my blood pressure was out of control so you took it upon yourself to make the madness stop. You surprised me with the best Valentines Day I had ever had. I will never forget it.

A few days later in the wee hours of the morning I brought you a little cake with a lit candle for your daughter’s 7th birthday. I held you in my arms as you sobbed.

It took a few months but as time went on it became easier and easier to let go of the anxiety.

We enjoyed each other’s company and spent a lot of quality time together. I felt so loved and fulfilled.
My children were able to feel loved and supported in the still difficult time because of you. They both continually express gratefulness for your presence in their lives even though we all had to come through a divorce to get here.

I had told you at some point that one day when I was in a better place I was going to have a baby, probably on my own but it was on my to do list. You surprised the shit out of me by telling me that you wanted to have a baby with me. That changed all of my dreams around.

It wasn’t too much later that without even thinking or talking about it - we started trying. The first time we knew it didn’t work we both realized how bummed we were and talked about it for real. Sure that it would take us a year or longer - we had a lot of fun in the making. Although it felt like an eternity it was only three or four months later that we got our wish. Right around the 4th of July - we conceived a baby of our own.

By that time - I was already deep into my roll as your caregiver. I lived and breathed PTSD land. I used all of my skills to manage your many health issues, doctors, and medications. As many of your stresses and issues compiled the year seemed to carry on even longer.

Your demons we battled brought us to the edge more than once.

Just this past Christmas I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it but you have surprised me by seizing the opportunity to utilize the help that is in front of you.

The extreme anxiety I felt just a few a weeks ago is almost a distant memory. I have hope because you are determined not let PTSD win. I have hope because you are determined to take your life back. I have hope because you have in this short time, shared more truths with me. I have hope because each time we reunite - you rebuild the trust bit by bit. I know that one day I’ll be able to stop worrying that you will leave or die.

You live with demons that the average person could not handle. You live with never ending physical pain. You live with the knowledge that your children’s lives will never be the same because of a few lies that a court room judge never even bothered to have investigated.

None of the people who have fucked you over and nor those who have believed the lies and bullshit could survive for one day in your shoes. They will get theirs. Just wait baby.

I have struggled with my insecurities. I have struggled with yours. I have struggled to make sense of the craziness that is our life as a blended and broken family.

I have struggled with my demons and with yours. I have struggled with my pain and with yours.

I struggle with a system that feigns its concern for you and every other Veteran in this nation.

I struggle with an invisible wall between me and the rest of the world who doesn’t live in PTSD land. So few willing to poke their heads just around the glass to see what it is their self elected politicians have allowed to happen to the souls that they send off to war in the name of “Freedom” and “Security”.

When I weigh these struggles this is what I find.

You make it all worth it. I can’t imagine my life any other way.
You are strong.
You are brave.

You continue to be loving, kind, and caring.
You continue to love with your whole heart.
You continue to sweep me off my feet.
You continue to fill up my love tank.

You helped me to find my passion.
You helped me to find purpose and meaning.

Although this is nowhere near where I thought I would be now - I can’t imagine my life any other way.

I will continue to care for you. I will continue to advocate for you. I will continue to fight for you. Not because you are perfect or blameless but because you are a good man down to your core. I see it in your eyes. I see it in the eyes of every little child that wanders up and starts talking to you. I see it in the eyes of every animal that trusts you. I hear it in my daughter’s voice when she tells me how much she loves you and how grateful she is to have you.

No one is perfect and few people could go through what you have been through and become the kind of man that you are. Whenever you talk to a stranger I wonder if they realize what an amazing person they just had the good fortune of interacting with. I often wonder if your friends know how lucky to have you as a friend.

*Late edit: Yesterday you were kind, patient, loving, attentive, and protective as I gave birth to our baby girl. You held me as I sobbed and touched me continuously as I needed. You were amazing in every way. I couldn't have gone through the most difficult birth I have ever had - without you by my side. Thank you for this wonderful Valentines Day gift.

Submitted By: Maria E.

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

The Love Letter Campaign ~ Letter To My Beloved

2013-02-14T14:09:00.000-06:00

Honey,
It is hard to believe it has only been 16.5 years together. We have been through hell and back together, never gave up. Don’t get me wrong there are times I think we both wanted to but we refused. We are stronger together then apart.

We have a good life, not a perfect one but a good one. We have learned to adapt to the changes we have had to make in our lives to keep on loving each other. The lessons have been hard and many times repeated but we have both learned a great deal from them.

Sometimes it hurts to not have a ‘normal life’, what is normal anyway?

When I look at you I see the man that was over joyed when Joey was born and how you would not leave our sides. I can still see you sleeping on the little chair/bed with Joey on your chest and the nurse coming in to check on us and wondering where our baby was.

I still see the look on your face when Veronica actually was a girl and not the boy the doctor thought. You were so delighted to have a little girl. You were also terrified to have a little girl. It was hard to imagine my husband who was a commercial fisherman and a soldier afraid of this tiny little bundle.

There are times I wish our life was different but I would not give up these memories for the world. I remember clearly the day I thought I lost you forever. So many emotions went through my mind all at the same time. I was so frustrated that no one could tell me anything so I waited and waited. I remember the sound of your voice when you told me you were alive. 8,000 miles apart and it felt like you were in the next room. I was happier on that day then I was when I married you or when we had our babies.

You were my rock in June when Debbie was killed and so many other times in our life together. I am not sure I would want this adventure of life with anyone but you. We have held each other up at different times, under different circumstances. Thank you for putting up with all my craziness on top of all your own. I know you will always have my back as I will have yours.

I Love You!
Pam

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

The Love Letter Campaign ~ To Sean and Melissa Johnson

2013-02-13T11:00:00.000-06:00

To My Amazing Daughter and Her Amazing Veteran Husband

I do not have words to tell you both how much I honor, love and respect you. You have been through hell and back, and keep getting up every day and putting one foot in front of the other. I admire your strength, your love, your faith in God, and your refusal to give up. You are my daughter and my son, and you are my heroes. It is my honor and privilege to love you and to lift you up in prayer every day.

Love,
Mom

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

The Love Letter Campaign ~ You Are Home to Me

2013-02-12T14:34:00.001-06:00

My dearest Kyle,

I still remember that May day in Raleigh. I got off the plane and ran to the ladies’ room to touch up my makeup and spritz some perfume before you showed up. I was so excited. I was waiting at baggage claim when I saw you walk around the corner in your “No, I will not fix your computer” shirt that is adorably too-small for you (it is okay to get rid of it, y’know), with a huge grin on your face. You picked me up and wrapped your arms around me, and stole a little piece of my heart in that moment.

I remember that August day in Portland, where you were waiting for me as close as security would let you. I ran down that tunnel toward you, dropped my bag, and you crushed your mouth to mine as you swung me around. When we finally got to the car, you stopped kissing me barely long enough to tell me you’d brought me a little gift - one of your favorite desserts - an East-coast novelty I’d never had. Your thoughtful nature has always been one of the things I love most about you.

It’s been six years, and I still remember those snippets like they were yesterday. Life with you has been filled with those magical, heart-stopping moments - pulling into the parking lot for a sunset walk on the beach, singing along with “When You Say Nothing At All” on the radio; driving down the road on a weekend getaway, feeding you spaghetti from a take-out box, stealing kisses at all the stoplights; our three-year anniversary at a resort out here, where our waitress paid for our breakfast because she overheard us talking and deduced you’d just gotten home from Afghanistan. Our old apartment manager still talks about us. The day we came in to sign our first lease together, we looked so in love that she still remembers that day as well as I do.

When I got your recall orders that day in December, my heart sank. We had only been living together four months, and they were stealing you back! You packed up to drive out to Lejeune, dropped me off at school one last morning and kissed me good-bye, and headed out on your year-long trek that would change things for us permanently.

In a lot of ways, I appreciated that deployment. I think we learned to love each other more than we thought possible. Every day was precious, and every word was sacred. You started every conversation with “My love!” or “Hi, sweetie,” and I ended them with “I love you, schnookums.” My heart swelled with pride when others would ask about you. I remember the tears in my eyes when you had flowers delivered to work on Valentine’s Day, and how everyone else in the office was jealous when you told me you were sending me to a day spa for Christmas. You were half a world away, and still did your best to make me feel special. Deployment was far from easy for both of us, but we made sure the other was taken care of.

Then you came home. We celebrated our three-year anniversary, and you got a new job here. And we struggled with reintegration. You were so willing to fight for us. We went to counseling for months, trying to find that sweet spot where we fit together so well again. It was too elusive, though, and we went our separate ways.

That year apart made me value you even more. I called you on what would have been our wedding day, because I missed my best friend. I wanted to spend what was going to be one of the happiest days of my life with you.

The last six months have been wonderful. We both learned from our mistakes in that time we spent apart. I know, without a doubt, that my heart was meant for you to hold. We both acknowledged that six years ago, but now I know that we were right. That “soul mate” I bragged about is still in there - sometimes hiding, but there nonetheless.

Things haven’t been easy. You deal with pain daily, and aren’t that touchy-feely emotional guy I fell so in love with. My heart has hardened a lot with all that anger you had when you came home, and I’m slowly learning to communicate in a healthier way.

But I’m not giving up again. I missed my sexy man. My thoughtful, sweet, hard-working man. I missed the best steak-griller I’ve ever met. The one who makes me feel safe and respected. I missed you, and I realize that every time we kiss. You are home to me, schnookums, and I will be by your side to support you, love you, and be patient on those days when your feelings are elusive. You were so strong when I needed you, and now I’m ready to be strong when you need me. We can face those scary feelings and emotions and the rest of the world together, because while we may not have always had faith in “us,” we’ve always had faith in each other.

I love you.

Always yours,

- Brianna

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

Monday Momism: Valentine's Day and Tough Noodles

2013-02-11T13:29:00.004-06:00

Thursday is Valentine's Day and for all of you parents who are wondering how to deal with the PTSD and/or the TBI your veteran adult child came home with, let me give you a heart-warming gift in this short blog post right now: You have found a family/home that understands. Family of a Vet welcomes all family members. I've been with the group a little over a year now and I can tell you: they accept me, they welcome me, they are here for me.

Many are wives and I have to tell you, not only have they helped me express myself, they have allowed me to help them if one of them needs to talk or vent. We all respect the fact that we can see things from different angles and we can be here to listen, to help with finding resources, to just be around someone who understands how different life is these days with the realization that they didn't come home alone: they came home with PTSD and a TBI.

As you celebrate this Valentine's Day, take a look at our Love Letters campaign. We can all identify on different levels with how this day is different now. As for me? I am continuing to try to help and educate others as well as be supported myself by these wonderful members, because I am the mom of a wounded veteran who told me at the age of four that he loved me "tough noodles" and that's the most you can love anyone. Tough noodles? Let's just say I didn't always get the macaroni cooked through and my mom would get onto me about those tough noodles. My son immediately defended me and said that creative phrase which lives on in our family still today.

Happy Valentine's Day and know that you are loved and supported here, tough noodles and all.

Being an "Involved" School Parent... Even When Things Are Crazy!

2013-02-09T16:08:00.001-06:00

So, I've been working *reallllllly* hard this year at being an "involved" parent at our sweet daughter's school (despite our crazy life). Let's face it - multiple trips to the VA every week, little sleep, endless ups and downs, etc, etc, can make it sort of difficult to even get her to school on time - much less do EXTRA stuff :)

A lot of "us" - veterans and spouses raising kiddos while also dealing with PTSD and TBI - have a hard time with that. BUT statistics say our kids do better when we're involved (and, it is actually fun! LOL).

Here are some things I've done this year (and then I'm going to give you instructions for helping your child and his or her classmates make the card above!).

This year, I have:

Asked for the teacher's e-mail address (and if it was okay to stay in touch that way since it's the easiest / most efficient for me since a lot of my catch-up is done in the midnight to 2am range)
Checked as often as possible (as time and budget allow) if there are extra supplies or items the teacher needs for the classroom that I can send.
I've also watched clearance racks and super-sales for items that are useful to the teacher and/or school. For example, our local dollar store had tons of kids crafts on clearance for $0.10 - $0.25 recently. I spent $5.00 and sent tons of "stuff".
Her teacher frequently uses her own iPad in the classroom. So, when I run across permanently or temporarily free apps that may be helpful, I send a quick e-mail with the link.
About once a month I send a "thank you" - a short, hand-written note in our daughter's take home folder - and mention something our daughter has been particularly excited about lately. For example: "Thanks so much for putting together the story book activity for the class. Our daughter LOVED it!".
And, as pictured above, I try to watch magazines (or my latest addiction - PINTEREST!) for cute, classroom friendly crafts. When I find something fast and easy, I'll send a photo to the teacher via e-mail and ask if it would be helpful for me to send the supplies and instructions.

Anyway, this strategy has kept me a lot more involved this year - and, as a result, has really helped keep the communication between our daughter's teacher and I going at a lot better level this year. When issues do arise (much more common in our PTSD / TBI households), there's now a "rapport" already built... I'm comfortable, she's comfortable, everybody (most importantly our daughter!) wins :)

As promised, here are the instructions for the card above. It was originally printed in the last edition of Family Fun magazine, but didn't have many detailed instructions. See it on their website here: http://www.parents.com/holiday/valentines-day/crafts/eight-sweet-valentines-day-crafts/?rb=Y#page=7

For each card you'll need:

1 - Full Sheet (8-1/2 x 11) of Red Cardstock (for the base of the card)
1 - Half Sheet (8-1/2 x 5.5) of White, Purple or Pink Cardstock (for the hands)
Scissors
Glue
A Red Marker, Pen, or Crayon

To get the "craft kits" ready to send for our daughter's classroom, I purchased enough for each child to make a few (so they could give one to parents and also grandparents, siblings, etc.)

I pre-folded all of the red cardstock (simply fold in half - easier to do in a large quantity if you have a hard surface to press on) and then used a "Handmade for you by..." stamp I already had on the back (so each child could write their name!). I also pre-dated the backs neatly with a black permanent marker (I always hate it when I look at a craft our kiddo has done and can't remember exactly when!). I put all of the pre-folded card bases in one, gallon-sized ziploc and labeled it.

Then, I cut enough half sheets of the "accent" colors (white, pink, purple) for each child to choose 3, and placed those in labeled bags.

I also included 3 "samples" for the teacher to be able to show the kids and instructions for her.

Now, if your child is part of an "older" classroom, you can stop here. You're done :) Good job!

If your child is younger, like mine who is a first grader, you may want to go a step further. When my daughter and I practiced at home, the hands took the longest (and where the most irritating for her!). So, I sent with the "craft kits" an extra white sheet labeled with each child's name and a quart-size bag with each child's name. Then, I asked the teacher to have the children pick their three "hand pieces" (white, pink, or purple) and trace their hand on the labeled white sheet and put everything in their labeled bag and send them home to me. Then, I cut out all the cute little hands and sent them back. It didn't take too horribly long AND made things MUCH simpler in the classroom.

This is something you could replicate (I plan to) for other holidays, too! Maybe even as a way to help the teacher announce to parents the "end of year" activities.

So, there you go... go get involved ;)

Hugs,

Brannan Vines
Proud wife of an OIF Veteran
Founder of FamilyOfaVet.com - an organization dedicated to helping heroes and their loved ones survive and thrive after combat with real world info about PTSD, TBI, and Life After Combat!

Sex and PTSD.

2013-02-01T05:37:00.000-06:00

Follow the link to my blog, I'm super sorry folks, I hate to redirect traffic, and usually I post these things here first... But, tonight it didn't happen that way.

My take on Sex, PTSD, Intimacy, and how Iraq continues to rob me of those things that I so desperately need.

http://damespaz.blogspot.com/2013/02/sleeping-and-dormant-love.html

The Love Letter Campaign ~ Made For Each Other

2013-01-31T12:33:00.000-06:00

My dear husband,

We had no idea, but our lives were planned out before we were even born. We were made for each other. When you were born, your dad made a joke that maybe one day we'd get married. And here we are. We had such a great and fun friendship growing up. But then my dad retired before yours, and decided to move somewhere warmer. Those 8 years we didn't really see each other, almost doesn't feel like it ever really happened. When we reunited in our early 20's, it just seemed that we picked up right where we left off. The connection was too great to ignore. We really were destined to be together.

Life was not easy for us when we started out. There were many who thought it was too much, too soon. I knew in my heart you were the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. 2 months into our relationship, though we had only spent a matter of a few weeks together, because you were still in AIT, and using up leave every chance you got to come see me and Logan, you proposed to me. You bought not one, but TWO engagement rings, because you were worried the one you picked out would not ship in time. The ring you chose for me, was, and is so beautiful. I see that you were trying to find something unique, so that I wouldn't see the same ring on someone else's finger. And to this day, I have not. There's no way I could have said no to you. I almost felt my heart just stop when you slipped it onto my finger, and asked me to marry you. Every time our weekend had come to an end, I just felt such strong sadness in saying goodbye, it almost physically hurt.

I've felt that hurt many times since then. But I've also felt such incredible, indescribable joy in all the times we've been able to say hello, again. When we were married, seeing your face light up is a sight I will never EVER forget. We had so little when we got married. A laundry basket for an entertainment center/table, an air mattress for a bed for months... Those were the days. We were still so very happy. Then, we found out we were expecting our first child, together. Logan was so excited to be a big brother. The look on your face when you found the surprise I had left you in the mail box, telling you that we were pregnant. You picked me up and hugged me so tight. It felt like you held me forever.

Then, only one week later I woke up feeling that something was wrong. You were gone to PT. After I got out of bed, I quickly realized what was happening. I was losing the baby that we tried so hard for, and wanted so badly. That was one of the worst days of my entire life. I felt like I failed you. I feel like I let everyone down. I blamed myself, that maybe I did something wrong, though I was eating well, and taking care of myself. It just didn't make sense. When we got home from the hospital, we just lay in bed, and held each other and cried. I'll never forget that baby, and I know you won't either. Though he/she was not growing inside me for long, that baby was loved so much. I know we will meet him/her one day. I am so thankful that I didn't go through that alone. You were there for me 100%. Yes, it was one of the worst days in my life, but I had you, and there's nothing in this world that could have made healing mentally/physically/emotionally any easier.

A few months later, SURPRISE! We were pregnant again. This pregnancy, other than Gestational Diabetes, was a healthy pregnancy. You were... You were incredible. You painted my toes, you ran out at all hours of the night to get me whatever I was craving, you talked to my belly and loved on our precious baby non-stop. I wish you were able to experience my entire pregnancy, but... Military life had really kicked in. You geared up, and shipped out on your first deployment. Nothing could have prepared me for how difficult it was going to be. To be without you, to settled into a town/state that was completely new to me, to have a baby on my own. Thankfully, you were granted emergency leave, and made it in

time to see our son into the world, this perfect, beautiful, little chunky butt. I saw that same joy on your face as the day we got married. Life was good.

And just as fast as you were there, you were gone again, and I was left to hold down the fort. Living in the apartment felt really unsafe, so you urged me to start the process of buying a home. I found a home that was perfect for us, and welcomed you home there when your deployment was over. There was that handsome face of yours again. That joy on your face that I live for. You lit up seeing me and our boys. Life was amazing.

Hey... Remember when we got that silly idea to try for another baby when our youngest son was 6 months old? Yeah, me too :) Such happy news, and then there's that gut wrenching hurt again, when you got orders right after we found out we were expecting again. Timing has never been our thing, has it? Our perfect, beautiful little girly girl was born a month after you said goodbye, again. Thankfully, you made it just in time, once more. Fast forward another 11 months, and you were FINALLY home from that deployment.

You had figured it out that you had been actually HOME for about 1/4 of our relationship. Between schools, deployments, training, etc. So, this was it. This was our happily ever after. Except it wasn't. You had experienced things that had changed you. One thing in particular, which will be with you for the rest of your life. Life since you've been home has been more than hard. My hysterectomy from pregnancy/birth complications, adding special needs into our life with one of our children, and now PTSD. Our lives are forever changed by PTSD...

There's one thing that hasn't changed, my love for you. My love for you will only grow stronger with each day. Sometimes I'll fall to my knees, and ask why this has all happened to us. But I'll quickly get back up, and keep soldiering on, just as you have done in your military career. You are my oldest, dearest friend. You are the love of my life. You are the father of my children. You are, to me, the most incredible man that has ever lived. My love for you will not lessen with all of these trials and tribulations. For better, or for worse, in sickness, and in health, you are the man I gave my heart to, and I will never give up on you, or our family.

Thank you for choosing me to give your heart to. Out of all the women on this earth, you chose me. To say I am honored to be your wife is an understatement. I love you, babe, with everything I have.

Submitted By: The wife of a hero

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

5 Things I Learned on Hiatus - aka Why Going a Bit Crazy is Good For You

2013-01-28T23:29:00.000-06:00

So, as many of you know (and some may have just noticed), I've been on a bit of a hiatus... finding my feet and my spirit again... doing lots of praying, letting myself "be", and honestly being a bit crazy (in the "hiding from the world, oh crap can't really deal with this" way... not in the good "let's get crazy and have some fun" kind of way)

Here are some things I've learned while on hiatus -

#1 - When life gangs up on you all at once, you discover quickly people (often not who you would expect, and at other times exactly who you would expect) that are going to just keep at you until you find your feet. Sometimes, kindly and gently, sometimes in a "kick your six" kind of way - but nevertheless, you quickly KNOW who is not going to run.

#2 - You also, sadly, find people who are at a place in their own life that you're brokenness isn't something they can handle. You'll be grateful for the first set, and hopefully be able to love, forgive, and recognize the struggles of this set. Maybe next time around, they'll be different, or maybe next time around you'll be part of their #1 group. Whichever way it works out, compassion always wins.

#3 - The place you're supposed to be in life (and the work you're supposed to be doing) will ALWAYS call you back to it. You can't escape it, run from it, or hide. We're each built for a purpose. It's easier just to nod your head in agreement, dust yourself off, and get back on the path again.

#4 - I'm at a point in my life (and even a year or two ago, this wouldn't have been the case), where I'm perfectly okay saying, "Hey, I'm going down here... give me a bit, I'll figure it out, but right now I suck". There's a freedom in that - and a peace in that. AND, it allows people to step up (see #1) and hold you up while you find your feet. I don't see any shame in that... matter of fact, I find the other way quite foolish.

#5 - I'm not quite ready to kick "grass", but I'm getting there. AND, I'm okay with that. I'm okay with baby steps. I'm okay with still being a bit off. I'm okay. Why? Because life may knock me around a bit, but God never, ever fails to teach me something along the way. And, those lessons are powerful. I just have to choose to listen.

((HUGS)),
Brannan

Brannan Vines
Proud wife of an OIF Veteran
Founder of FamilyOfaVet.com - an organization dedicated to helping heroes and their loved ones survive and thrive after combat with real world info about PTSD, TBI, and Life After Combat!

Bossing the Therapist

2013-01-28T20:56:00.001-06:00

This evening, on a Monday, a usual *bleh* day for, I spent with my therapist. I like him. Fiesty little New Yorkah with an office reminiscint of a pub. My kind of fellow, really, if I have to work on my demons, then I most prefer it with a no nonsense kind of guy.

So, Monday's with the New Yorkah, I've done it a few times now. Feel pretty good about it. Had his office memorized, it was a safe zone. But tonight I walk in, and to my left is a loud mouthed man cocked back in the reception desk with a stalking cap on, on the cell phone. Talking about snow removal. He was new, he didn't belong. Senses tingling. He didn't move so I kept walking back to the office. Hoping the New Yorkah would intercept me in the hall. Which to his credit he did.

Out side his office he switches on his noise machine and we proceed.

However, EVERYTHING in me says, NO. He rearranged. Really. There was absolutely NO reason for the spring turn around, I laughed at myself as I razzed him about it, except deep down, I was kind of pissed. Why dude? I swear he was messing with me. He asked if it was okay, I think I rolled my eyes. I took my spot. A new spot. A spot that felt wrong, and sharp, and irritating.

So now that I was aware enough to note that I was uncomfortable, I tried so hard to be a good patient. Be the observer, feel what you feel, and let it go, type stuff. I was not my normal self tonight. I could tell. I'm sure he could he could tell. 45 minutes into it, I couldn't see him anymore, the tears were hot and obscuring my vision. I looked at him and he saw me shift.

I was extrememly embarassed when I had to explain to him my little melt down about to ensue had NOTHING to do with what we were talking about, but about "Why? Why did you change your office?"

He politely pointed I was right next to the door.

Yes, but I need to SEE the door. I was alittle irritated, so I asked him to ask the next combat vet who comes in how HE thinks of the new arrangement. (That was me being lashy).

I need to see the door. I need to see the door. Holy Crap. I need to see the door.

So we swapped spots. His big black chair sitting facing the door, inviting. But, sulking like a spoiled little brat with secondary, I drug over a wooden chair. The one that SHOULD have been there in the first place.

It felt so, so RIGHT. The second I could see the door, tears, gone. Anxiety, gone. In fact, I do believe I took a big deep breath, and blew it out. Smiled.

Poor New Yorkah. Bet he's never seen secondary like me before.

The Love Letter Campaign ~ ...And This One Time At Camp Taji

2013-01-28T12:31:00.002-06:00

In Nov.2007,I had enlisted into the PAARNG.I came out of BCT/AIT in 2008 and deployed to Iraq. A fresh face not knowing anything but what I was taught in basic training. A start for a new life for me. I was assigned to A trp 2/104th cavalry through most of my deployment. We were an elite squad called TAC-B. Our daily mission was to carry 'brass' to meet with the Iraqi leaders,IP,IA, and such. Our main goals were to bring everyone home safely,and 360 security for the meetings. Our missions were an absolute success on a daily basis.

I was ate up like a soup sandwich when i arrived with TAC-B. I had just made E-3 the week before. I was left behind at the TAC office for the first 2 weeks of my entry doing details and odd jobs. My first mission outside the wire proved to be the most exciting thing I have ever done. Adrenalin pumped through every inch of my body, i was restless. I could not sit still at all and I was very edgy. Paranoia swept over me, I watched every person that looked at me. Day after day, I trusted nobody. I didn't even really trust my team, not that they gave me a reason not to. I performed my duty and performed well above what I feel that I have done. I really felt no accomplishment.

By the end of the first few months I was well adapted. Later I was told that I would be leaving the TAC and placed with my home unit until the end of it. I was told to switch housing units just before Easter. It was not far but just far enough. Saturday night I could not sleep at all. I was awake til daybreak. It was time for the mission, and we went and executed it perfectly. As soon as we got back in and geared down we had another order. I was empty I had no strength to pull through it. I asked my COC if I could go back and rest to be ready for the next mission. I got the go ahead and I went to my now relocated housing unit. That evening i was startled awake by the unit shaking, a loud boom, and a lot of people outside. I grabbed up my rifle and magazine and proceeded to load it as I was exiting my house.

Just as I pulled the charging handle back to go red, somebody stopped me and explained that a rocket exploded above us. I was somewhat relieved, I didn't know what was going on. I thought that our base was being taken over. Now that i was clear on the incident, I went to check on my 'battles' just a short distance away. I knocked on every door. Nobody was back from the second mission yet. I started getting nervous and worried that they were not back before dark. I went to the 1SGT to do accountability and broke into the TAC to wait. Around 0100 is when the PLT SGT came in. Everyone was back safe.It wasn't until a few days later that I had found out that shrapnel came through the roof of one of the neighboring houses and shredded the pillow of another soldier. We carried on the rest of the time in country. With 2 weeks left, I had been sent to my home unit in the EOD compound.

The return home was bitter sweet. I had returned to a hopeless situation I found myself to be more reclusive and depressed and I didn't want to drink. I was more aggressive and severe agitation. My anger had boiled over and threatened to tear me down. With debt, and no one to really turn to, also to find I had a daughter that was 3. To top it all off, my car had been wrecked the day before i got back to the States. I had just given up on it all. F** IT !!

I had NOTHING. One night I decided to take a trip that changed my life. During my last weeks I was chatting up with some people online, and the one in particular, was Katrina. I decided on taking a road trip to meet her in her mountain town apartment, and never looked back. Last year we were married. We have been struggling on and off for a while, but we are surviving as a family. BARELY

Submitted By: Spc. Carter

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

Monday Momism: Taking Time 4 You

2013-01-21T18:39:00.003-06:00

Time gets away from us. It's been two weeks since I posted a Monday Momism. Between work, family and a touch of the flu, I have been a wee bit negligent of my blogging time. Which actually makes this...a perfect blog post for not only myself, but all of us. It's time to...Take Time for Ourselves...WITHOUT feeling guilty about it. Don't you agree?

Taking Time 4 You

Quiet Time: Are you an early riser? Do you like to stay up late? I became an exceptionally early riser when my son first went to Iraq in 2003. We're talking 3 a.m. a lot of times. I had a fear of a knock at the door waking my two younger kids up and I didn't want that to happen. I sat on my front porch and wrote. I wrote in my journal, wrote short stories, even a little play called “Jacob's Letters”. I prayed, talking to God like He was next to me having a cup of coffee. I rested in the quiet of the early morning, knowing my younger two children were sleeping safe in their beds and that I had not received a call or visit attesting to harm or injury (at that time) to my oldest.

We have a PTSD/TBI combat veteran in our home. I still see the need for quiet time and I still get it in the mornings when he is finally sleeping after being up half the night. I understand what he is going through from the angle of being a family member. I spent most of my nights watching the news and writing, begging God to keep him safe. I know it is different if the veteran is your spouse, or even if it is you yourself, but still, find a quiet time and take it just for you.

Hobby Time: What is your passion outside of your family? Do you like to write? Scrapbook? Draw/paint? Sew? Cook? Working on your passion, making it come to life, gives you a sense of fulfillment. It can go as slow or as fast as you want/need it to. I like to write and my passion helped me when my son was overseas. It helps me still today by getting my frustrations out on paper through fictional characters. My passion has led me to a dream come true, being a contributor to a magazine.

Besides writing, I also like playing games, scrapbooking, reading and spending time with my cats. Yes, I'm that cat lady you often hear about. Spending time with your passion relieves your brain of some of the stress that has built up and that can help you tremendously healthwise. I am also making a scrap “book” about my son for my grandson.. It is a way of letting him know who his daddy was as a little boy and a teenager and how our lives were changed by 9/11 and Iraq.

Social Time: Okay, if your first instinct is “But I can't go out and leave him alone, it's part of the problem!” relax. With the internet, you have Facebook and support groups through there. You can play cards, dominoes, chess/checkers, and all those “Ville” games. You can catch up with family who don't live close by.

That hobby? Join a group! There are scrapbooking groups, bridge/canasta/pinochle groups. There's the 50 Zone. Our own support group had a Christmas get together at Logan's that I still feel the love and caring from three weeks later. Our Chinese Christmas game was fun. More importantly, I left that night feeling like I had connected with all of you on a friendship level as well as a shared experience one. For those with Christian views, there are wonderful life groups through churches. Bowling is fun, as well as just getting together for coffee.

Volunteer Time: Even while my son was in Iraq, I was already volunteering, though I didn't realize it. I let a girl call and vent to me several times because she was mad at her boyfriend's mother and I didn't want her sharing that with him while he was a combat zone. I can't count the times I heard both through the media and in person about someone ending their life over there or not being fully alert because a fight with a loved one on the phone was still on their minds and hearts. We have it rough, true, but during combat, they have it even harder in my opinion. She and I are still friends to this day. When a friend in a support group said she gets upset at her son sometimes and then remembers “he came home”, I understood perfectly. When another friend shared one evening her own survivors' guilt feelings about how some died over there and for their families there was closure but we still have PTSD and TBI occurrences in our daily lives, I got it. Knowing there are others out there like us and volunteering as a certified peer specialist or as a family member who can help others find resources has helped me to better understand my chosen journey in life.

I love kids. I never grew up in spite of the fact that I am about to turn 50. I still play soccer and video games and tag. My body doesn't always appreciate it, but it makes me feel young in other ways.

I have volunteered in the Adult Literacy program, Habitat for Humanity and the food pantry at church. Volunteering really does help us see the blessings that are sometimes clouded by our own stressful situations and we end up doubly blessed when we help someone else.

These four ways of making time happen and having it set aside ends up helping you to feel energetic, confident, stronger and happier. By following these four guidelines, you can help yourself as well as your family situation. All you have to do is tell yourself:”I'm going to

Take

Time

Me”

The Love Letter Campaign ~ Ten Year Milestone

2013-01-21T10:40:00.000-06:00

Sean,

We are about to reach the ten year mile stone in our marriage. A feat that seems more difficult to find in couples these days, especially couples in our same situation. I know I wrote you a letter for the first year of this Campaign, but I felt that since we are so close to such an important time in our marriage, that another letter was deserved.

Back on that April day in 2003, when I made the choice to remain home from school so that I could marry you before you left the next day to return to Germany, I knew that this was the step I wanted to take. I know some thought us too young, but I knew what I wanted and that of course was a life with you. I was ready and it made me ever so happy that you were ready too.

Of course neither one of us could have ever planned you getting injured, but that is life for you, putting wrenches in gears and such. We barely got to spend our first years of marriage together before you were injured and thus I have spent most of our marriage learning about this new "you" and what a journey it has been.

I know the man I married is not the same man, but even without your injuries I kind of expected us both to grow up in some ways and change. I was looking forward to us growing up together, but we were forced to grow up so fast. From the moment you came home from your deployment, I could tell you were different, but ignored it. I was just glad to have you back, especially after two injuries, I didn't want to lose you. So, I spent the first several months living with blinders.

I saw the changes in you and would make excuses to myself that it wasn't a big deal as you were just adapting back to being home. When you would see the Army doctors and get prescriptions, I figured that would make things better and we could continue on as we planned. When you ETS'd out of the Army and we went back to the States, I realized very quickly those blinders needed to come off and I had to face the truth.

I was married to a different man.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to take the time to process this as we found out right away that we were going to be parents. Life for us became very chaotic, between adjusting to parenthood and facing the reality of your injuries. The next few years were a whirlwind of VA appointments, Doctor's appointments, home jumping, job searching, child rearing, and so much more.

We fought so much. I cried a great deal. You slept at great lengths to avoid the pain. I felt so alone and had no idea what would happen next. I was so worried it was the end.

That was when it happened.

That day where you finally reached out to me when I felt sure I couldn't take anymore. You reached out and told me you needed me. I knew then, despite the changes in you, that I didn't want to abandon you. I knew that you needed me to help you find your way back from the darkness and not leave you there alone.
The next part of our journey was a roller coaster ride, so many ups and downs, but I strived to keep us going. We went through doctor changes at the VA, medication changes, job changes so I could be home with you more, home changes again, and constant daily life changes.

Then came along a second child.

Life became more chaotic than before, but I stuck with you. I left my job completely knowing home was where I was needed. Money was tight, but I made it work. It was then you went through some difficult therapies. I did my best to keep you encouraged, to keep you from falling.

Life became alright for a bit. We worked out ways to make life flow a little less crazy. The children were getting older and everything seemed like it would be alright for us as a family.

The thing is, it will never be like it was before. You still struggle daily, even with your medications and therapies. Our lives still have to be handled differently from others. I know this troubles you. I know how much you don't like not being able to do more for us. I know that the daily pain fills you with bitterness. I know that you feel we all deserve someone better. I know you see how much of a toll it is on me sometimes to be your Caregiver while also taking care of the children. I know you wish you could give back as much as you get from us.

Here is what I want you to know.

I love you. I always have. I always will. Sure you have changed. Sure you are disabled. Sure we have to handle things differently. Sure it might mean we will all go crazy. What is important though that we do all of this together!

So, ten years ago when we made our vows we ended up with more, "For the Worse" than we expected. I think though that it is okay, because it has helped us become stronger. It has taught us a great many things we would have never learned if life had always been easy for us and I am grateful for the lessons.

We were never like traditional couples from the get go and I don't see that as a bad thing. We have come this far and I am planning for us to go even further together and you know how I am with my plans! I just want you to know I am here for you, that you still mean so very much to me. You always call me your, "shining star" and I want you to know I want to always be that for you! Yes, even when I am losing my mind and acting like the one who went to war, I still want to be with you.

Though in a way I have been to war. No, not the same kind of war you have and my own war could never compare, never. I just mean, I have been in the war of keeping our marriage whole. I fight to keep us together through every struggle from the normal battles like money to the more difficult battles like whether you are going to make it outside of the house today. I think I'm winning though, so I continue to stand on the field of combat because I feel my war is worth it.

Who knows what the next ten years will bring us or even the next twenty, but I feel confident that we will make it through.

You are my soul.

You are my hero.

You are my warrior.

Ich liebe dich.

~Aimee

Submitted By: Aimee L. Taylor

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

The Love Letter Campaign ~ Missing You/Remembering the Good Times

2013-01-18T11:00:00.000-06:00

Dearest Codybear,

I still remember the night I met you, maybe not the exact date, but what happened that night. I had driven to Hinesville with a HUGE pot of Chili and a German Chocolate cake because all of my friends didn't have enough gas money to get everyone to my apartment in Savannah so I decided to drive down instead. When I got there, I couldn't find anyone but Brad and I wasn't going to cart all that food back home. I walked over to Dave's room to invite him over for dinner and while I’m talking to him you come to his door. I didn't think anything of it and invite you too even though you're holding a pizza box. So we finally get everyone together and enjoy chili and cake and beer and whatever else we were drinking. I go outside with Dave to have a cigarette and you follow us out and we start talking. We sat on that picnic table for hours just talking. When we finally realize how late it is I've been locked out of where I was going to stay that night and I was about to go sleep in my truck, but realized I didn't have my keys, they were still in Brad’s room. You said I could sleep in your room. I felt such a connection with you that night; we talked about anything and everything. I loved your goofy grin from that first moment. (Though I didn't find out till later that you followed me to Dave's room.) We decided to get married rather quickly, you never actually proposing to me. And we both made some mistakes early on. And I knew nothing of PTSD, but looking back, I see what I now know as big RED Flags. I wish I had known what I do today about it. Though I know I couldn't make you get help. You wouldn't get help, I know the VA is of no help, but we could have/should have found a way. We moved back to Virginia after you got out, close to my family, which I know caused a lot of our problems because they don't like you. When you got in trouble, when everyone was telling me to leave you, I stood by. I still loved you, I believed you. I still do. I know that is not who you are.
I was so glad when we decided to move to Missouri to be closer to your family, even though it was too late to be close to Mom and Grandma. Though I didn't know them very well I love them as if they were my own. I needed to get away from my family, I love them dearly but they were putting a strain on our relationship.

I miss seeing your goofy grin, your stupid sayings; I even miss your fidgety leg. I enjoyed going on walks with you, and even fishing if you would stay close to me. What I miss most is just lying in the bed or cuddling on the couch, me reading and you watching those darned fishing or hunting shows. I miss the way you looked at me in that first 2 years of our marriage. Then in the last couple, I forgot what I promised 8 years, 1 month and 3 days ago. That I would honor and cherish you in sickness and in health till death do us part. Yes, you did cheat on me and I told you I couldn't live with you at the time because it didn't seem like you wanted to come back to me that you wanted her more. So a year ago you left, I was so hurt and angry, but at the same time I was angry at myself for not nurturing that love and by resenting you for the things we couldn't afford.

I had pushed you away because I didn't know how to deal with you, or your flashbacks, and your relentless need to go fishing. Yes, I know that was how you dealt with your symptoms, shut it out and went fishing. I knew you loved to fish when I first met you, I think that's all we did when we were dating was go fishing, or you did and I watched or read.

Six months after you left you called and told me you were moving up north to live with your dad, I wanted to see you. That night was so special to me. When you held me in your arms I felt safer than I had in months if not years. I loved you that night, truly loved you like I hadn't in a long time, we sat up and talked for hours, just like the night we met. That night I saw the man I married, sweet, caring, funny, (even though we were talking about some really heavy things you made me laugh) you could always make me laugh. You said you would keep in touch, work on our relationship long distance, but you disappeared, I had no way to contact you I didn't have your dad's number. I was pregnant, I had a positive test in early August, and I was terrified, and excited, and sad. I wanted to call and tell you so bad. You had dropped off the face of the earth; your brothers hadn't heard from you and didn't have your dad's number. I didn't tell a soul about the baby, because I didn't know what to do. I was alone, living back with my parents, didn't have a job, and didn't think I could raise a child alone. But then, a few days after the positive test I lost the baby, and I needed you then more than I ever have in my life before but you were nowhere to be found. I still couldn't tell anyone, it hurt too much, so I bore it in silence and tears. I survived, and started moving on after that, I tried so hard to forget you, still haven’t even spoken to a lawyer about a divorce even though I’m being pressured to. I started dating again, and feeling awful about it, and guilty.

I still LOVE YOU.

Our Anniversary was miserable. I cried almost all day I went out like we used to; I ate Chinese by myself thinking about you and remembering the good times. And Christmas was almost unbearable; I kept thinking about you, where you were, were you all right and remembering all our happy memories. I prayed that you were still alive and somewhere warm. Then a few days ago, when I log onto Facebook what do I see? A message from my husband. Just a simple Happy New Year, I want to talk to you." My HEART JUMPED out of my chest, "does he mean it?? Do I really want to risk opening myself up to him, is he just going lie to me? I still don’t know what to think. I just know that I love you and that I never really wanted you to leave, I just needed to get over the being mad; which I did a long time ago. But now, with so much time going by, I need you to do the HARD things, and finally get started working on making you better so maybe, just maybe, we can work things out, but before I can do that I need you to be on the road to recovery.

I love you so very much, you will never know just how worried I was, and checking the newspapers/news in Missouri every week to make sure you weren't dead or in jail. I will always love you and I hope I will be able to truly be your wife again. Even if we don't I will always be there for you to help you through this.

Love always,
Your Jujubean

Submitted By: "Wife" of a Veteran

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

The Love Letter Campaign ~ My Journey With You

2013-01-15T19:30:00.002-06:00

I write this letter to the man who stole my heart almost 23 years ago. Jim. The first night our paths crossed, I couldn't help myself to check you out! You caught me! It was that hot summer night I knew you were the man I was going to marry. From that moment on my days and nights were filled with thoughts of you. You were a young hunk, smart, spirited, full of surprises, ambitious, sensitive, motivated, educated, and had your life already planned out upon graduation from the Academy.

Our relationship continued to grow despite the distance between us during our last years of college. I’m sure there is a well-worn tire path on that road. Marrying you was one of the happiest days of my life. We were full of hopes and dreams for our future together. We accomplished 4 years of medical school, 2 residencies, 11 moves, an overseas duty station, a fury of typhoons and hurricanes, multiple secret squirrel missions, 5 combat tours and more scheduled deployments than I can count. We have raised 2 exceptionally wonderful children who have brought us so much love and laughter to our home. We've kept our sanity with our family trials and tribulations. Without winning the lotto, we have made ends meet. What do these all have in common, us, you and me, but most of all, love. We have taken these journeys together.

In 2008, an Afghanistan deployment with the 2/7, sent us on a trip down an untraveled road, one that included no directions, no map to follow. This deployment was like no other, it put up two roadblocks, TBI/PTS (D) and a broken back, bringing our life as we knew it to a screeching halt. We were unprepared for the road we were about to travel. These roadblocks tested the strength in our marriage, challenged the spirit and love in our hearts, disrupted our family values and faded our future dreams. For quite sometime we let those two buggers steer our lives. With realization and accepting those two roadblocks as just bumps in the road were we able to take back the wheel and steer. We have found new energy, a new way of thinking, a renewed spirit, and a new direction to our lives. We cannot change the past, but we can learn from it and use the experience to choose the direction of the road that stretches out ahead of us.

While we may not do or think about things the way we've done in the past, we are still doing and thinking, just in a new and different way. My love for you has not wavered, even through stormy days. We have had so many great moments and great days that the worst ones become a blur. You and I are a team. We are not traveling this road alone, we are hand in hand and taking it one turn at a time. Together, with faith, hope and love, we can ride through even the darkest storms along our journey. There isn’t anything we can’t do together babe. Where there is a will there is a way. I am proud to be your partner, your best friend, your lover, your military spouse, and I am most proud to be your wife.

I love you because you are the man I can’t take my eyes off of. I love you because you are my rock. I love you because you are wind in my sails. I love you because you are every breath that I breathe. I love you because you love me back. I love you because you’re my best friend. I love you because you’re my soul mate. I love you because you are my hero and my sailor. I love you because I can’t stop loving you.
I love you always and forever.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY Jim!

Your wife,
Karen

This blog post is part of The Love Letter Campaign... a project started by FamilyOfaVet.com to encourage those who love a hero to write a letter sharing their story (where they started, what they've faced together, and why their love endures). It's not just for spouses, but also for parents, siblings, caregivers, and friends. It's about telling the "rest" of our stories... stories that continue despite PTSD, TBI, and the challenges of life after combat. To share your love letter or find out more about the campaign, visit http://www.familyofavet.com/love_letters.html.

Love Letter Campaign Submission

2013-01-06T03:52:00.001-06:00

To my sweetest husband,

You are off snoring and I'm plotting the course of our day while the children sleep. You and I have a steadfast and true love that I know is unbreakable.

But I hate when it bends.

I hate when we find ourselves, plagued by either baggage from your war, or my sexual assault. These demons circle like vultures....swooping at the first sign of weakness.

We are vulnerable.

Our life is often hanging in the balance. Threatened by overwhelming stress, selfish indiscretions, and fire from those around us.

We are ALWAYS vulnerable. Especially families like ours. Does that make me worry? Sometimes. Does that make me want to push you away? No.

Whatever happens in the world around us, whatever is inflicted upon us, I will always love you.

You have been a perfect example of stregnth. YOU ask for help, YOU keep yourself accountable, YOU continue to forgive me, YOU continue to be sensitive to my needs. I will always be wishing you to forgive yourself, to be sensitive to YOUR needs.....

I see you struggle, and I see you try to pretend like everything is fine. I see you break, from trying to be so strong for so long.

I am your soft landing James, but I promise I will always be your number one a@@ kicker.

We will always learn to bend and twist and shape to what is happening, but we will never break. I adore you, I am incredibly proud of you, and I am always in your corner.

~Kateri

2013-01-01T10:14:00.000-06:00

Hello FOV friends, family, and blog visitors, I pray that you will be gentle with my posts, as they are in fact, very real and very raw. I often write so quickly that I do not fully understand damages done until after the fact. But, here is the deal. HEAR ME when I say, I no longer work for the government, I NO LONGER have to fear you. HEAR ME when I say I take damn good care of my husband and if you don't believe so, come, check his pulse....he's alive.... that is better than what his care providers often have done.... waiting til the flat line and steady beep of heart tones that incite ACTION. I don't wait til the last minute caring for my combat injured husband. Quite the opposite. I fight until I am broken. I fight till I am giving in to the rage. I fight for YOU to do what is right, so that YOU can save face and blame it on yet another "maniacal caregiver/mother/wife".

Call me what you will. Labels no longer concern me. I prevented one suicide where I used to work, for SURE. And quite possibly, 3 others. I gave peace to a dying man, when everyone else thought he was behavioral. Want to know how? I sang to him. I sang every damn 60 and 70s rock I could think of, and guess what folks, I brought a smile to him with my air guitar and voice.... all the while balancing cocktails of pills that were to HELP, not hurt.

I was a good ace in the hole, but many viewed me as a threat. I am no threat. If you are here to fight this epidemic of suicides then welcome, I fight beside you. If you are here to gather things for other purposes, I implore you to be gone. You are not welcome here. To read our hearts is to know a combat veteran.

Read on.

But first, here is a video I put together on Secondary. Its the whole thing. Its me. It really is me. How I talk, how I look, how I cry, how I laugh....how I distract over the tiniest things....

I want you to know me. It's okay, watch it. It will be good for you, because I am not aware of many other women who are less concernced about reputation and more concnerned about Veterans than myself.

I am who I am. You may love me, hate me, beat me, but I will always be me. So, folks, here, is me :) Enjoy and leave your thoughts at the bottom, nothing I hate worse is seeing all these people have been looking at my posts, but NO ONE has anything to say???? NOTHING? Surely you have one word, one sentiment good or bad. C'mon stop being creeper and leave a note. Or, email me at winwinkateri@gmail.com

Another disclaimer:

I swear. Kind of a lot. And it drives Miss Brannan the most perfect woman EVER crazy. She has even prefaced posts as a warning. But when I blog, I blog for real, and I WILL not censor myself. I'll live that to my beloved Brannan. Here. Here I am. Where are YOU? Will you show yourself to me and prove I am NOT alone? Are you strong enough to show the world that you are human and are dealing with very human things? Go on. No one. NO ONE HERE JUDGES ever.

So, caregiver skin, here I am. Its late, I'm tired, and its almost xmas. But, the point is, I am COMFORTABLE IN MY OWN SKIN. And I KNOW I am the most beautiful when I am being me.

Caregiving for a combat vet is freaking hard. Its tiring and relentless and makes me sometimes borderline nuts. BUT its my HUSBAND! Have you met him? You should see him laugh sometimes, it makes me cry. When you can get him to laugh, you are in like flynt in my book. You are aces. He has the deepest most genuine laugh ever. And he lights up like xmas tree. Thats few and far between. So I remind myself why I love him, and I resolve to love him harder every day. Loving a combat vet that you care for is often very very VERY ungratifying, so don't join us for the glamour. Ain't no glamour here folks. Its ugly, messy, sad, angry, confusing.....but also, it is the MOST rewarding knowledge base you will ever be privy too. I have learned more about myself in 2 years, than ever in my 32 years of life. I have become a better mom, not perfect, but better, I am a better wife who is more capable of self sustainment than I ever thought possible. YES I still need friends, yes I still need help. But the smaller more personal needs I now know are inconsequential and non essential, and if I need something, I go get it myself.

The VA has a funny way of saying, "You are enabling this" "you are making him dependent on you" "You are treating him like a baby...." Well, dears, I don't know how you raised YOUR babies, but I do NOT treat 2 year olds like I treat my husband. My baby is still learning, my HUSBAND is being REMINDED.

My husband is being protected, and kept physically safe. Take a hike VA. You almost killed him with your lacky care for his rotten feet. Only after I begged cried and moaned did we EVER start getting treated for these infections. I digress.... Watch the vid, and welcome loves, to my world.

This is me, and I. Am. Small.

~~~~~Written/recorded by K. Peterson, a combat Veteran caregiver, proud wife of an army Veteran messed right up in good old Iraq. TBI, PTSD, and you name it. Never give up women. Never never never never give up. Fight for what is right, and continue to speak your truth.