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

The Emergency Room Trip Bug Out Bag…..

2013-06-18T12:00:00.000-05:00

What to have ready to go when the ambulance is on the way or you are coaxing your Wounded Warrior into the car.

The term “bug out bag” is probably a bit antiquated. Military aviators in my Dad’s day- he was a WW2, Korea, and Vietnam Era Vet- had a “bail out bag” for times when rapid, unscheduled departure from the aircraft became necessary. Somewhere along the way the term turned into “bug out bag” and expanded to mean the stuff you need to be able to grab and go when time is of the essence. When I was a child, he used the term for my little backpack of “keep this kid occupied” stuff for car trips, so for me the phrase is forever associated with the important stuff you need when you are on the go.
My husband is a 23 year Veteran, four years in the USMC and another 19 in the Army. His first deployment was as an 18 year old Marine going into Panama to fish out Noriega back in 1989. His last was Iraq. He was medically retired just over a year ago due to a TBI, PTSD and myriad physical injuries, including damage to his legs and spine. The ER and various hospitals are familiar places for us, both for physical and psychiatric emergencies. He falls down. A lot. And usually breaks something. He has multiple surgeries pending. He has attempted suicide more times than I care to enumerate over the past 4 years and I have been in emergency rooms for up to 38 hours at a stretch awaiting his transfer to psych hospital or waiting for a room to become available for admission.
I am not a fly-by-night kind of person, thank God, or I couldn't live this life. But the repeated hospital trips have honed my level of preparedness to the point of obsessiveness. I have a bug out bag just for the occasion of going to the hospital and I never leave home without it. You never know…. The emergency may happen at home at 2 am or it may happen at 2 pm in the grocery store. When that happens, I don’t have time to fool around and go home to get stuff. When we get in the car, the bag goes on the back seat. When we come home, the bag comes in with us and lives by the front door. The kids, all grown now, say I worry more about leaving the bag at home than I ever did about misplacing one of them. They are probably right.
The bug out bag is the product of several years of trial and error, unpreparedness and “damn, I wish I had thought to bring ____________” moments. It’s a gym bag style tote and if I have to use it, I stick my purse right inside it and have just one thing to keep up with. If I use any of the contents, I replace them ASAP upon my return home. Why? Because like I said, he goes to the ER a lot. I’ll list the contents and the reason for each item. Here we go:
Money
$100 in cash and $20 in rolled quarters. The quarters are for vending machines.
I keep $20 in 1’s for parking garages and Coke machines that only take bills. The rest of the cash is usually in 20’s. It is for gas (I've had to follow an ambulance for an hour through back-roads Alabama on the way to the VA and prayed the whole time I wouldn't run out of gas. Lesson learned.) and food and miscellaneous needs. I've never needed the whole $100 but I’d rather have extra than not enough. This is in addition to whatever is in my purse. Debit cards don’t work in ER vending machines. Sometimes, especially at the end of the month, I am really broke. This little stash in the bug out bag ensures that I can get by for a day or two with no sweat if needed.

Clothes
There is nothing worse than being stuck in an ER either freezing your ass off because the hospital has confused itself with the Arctic Circle or being overdressed and uncomfortable. I keep a pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt, a fuzzy zip up hoodie, a pair of those little fold up tennis shoes, a pair of socks and a pair of panties. Sometimes you wind up sleeping in a shitty hard plastic chair next to a hospital bed and a bank of monitors that are telling you that your husband is still alive and you really want to be as close to comfortable as possible then. I also keep a plastic bag in there to stash the dirty clothes.

Eye Care Stuff
A contact lens case, a small bottle of solution and a spare pair of eyeglasses in case I need to take out my contacts.

Travel size toiletries
When you change clothes, it is nice to be able to freshen up. I carry a little bit of makeup, a travel toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, baby wipes, hand lotion, hairbrush, ponytail holder, razor and shampoo/body wash combo. I haven’t had to resort to a shower in the ER, but I have spent the night in the hospital room after he’s been admitted or had surgery and I like having the option.

Something to pass the time.
I have a book that I want to read but haven’t yet in there on the off chance that I can think about anything but Hubby for more than three seconds.

Cell phone charger
In our case, my phone and Hubby’s use the same charger. If I keep a charger with me and have both phones in my possession, I should always have communication charged and ready.

A small travel umbrella.
We once went to the ER in a monsoon. Enough said.

Tampons.
Again, enough said.

My medication
An extra bottle of my migraine medication and allergy medication and some Tylenol.

An extra house key.
I have had to call a friend to get someone to go let my dogs out when I couldn't leave the hospital. Better to have a spare key to hand them than to have to worry about getting yours back promptly.

A few snacks.
Just some peanuts and granola bars and a bottle of water, just in case I can’t leave his bedside at the moment.

My roll up travel blanket.
Hospitals are usually great about giving you a blanket, but again, this is a just in case. Rolled up, it’s a pillow or back support. Opened out, it’s a small blanket. It takes up so little room that it is worth it to have a comfort item.

THE MOST IMPORTANT ITEM

A three ring binder with sheet protectors full of info. This is the very most important thing in the bag. I can’t stress this enough. This is what saves me when I am a wreck, wondering if he is going to die this time, trying to pull it together and not being able to remember my own name. It doesn't need to be a huge binder. I have the ½ inch one that holds about 100 sheets and it is nowhere near full. Everything is in a sheet protector to keep it intact and orderly.

The first page is a sheet with Hubby’s name, social, DOB, and a front and back copy of his VA ID card and Military ID. I have a couple copies in case we transfer to another facility. Way easier to hand this to someone than to have the annoying insurance person in your face asking questions when you are just a bit preoccupied. I don’t have to worry about whether they have returned his cards if they want copies. This is also a lifesaver if the emergency has happened in the middle of the night and I didn't grab Hubby’s wallet before heading out. Replace any of these copies that you give out as soon as you can so the binder is ready for next time.

This next section is vital, too. It is imperative that you update the binder anytime there is a change and have several copies with you. This saves you the pain of doing the detailed medical history with each doctor that comes in. Ask them to put a copy on his chart right off the bat. I have a list of all of Hubby’s medications, dosages, who prescribed each one, and why he needs it. I also list all of his drug and other allergies, as well as meds that he has been given before and experienced unpleasant side effects from taking. All of his doctors that he sees are listed with their specialty and contact information and there is a list of all his diagnoses, behaviors, triggers, etc… For example, if he is sleeping, DO NOT approach him abruptly and wake him. He will try to kill you. Things that you really want the staff to know. This section runs several pages long, so staple these pages together and make sure your Hubby’s name is on the top of each page. It takes a while to write out at first, but then updating it with medication changes and new doctors is easy.

I have a list of phone numbers just in case my cell phone dies for any reason. In addition to having the contact info for all Hubby’s doctors, I make sure to have the numbers for my kid’s cell phones and work phones since they can’t have their cells ringing at work. I have my neighbor’s number so I can ask her to check the mail and let the dogs out. I have his VA Nurse Case Manager’s phone number and the numbers for anyone connected with his care, like my AW2 person and the FRC. Anyone you think you might possibly want to call should be on the list.

Unpleasant as this is to think about, it is important too… The reality is that my Hubby has tried to die by his own hand and came within a razor’s edge of doing so last time. I have to carry my Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care, my general power of attorney, his Living Will and Advance Directives. Have JAG prepare these documents and ask them to notarize multiple copies of each. Keep a copy at home with your other vital documents and carry one of each in the binder. They must be notarized originals to be accepted by the medical facility.
I have extra sheet protectors in the binder so that I can neatly and safely put away any piece of paper given to me by the hospital staff and not worry about losing it. Prescriptions go in here too, if he is being discharged with new ones.
In the front pocket of the binder I keep a legal pad and several pens and pencils. I can take notes and write down what each doctor said, their names, tests ordered, any medications given and any notes that I need to remind myself of anything.
I am sure that all this sounds a little crazy and a lot OCD, but it has been worth it to have time and time again. If I don’t need something that is in the bag, so what? But to need it and wish I had it? That, my friends, is a bitch. You may need to add some things to the bag that suit your own situation. Tailor it as needed over time. The peace of mind that I get from knowing that I have my bases covered and can correctly give important information to doctors has been priceless.

Submitted By Steffanie S.

Seizures Due to PTSD and TBI

2013-06-16T14:58:00.000-05:00

My husband had several concussions in 2005 while in Iraq. He went through 9 immediate IED impacts and lost consciousness at least on two different occasions.

He was diagnosed with severe PTSD, hearing loss, TBI, and seizures.

He suffers from non-epileptic seizures (also referred to as pseudoseizures, psychogenic or cryptogenic seizures). A doctor at the VA called them stress seizures. Most of them are caused by his anxiety going through the roof. These types of seizures are not caused by abnormal electrical activity of the brain and are not dangerous to the person (besides busting your head and knocking your teeth out when you go down). These episodes look just like a true epileptic seizure in many ways and it is hard to differentiate without the right diagnostic tools like an EEG.

Non-epileptic seizures are normally unresponsive to therapeutic levels of antiepileptic drugs. They will most likely be treated with psychological counseling and medications. Non-epileptic seizures should only occur when awake, not during sleep.

A ‘wonderful’ neurologist told us he doesn't understand why my husband still has this seizure, because he had been told they are not dangerous (this knowledge was supposed to reduce anxiety and therefore the seizures would stop).

A person who has non-epileptic seizures may also have true epileptic seizures. My husband has epileptic seizures caused by his TBI. Epileptic seizures occur when the ‘wiring’ in the brain is malfunctioning. The brain cells are misfiring, so to speak, which causes muscles to contract and the person loses consciousness.

There are several different kinds of seizures: tonic-clonic, atonic, absence, myoclonic, partial, and non-convulsive. Not every seizure makes the body ‘convulse’ like you see in the movies. Sometimes the person just stares straight ahead, or acts like they are drunk or on drugs.

Some triggers I notice with my husband are anxiety and anger, loss of sleep (which we all know comes with PTSD), and flickering lights. Seizures can be triggered by sensory stimuli, such as hot water (bath), or light touch.

Epileptic seizures are treated with medications which should make them more manageable. There are plenty of medication options, so if one doesn't help doctors may try another.

Most of the doctors ask me how his seizures look like, how does he jerk, well even with the best explanation I can come up with it was still not clear to them. They asked me to video tape him, which I did on occasion. It is hard to get him situated first (make him be as safe as possible) and then to think about the camera to actually tape him is really a tough one (Most of the time I had the end of his seizure on tape, which was not really helpful).

Now here we come to a point to pass out some information about what to do if you come along a person who experiences a seizure.

This information was passed to me by doctors/nurses along the road, and what I learned over the years dealing with my husband’s seizures. I am not a medical expert and not all epileptics are alike, there will always be some exceptions.

Most seizures last a few moments to a few minutes. If a seizure lasts longer than 5 minutes it is recommended to call 911.

Things to do if someone has a seizure:
1. First off stay calm, don’t try to hold the person down.
2. Look at your watch and time the seizures. (It is really hard to guess time, when you are panicked or care for someone in distress)
3. Try to turn them on the side to keep the airways clear.
4. Never ever try to put anything in their mouth (especially your fingers) while they are seizing. It is a myth that they can swallow their tongue. Sometimes they bite their tongue and there will be a lot of blood (this is where #3 comes in handy).
5. Try to keep them safely away from objects they can hurt themselves on, if you have a jacket or pillow rest their head on it.
6. Sometimes they can soil themselves (which is really embarrassing to them, especially in public places). Offer them something to cover up with after they are responsive again.
7. When they come out of it, keep talking to them, reassure them everything is ok. Make sure they know what is going on around them, and that they do not have trouble breathing before you leave them alone or get them home.
If the person who is having a seizure has an ID with ‘Epilepsy’ and it doesn’t exceed 5 min you do not need to call the ambulance.
If you are not sure if the person is an Epileptic, is pregnant, the seizure last more than 5 min, or the person is not responsive after the seizures stops (or can’t breathe) call 911!!!

Now I have one more thing to add we do have a Service dog (SD).

Our dog will try to alert us before he gets a seizure (most of the time he whines, sometimes even barking at him). He will do 2 different things when my husband has a seizure, either he will stay right next to his side laying down (whining and trying to get his attention) or he will try to get someone (he will bark and act out of the norm running back and forth) until someone responds to him. Now I understand that this can be scary for some people but he has always a tag on stating he is a Service dog, and if we are in public places he wears a SD vest or a bandanna with embroidering on it. Those dogs are highly trained (which costs a lot of money) and if you see one please check what is going on. Most Service dog vests have patches on them, stating what the SD is used for. Ours says ‘Seizure alert/PTSD’. This should give you a clue about the person’s condition when they are in distress!

Never leave the dog behind if the person gets taken by an ambulance. Those animals have a special bond to their owner (they are not pets!!!) They are considered a prosthetic devise as a cane or a wheelchair would be. Make sure they are safe as well as their owner!

Submitted By: Sandra T.

A Letter to Those Who Don't Know Who He Once Was

2013-06-14T07:19:00.000-05:00

To Whom it May Concern,

I am an active member in our unit's Family Readiness Group, most recently being

the Leader and resource to provide support to the families of 130

deployed soldiers. I am a strong woman, mother, wife and leader. I am

committed to the Army as a devoted and supportive spouse and volunteer.

No expectations was what I told myself and my spouses when we

frantically prepared for our husbands to come home from OIF in November

of 2007.

My biggest fear was that my husband would come home different; he would

be the "typical" soldier that is talked about when returning from

combat.The soldier that I urged my Family Readiness Group to seek help

for. The soldier that I learned about in the countless classes that I

had taken before the homecoming of our war heroes.

I miss

My husband that was a proud US Soldier.

My husband that left the house at 0430 am to be at PT, on time, at 0630.

My husband that would always be willing to help another person, even

strangers.

My husband that would volunteer at church.

My husband that would hang out with friends.

My husband that would engage in family activities.

My husband that always rode his mountain bike.

My husband that had plans for our future.

My husband that made me laugh.

My husband that was a joy to be around.

My husband that was a hard worker and stood up for his beliefs and his

country.

Everyday

I wake up praying that we will have a good day.

I hope that he is in a good mood.

I wonder if there is something different that will set him off.

I wonder if I didn't do something the right way.

I try to remember if I bought milk for his cereal.

I wonder if I will have to drop my responsibilities to make him happy.

I hope things wont push me over the edge so I leave.

I wake up hoping he changes and it will be like before.

I excused his need to be alone as part of the adjustment.

I made excuses to my friends and families. He is tired from waking up

early and working long hours.

When he would spend long hours in the garage working on his car, I

brushed it off as a hobby that he wanted to complete.

When he would go out in snow storms for a drive,at random hours of the

day and night, I just assumed it was because he was in the hot dessert

for so long.

When he stopped coming to church, I accepted the "excuse" of needing to

sleep in.

I endlessly find myself making excuses for him or lying, to protect him

and to protect us.

My husband is in his own world. Everything is about his needs, his

wants, and his desires.

Everyday, I find myself planning my next move, to protect myself and my

daughter; evaluating his last phone call, the tone of his voice.

Should we stay out a bit later, just in case he is in a bad mood?

Should I leave work early to make sure the dishes are done before he

gets home?

In September of 08, I had a severe reaction to my medication. I was in

Liver failure and was sent to the University of Washington's Kidney and

Liver Transplant Clinic for evaluation. I wanted my husband to be there

for me. He was physically there, but mentally, he wasn't.

He was angry when I didn't have the energy to be a tourist and see

Seattle.

He was angry that we didn't have time to plan the trip.

He got angry that he didn't have enough time to pack.

He got mad because our new puppy was arriving on the same weekend that I

got sick.

He placed the blame on me

Everything made him angry.

I didn't have the energy to wash dishes, do laundry, go grocery shopping.

I was sick. He was angry.

No matter what the situation was, his anger turned to rage.

He kicked a hole through the bedroom door.

He said I looked at him funny.

I was washing the dishes while he made a sandwich, he knocked

everything off the top of the refrigerator, because I might splash

water on his food.

There was a toy on the floor that wasn't put away, it was thrown across

the room to make it known that it wasn't in the right place.

His computer wasn't working right, it was thrown across the room and

shattered into pieces.

The printer paper was jamming....it was smashed on the floor.

The alarm clock woke him up in the morning...now broken.

The cellphone rang....now 3 phones have been broken in rage.

He wanted cereal and there wasn't anymore....it was my fault for not

buying enough. I started to buy 5 or 6 boxes at a time. It was my fault

that he was sick of Cocoa Pebbles and I didn't buy another kind.

We had cereal but we didn't have milk...It was my fault for not keeping

up with the milk inventory.

Our daughters school events; He didn't feel like going.

Parent teacher conferences; He was in a mood and didn't feel like going.

On Days he wanted to actually spend time with me, things went horrible.

I couldn't find a sitter at the last minute.

Days I was able to find a sitter, he got angry because I didn't want to

see the same movie.

Going to McDonalds, he would get angry; they didn't make his coffee

right; they didn't put a straw in his bag to drink his orange juice.

Everyday is a constant reminder of my "new" husband.

A husband that does not interact with his family.

A husband that has left his family to be in his own space.

A husband that is so disconnected with reality, he finds relief in

focusing on things that don't matter.

A husband that has been through and seen more than any person can

imagine.

A husband that reenlisted in the Army because of great leaders that

inspired him to have a military career.

A husband that lost his friends.

A husband that scares me.

A husband that avoids any interaction with people.

A husband that would rather stay home than see his daughter receive a

special award at a school assembly.

A husband that did horrible terrifying things to my 3 month old puppy

because he cried at night.

A husband that says "I Love You" because he knows he has too, but has a

blank look in his eyes.

A husband that makes plans, and doesn't follow through.

A husband who can not be relied on, even after a commitment.

Will I have time to be a house wife, a mother, a volunteer and go to

work? On busy days will I have time for day to day responsibilities and

have time to go to scheduled appointments.

I was so proud of him, and everything about him.

I was told how amazing of a soldier he was.

How he was a great friend, a great battle buddy.

Now, I don't even like to talk about him, because people will ask

questions. Questions that I am embarrassed to answer.

My husband spends his weekends sleeping, I remind my daughter to be as

quiet as possible, to not wake Daddy. I knew if we wake him up, he will

be angry and aggressive; we will be scared.

I spend my weekends working longer than required hours, helping my

friends do things just to stay away from home as late as possible.

It broke my heart when my daughter said to me, "Mom, I wish Daddy wasn't

a soldier. I hate that he has to act so tough. He scares me. My belly

feels funny."

I have been in counseling prior to his redeployment to prepare myself

for his homecoming.

I have been going weekly since his return.

My daughter has also been in counseling, learning to deal with her

emotions and her home life.

It could be worse. I was never physically abused.

Sometimes I lay in bed and wish I was, I would have a reason to leave.

The emotional scars are still here. The pattern of domestic abuse has

begun. I know that if he doesn't get his rage and anger under control is

will escalate.

I am glad I stayed strong and never did leave. I am his wife and I will

stand by his side.

Couples have problems, couples cope and learn to adjust to each others

wants and needs in life.

In our situation, there is no coping or adjusting between the both of

us. There is just coping and adjusting to different emotions everyday.

Different patterns that are always changing.

He will never be the man that left me on October 7th, 2006. I have stood

by his side from day one and I know that he is trying to help himself.

He has begun to deal with the avoidance of May 17, 2007, the day he lost

himself. This process is overwhelming to him and to myself.

I thank God everyday for not taking him away from us on May 17th.

I thank God he is now getting help.

I know that May 17, 2007 will be with him forever. What he saw, what he

felt, and what he heard are a part of him. It is now a part of us, our

family.

A Letter Written in June 2009 By A Veteran Spouse Determined to Stand

Breaking the Cycle – Not the Eggshells

2013-06-11T13:52:00.000-05:00

Living in the cycle of fear, resentment and anger created by always walking on eggshells has the potential of back firing and creating exactly the explosion that you have so desperately been trying to avoid. The good news is that there are solutions to help you to live a peaceful existence without continuing to fuel resentment within yourself.
I speak from personal experience, living with my Vietnam Vet and letting my own fear, resentment and anger build to the point of explosion. Yes, on more than one occasion I found myself uncontrollably throwing things, breaking things, and sobbing or screaming uncontrollably…or both simultaneously. It is not a pretty picture, nor one that I proudly share with you. However, you are here because you are looking for support and solutions. So I share these embarrassing things with you to let you know that you are not alone…even the best, most well-intentioned, meek and mild spouse has found their breaking point.
I wanted to learn how to break the cycle, without resorting to behavior that would break the eggshells that I was so desperately trying to keep intact. I wanted to learn how to maintain a peaceful existence in my home, without destroying myself. I realized that when I continued to do things for my husband that he was perfectly capable of doing for himself, things that I did not want to do, and that each time I was doing it my resentment was building.
I began to feel taken advantage of, and began to look at my husband as being a lazy slob. This made me feel bad, because with a 100% disability rating I know that my husband does have problems. One day when again I counted over a dozen empty coke cans scattered through-out the house…sitting wherever he had happened to be when he finished the last drink I had had enough. He was fully capable of walking to the fridge to get a coke, but not capable of carrying the empty cans back to the kitchen and taking the required four, more steps past the fridge to put them in the recycle can? It was time to do something.
“So honey, there’s a lot of coke cans sitting around and it’s rather embarrassing when people come to visit. Are they left out because of your PTSD, or because you are just lazy?” I asked sweetly.
“Let’s chalk it up to my PTSD, he replied”
So now, I had two choices:
I could accept that this was how he was, and I couldn't do anything about it. I could only change my attitude, and try to become more compassionate and understanding. I could flip the way I looked at this by saying, “I get to serve my veteran, just like he served my country.”
Or, I could work on changing his behavior.

To help make this decision ask yourself these questions:
Is this something that your veteran is fully capable of doing for him or herself?
If yes, are you willing and able to continuing to do it for them, and change your attitude so you are giving service with a loving attitude?
Are you able to let go of the resentment so it doesn't consume you?
Are you ready to accept this as “another” item on your over-flowing to do list?
If you can answer yes to these questions, then you have reached acceptance, and you can joyfully continue to pick-up after your vet.
I decided that this particular task – picking up his coke cans was totally within his capability, and that my doing it for him was a disservice to him, and created resentment for me. So, I needed to address it in a loving and compassionate way by asking for what I needed.
Here are the steps that worked for me:
Begin at a time when you are not angry. Start by saying something like this:
“Honey, I need you to pick up your ___________ (fill in the blank)
By _______ (give a time frame, several hours at least, or even a whole day)
Because ______________ (Give a reason and a specific time: Example: We have company coming tomorrow at 3:00pm).
Do not expect him to jump up and follow your request. If your vet is like mine, it will not be done until the very last minute. However, that’s ok. The object is to get them to do it.
In the meantime, if your vet does something that is a normal “chore” that you never have to ask him to do, thank him. Notice and recognize him for each thing that he routinely does without you asking.
Now, in your most kind and loving voice, continue to remind him, “honey its noon, we have company coming in three hours, I need you to ______. You may have to continue doing this up to the very last moment. But continue to be kind and loving in your requests.
Once they finally comply with your request, thank him generously. Let him know how much you appreciate his help.
Each time he continues to pick up that item without you having to ask, recognize his efforts, and praise him.
Sometimes I get tired of asking, and I try hard not to sound or feel like a nag. So, I supplement my verbal reminders with a sticky note(s) on the object, or strategically place where they can’t miss it. Reminder: Honey, the cans need to be picked up by picked 3:00pm. Thanks!!! xxooo Love U.

I hope that you can adapt these suggestions to fit your own situation and find success in changing the cycle of resentment and anger when you find yourself doing too much, in your effort to avoid breaking the eggshells.

Submitted By: Debbie Sprague

Debbie Sprague is the wife of a disabled Vietnam Veteran. Debbie fought back when PTSD threatened to destroy her family. She is the author of A Stranger in My Bed: 8 Steps to Taking Your Life Back from the Contagious Effects of Your Veteran’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and contributor to the #1 International Bestseller Wounded? Survive! Thrive!!! Debbie is an advocate for veterans and their families spreading the message of understanding, compassion, hope, and healing through her writing, speaking, training, and coaching. She is also a grass roots volunteer staff member with Family of a Vet.

Summer Vacation - What Made Our Trip Easier - Part 1: GMC Acadia (aka renting a larger vehicle!)

2013-06-09T13:00:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to figure out *how* to write this post without it sounding like an infomercial... so, I'm just going to start (and also add the "fine print" that I'm in noooooooo way being paid for this post, but do want to - as always - share what works for our family!).

Our family hasn't been on a "real" vacation ever. A few times since my hubby returned from his last deployment we've driven - in the middle of the night to avoid as much traffic as possible - seven hours to visit friends whom my dear hero has literally known since he was three years old. That's been the extent of our family vacations and all that our 7 year old daughter has ever known.

About two years ago, as different school friends started talking about their wondrous, magical, exciting visits to Disney World (we live in the southeast... it's sort of a rite of passage for many kiddos in our area), our sweet girl started a campaign to secure her own visit to this amazing place. She drew pictures, talked incessantly about the adventures her friends told her about, pointed out every single Mickey, Minney, or other Disney character she saw ANYWHERE. (I can't imagine where she gets her persistent nature... caaaaaan't imagine ;) ).

So, when the friends mentioned above (that my hubby has known forever) started planning a trip to Disney - and she overheard a conversation / debate about whether or not it would be possible for us to join them - the deal was done. All bets were off. (And mommy... she caved... she just couldn't help it :) ).

I'm going to stop here and say that planning a trip to DISNEY WORLD when our family lives day in and day out with severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and all the lovely challenges of Traumatic Brain Injury, sounded pretty insane. My dear hubby gets physically ill when we get more than 30 minutes from home. Our days are very planned, as predictable as possible, and new "adventures" are sooooooooo not welcomed. The triggers they bring are just so costly - seriously the recovery from those moments can take our family weeks or months before things start to calm down.

But - she's seven and so much of her childhood is "challenging" because of our journey with PTSD and TBI and there are sooooooo many times when "normal" stuff just isn't even on the radar, and, and, and. And, I caved. And then I begged, pleaded, cajoled, bribed, and begged the hubby some more. Puuuhlease, please, please... just this once... just this one time... please pretty please. Honestly, I've probably never in our time together (almost 14 years married and 17 together... and almost 7 years of that in "Life After Combat") begged so thoroughly. :)

And so, he caved (barely).

So, of course, I went into PTSD/TBI Caregiver hyperdrive. Trying to anticipate every single potential issue - every possible "fix" or idea to make the trip easier - and the lists... ohhhhh my, the lists.

Then, about 10 days before the trip our family car (the only currently fully running vehicle, an almost 12 year old Santa Fe with way too many miles) started throwing unexpected fits (it's normally reasonably well behaved!). It lived at the mechanic for a few days... came home two days... and then went back for a visit. And the hubby, the hubby was nervous. (and admittedly, so was I). What would happen if we got 8 hours from home, the Santa Fe decided it missed the mechanic, and it went on strike again? I could just imagine the full PTSD/TBI meltdown as we sat on the side of the road in some unknown / unfamiliar location. And, I also saw tell-tale signs that our vacation (even after all my extensive begging) was about to be a no-go.

The answer? An extensive search for a rental car coupon... a really good one... and while I was at it I decided that since a "crossover" SUV was $26 more for the week but offered much more room and potentially a more comfortable ride for the hubby, that we would choose that.

I had *NO* idea what a great choice that was. But, now I'm going to tell you... because after all, sharing "intell" about how to cope with PTSD, TBI, and all their "stuff" is what we do here :).

When we arrived at the rental car place we were given a 2013 GMC Acadia SLT. Now, I'm being specific (again, this is nooooot a paid infomercial!!) because, simply, it was so incredibly perfect. So, perfect in fact that I've spent the last week trying to figure out how long we'd have to save (and how many years we'd need to let new models come out and thus bring down the price) to eventually get one. Why? Because it's a PTSD / TBI / traveling with a service dog / kiddo with Sensory Processing Disorder / prevention of disasters / overworked caregiver's *dream*. If I could talk GMC into doing some sort of program to make purchases easier / more possible for those of us in "Veteran world" I would do it in a heartbeat! Seriously, best vehicle ever. Seriously. Oh my :)

First, even on short drives, the hubby (with his extreme heat sensitivity issues thanks to TBI and Iraq) and the child (with her Sensory Processing Disorder issues which mean she can't *stand* to be cold / chilled / or think she might possibly be) always end up in a huge fuss about the thermostat. Never fails. Complete meltdown (and the resulting need for creative intervention on my end). The Acadia has *THREE* different climate controls. Taaaadaaaaa, everyone (even me!) can choose their own perfect setting.

Second, Shilo (the hubby's wonderful 3 year old, 70 lb German Shepherd service dog - more on her later!) is always uncomfortable. We don't put her in the cargo area of the Santa Fe because it's dangerous and she can't get to the hubby to "work". So, she and our dear daughter always end up in an uncomfortable, uneasy test of wits to figure out who gets to spread out more in our backseat that holds 2-1/2 people comfortably (we always have to sort of squish the other half of the third person if we have more than just "us" - and then Shilo can't go - and then it's a whole issue from looooots of angles). But, the Acadia not only has three rows of seats but the second row can be configured with two "captains chairs". So, Shilo curled up, comfy and happy, on an open floor (and the kiddo claimed the whole 3rd row) and, I was in heaven. I'm sure there were singing angels...

Speaking of having a third row - never, ever imagined how handy that would be! The following is our "normal" scenario (even on short 20-25 minute rides): Our daughter *LOVES* to talk and because of the auditory part of her Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD), often talks *REALLLLLLY* loud. The hubby (refer above, often has a hard time leaving the house at all, so once he's in the car is in PTSD/TBI overload mode) very quickly looses patience with the noise. I'm then in the middle of the two of them trying my best to facilitate some sort of peace treaty. So, instead, we always enter the vehicle with multiple, fully charged electronic devices (yes, I know... boooooo electronics... but it's about survival...) and make sure the kiddo has lots of games to choose from (I do try to make sure they're educational!). This scenario helps prevent full out war - but again since our daughter has SPD, the volume on the games is always LOUD - granted, not as loud as her talking, but still loud. So, the hubby also has a limited "I can deal with this" period for that... and it's CERTAINLY not long enough for us to drive to Disney. *BUT* third row magic saved the day! The kiddo, in her third row kingdom, was far enough away from her dad's ears that the game noise didn't bug him! SERIOUSLY, *MAGIC*.

And then, the fancy-schmanzy tailgate that opens with the touch of a button. Normally, whether it's groceries or random stuff from the VA or the kiddo's school stuff - and in the case of this vacation, LUGGAGE - I'm "it". The hubby, his cane, one hand holding Shilo's leash, and his ongoing balance issues, just can't carry stuff back and forth even at home, much less from a parking lot, up a long ramp, down a sidewalk, etc, etc, etc, to a hotel room. It's a disaster in waiting (he broke his knee last year in a fall, so I'm a but paranoid about disaster prevention at this point ;) ). So, normally there's a whole comical scenario where I'm balancing bags, boxes, whatever... along with purse, keys, etc... and trying to close a tailgate that's over my head. But not this time. Nope, I just pushed a button. [And, since a tropical storm rolled through the final day of our vacation - when I was packing the car - it also serves as a magnificent, already-open-before-I-get-there "umbrella".]

Some other really helpful features - the XM Radio (the hubby gets really aggravated while trying to find music he likes when stations are changing and quickly bores of the music he has... problem solved), the dimmable panel lights (TBI light sensitivity is usually as issue with LOTS of vehicles, but not this one), HUGE glove compartment (convenient storage for medications, TENS unit, etc, we needed during the trip), and soooooo much more.

So, what's the point of this post?

My point (while, obviously, my choice would soooooo be the Acadia!) is to think through what you'll be driving / riding in on a long vacation. I know for many of us budgets are TIGHT, but the reduced stress, reduced triggers, reduced arguments, increased comfort which helps with pain management (which, as we all know, pain only exacerbates PTSD and TBI symptoms), increased convenience, etc, are reallllllllly helpful if you can squeeze a rental car into your trip budget.

I actually finally found the best deal on a website I hadn't used before - CarTrawler.com (the link came up after I booked our hotel... and right before I booked the rental through a different site, but this one was almost $80 less!). But, whatever site / rental method you're going to use, spend some time looking for deals, looking at how renting in different locations impacts the price, etc. I know it's an "extra" to-do on our often verrrrrry long lists, but that time can save you a chunk of $. Our final rental price - for the entire week of waaaaaay reduced stress and added comfort - was $236.98 (which averages to $33.85/day). Honestly, probably the best $236.98 I've ever spent.

And, I will add this is the third time we've rented in the last few years (like I said, we don't travel... so rentals are generally only done when our Santa Fe is in the shop) from Enterprise. It helps that they can "pick us up" if we're renting from a nearby location, that having two drivers (husband and wife) doesn't add an extra charge (so, if the hubby wants to drive / can drive, we're covered), and we've always had great customer service. Also, if you're a member of Veterans Advantage, they offer a discount for Enterprise (though this time I found a better price on CarTrawler as mentioned above).

Now you have it... my first "what made our trip easier" tidbit. :) Two more to come (#1 - preparing / thinking about the "best case scenario" for hotel arrangements and, #2 - things you may not have thought about or known about when visiting "tourist attractions" with PTSD and TBI) so keep an eye out! I'm going to try my best to get them done this week!!

Hope this is helpful :) If you have your own "ways we make/made our trip easier" tips to share, please e-mail them to me this week (brannan-at-familyofavet.com). I would *LOVE* to do a post with feedback from others - we can all use help brainstorming this kind of thing!

Thanks,
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!

Herbal Soak for Joint & Muscle Pain

2013-06-08T01:49:00.001-05:00

So, as always our "rule" here at Family Of a Vet is that we share - we share what works, we share what doesn't, we share what we're doing day-to-day to help our heroes and our families cope.

This is a recent addition to my caregiver arsenal. My own dear hero, like so many Veterans around the country, is dealing each day not only with PTSD and TBI but also chronic pain. I'm always looking for ways - small and large - to help keep his pain levels as low as possible.

We tried for the first time today an herbal soak. I've honestly been trying for weeks to get him to do it... but in his rough, tough, manly man world, an "herbal soak" was just a bit to girly :) . But for days his pain levels have been climbing so tonight he finally gave me the go ahead.

The basic "recipe" is 2 c. of Epsom Salts, 1 c. of Baking Soda, and 8 Chamomile tea bags. Pour the first two ingredients under running bath water that is as hot as your Veteran (or you) can stand it [preferably, while in the tub you want to sweat a little so your pores get nice and open]. Then drop the tea bags in the water and let them steep for a few minutes. (I also stirred the water and ingredients that had settled to the bottom with my hand to get them to go ahead and dissolve.)

Then, climb in and stay put for at least 20 minutes.

[Also worth noting, we have a cover for our overflow drain so that the water in the tub can be as deep as possible. It was $7.25 on Amazon and works really well - CLICK HERE TO VIEW IT - and also note that this link will give Family Of a Vet "credit" for referring you, so if you make a purchase we will earn like 5% or about $0.36. I always like to be REALLY clear on things like that!]

Follow the soak by rinsing off in a cool shower. DO NOT use soaps, lotions, or anything other than just plain water. Since you're pores are wiiiiiiiiiide open you don't want to add any chemicals to the "mix" right now.

While this soak won't banish all your aches and pains, it does actually help. I actually soak this way once a week. It's not only helpful for pain but is also a great way to detox and relax.

Epsom Salts - 16 oz for $0.88 at WalMart - more info about what Epsom Salts do for the body (including helping with pain, helping muscles and nerves function properly, eliminating toxins from the body, and more!) CLICK HERE.

Baking Soda - I cheated and had some on hand but you can generally buy a small box for around $0.50 - $1.00 - the baking soda actually helps neutralize chlorine and other additives in tap water so that you don't soak in chemicals while trying to detox!

Chamomile Tea - $1.00 for 20 bags / so the 8 bags used are $0.40 - Chamomile has anti-inflammatory, anti-bacterial, anti-anxiety, and many other properties. For more information about what it does, CLICK HERE.

Total Cost per Bath = $1.78 - $2.28

*AS ALWAYS, remember I'm nooooooooot any sort of professional and only sharing from a "this is what we tried" perspective!! I don't believe any of these ingredients used this way could be harmful, but it's always a good idea to check with a doctor if you / your veteran have questions!*

Hope that helps!

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!

Walking on Eggshells Fuels Flying Objects

2013-06-06T09:55:00.000-05:00

Walking on Eggshells is a common theme for families living with a veterans PTSD. We do this in order to keep the peace in our homes, not wanting to spark our beloved into an angry outrage. This behavior is often the fuel that causes explosive behavior and flying objects…not by the veteran suffering from PTSD, but by the loving caregiver who is trying to avoid that exact same behavior in her veteran.

When we are in the constant state of fear that we will do or say something to trigger our veteran we begin to hold in our thoughts and feelings, and we do everything possible for our veteran in order to keep a peaceful existence in our home.

So we quietly tip toe through our home which has become a “do not disturb zone” fearing that any noise that might trigger him. We adhere to an extensive list of “do not talk about” topics that might upset him. We try not to ask anything of our veteran that might annoy him. We do all these things with the good intention of “keeping peace.”

This well-meaning behavior on our part can create a vicious cycle. We begin to do more, in order to keep from upsetting our veteran. And the more that we do…the more they expect. And the more they expect from us, the less that they do for themselves. As the loving spouse that we are, we quietly comply. We fear that if we complain…or heaven forbid ask them to help we will create a horrible reaction in them. So we continue quietly on, picking up their dirty dishes, their empty soda cans, their dirty clothes…whatever they chose not to do.

Each time we do this, we begin to harbor a tiny piece of resentment. And gradually, piece by piece that resentment swells up until we can no longer hold it in… and it fuels a flurry of flying objects... plates, cans, shoes. As the objects fly, we are experiencing uncontrollable anger. This angry outburst is embarrassing, and leaves us feeling totally out of control of our previously well-guarded emotions.

We have unknowingly created within ourselves exactly what we have been trying to avoid with our veteran.

Is this how you want to live? What are our options? How can we break this cycle? In my next blog post “Breaking the Cycle – Not the Eggshells” I will suggest some possible solutions.

Submitted By Debbie Sprague

Debbie Sprague is the wife of a disabled Vietnam Veteran. Debbie fought back when PTSD threatened to destroy her family. She is the author of A Stranger in My Bed: 8 Steps to Taking Your Life Back from the Contagious Effects of Your Veteran’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and contributor to the #1 International Bestseller Wounded? Survive! Thrive!!! Debbie is an advocate for veterans and their families spreading the message of understanding, compassion, hope, and healing through her writing, speaking, training, and coaching. She is also a grass roots volunteer staff member with Family of a Vet.

Creating a Paper Trail

2013-06-03T13:50:00.000-05:00

If there is one thing I wish every veteran and military family knew to do, it is to create a paper trail. Even when things are going well, even when it's "something small" - get in the habit of creating a paper trail.

The easiest way to create that trail is to follow these steps:

1. Create a document in your computer. This can be 1 document per issue or 1 document to track it all. Either way, get somewhere you can make an overview of what's going on so you have a quick glance of the actions and communications without having to dig through a wide variety of notes. Make a note in that document of every phone call, email, and appointment you have had and a brief summary of what was discussed, what the plan for treatment is, and what to do if the plan isn't working. Always include notes of who you spoke with specifically and the date and time.

2. Communicate via email as much as possible so you have the responses to your questions and concerns in writing direct from the person you are working with. This is the easiest way to prevent the "he said/she said" argument.

3. Keep a notebook in your car and/or purse so you can make a note of phone calls that come in while you're on the go. Take that notebook to every appointment and write your notes in it. Make certain you transfer that information to your document as soon as you get home.

Now that you have a good, solid paper trail, when you need it don't be afraid to use it. Call out obvious problems and use that paper trail to correct any "assumptions" on the part of those helping provide care. Don't be afraid to say, "On X I called Dr. Joe's office and reported the problem. On Y since I never heard from Dr. Joe's office I emailed the OEF/OIF office of the problem. On Z, I still hadn't received any kind of resolution so I emailed again and followed up with a phone call 2 days later."

Your best ally in fighting for your care is a good paper trail. Make one and use it today!

Budgeting

2013-06-02T12:11:00.000-05:00

When working in the civilian world payday is at least two times a month. Even Active Duty military get paid twice a month. Then we transition to the life of a Veteran on VA Disability and you get paid once a month. Might not be too challenging if the spouse is still working outside the home but if your spouse is your VA Family Caregiver she/he gets paid only once a month as well.
There is no magic formula to make your funds last the whole month but there are several tips to help it stretch for 30 days without too much trouble.
I personally started with an Excel Spreadsheet to record all of our monthly bills and our income. I have it set up to give me a total of the remaining balance. I have been tucking away about 10% for later in the month.

Monthly Budget Summary
  Budget Actual     Difference
Total INCOME $0.00 $0.00
Total SAVINGS $0.00 $0.00
Total HOME EXPENSES $0.00 $0.00
Total DAILY LIVING $0.00 $0.00
Total TRANSPORTATION   $0.00 $0.00
Total OBLIGATIONS $0.00 $0.00
Total HEALTH $0.00 $0.00
Total PETS $0.00 $0.00
Total EDUCATION $0.00 $0.00
Total ENTERTAINMENT $0.00   $0.00
Total VACATION $0.00 $0.00
Total MISCELLANEOUS    $0.00 $0.00
NET    $0.00 $0.00   $0.00

These are the different categories I have listed and as I fill out the spreadsheet the summary if completed as well. Home Expenses is for all the utilities to keep our hour going and Daily Living is for groceries, cleaning, and paper products. I estimate groceries at a minimum of $400 a month. At the end of every month I fill out the budget will what all the bills are and which ones need to be paid. I go through the pantry and freezer and make my grocery list. I have one I created myself for our house so I just mark if we need to buy that item this month.
On the first of the month I pay all the bills first thing. Most all our bills are now paid online and there are some where the actual payment does not come out until the next morning but careful planning and attention can keep the budget intact. Once all the bills are submitted I make sure that the budget and what I just did are the same and note the remaining balance.
With a teenage boy in the house meat is essential-our first stop is to the meat market and our local butcher has a monthly special for $99.95 and it varies from month to month, summer s great BBQ meats. The freezer pack will include beef, pork, and some chicken. Then we go to Costco for the bulk items and paper products. Last stop is Wal-Mart for the items we don’t buy in bulk. We end up having meat to last all month long, even if it is only ground beef.
I fill the gas tank on payday and put aside the same amount for later in the month. I will put this aside in an envelope marked ‘Gas Money’. The other money I was tucking away I put in envelopes for groceries over the next few weeks, milk, eggs, bread, produce. I also save all my change. Every month I clean out the bottom of my purse and put the change away for a later need. There were many years that change made all the difference in the world to our family.
I am not saying that the system I use is perfect all the time but it really helps to keep spending on track and all the necessary items to keep our house afloat are done before we do anything ‘fun’. We lived payday to payday for years and that payday was $1200 a month but we did get food assistance. We had no extras but we never went without.
Budget is the key. It doesn’t matter if you would like a notebook and paper, Excel, or an online budget site like www.mint.com, keeping track of expenses is the key to knowing how to make your money work better for your family.

Submitted By Pam

Prayer for Caregivers

2013-05-30T07:13:00.000-05:00

Dear Heavenly Father,

I pray that your will be done in the lives of those affected by PTSD and/or TBI. I pray that you will provide all that is needed in those lives when it is needed and not a single moment before. I specifically pray for the wives that are caregivers to the ones they dearly love. I thank you for giving them the heart to love their husbands despite the challenges that they face everyday. I pray that you will protect their hearts from fear and temptation. Be with these beautiful women and show them the true meaning of being a helper to their husbands, show them ways they can lift up and encourage their husbands, give them strength for each day, even every moment. I ask that you guard these marriages from the snare of the evil one. I ask that you give them rest beyond measure when they lie down to sleep. Give them wisdom and grace to know how to handle each situation as it may arise. Show them love and help them to know that it is not their fault when things get out of control. Give these wives wisdom on when and where to get help. Bring into their lives people that will be a support to them and cast out the spirits of doubt and negativity. I pray for the protection of the children in these families. I pray for the health care professionals that work with these families, that they may be wise and compassionate, slow to judge and filled with understanding. I pray for the soldiers coming home with PTSD/TBI that you will show yourself to them. I pray that people in their lives will come along and show that you have not forsaken them for the things they have been commanded to do. Show them that no sin is too big to be forgiven. Protect their minds from the evil one who uses all of this to attack them and their marriages. I pray for the parents and siblings of these soldiers that take care of them, give them what they need each and everyday to help the ones they love. I pray that they will be understanding and allow some grace. Lord, thank you for being a support and a stronghold. I know that without you I would not be able to do what I do. Thank you for Your grace and mercy. I ask that you give all caregivers patience to face the challenges of PTSD/TBI and strength to fight the battle.

In Your Holy Name. Amen.

Submitted By: S. Allyson Bowers

Dreams of the Past, Dreams for the Future

2013-05-28T23:40:00.001-05:00

The other day I was driving home and some songs I used to dance to came on the radio. In my mind I flashed back to when I was engaged my husband and also working as a disc jockey. I love to dance. It's one of my favorite things in the world and I remember being full of dreams of dancing for the rest of my life with the man I had fallen in love with.

We had a long distance relationship, as so many military couples do, and since I was spending so much time with music I spent a lot of time dancing as well. Those day dreams of dancing with him came flying back. Sure, he couldn't dance yet but someday he would learn because I would teach him or we would take lessons and then we would spend the rest of our lives twirling away.

Life had other plans. There are days he struggles to even walk around our property line much the less swirling around the dance floor.

Even that reality doesn't take away my smile at the memories of my dreams of what would be. I smiled at how blessed I am to have him and while I might not be circling the dance floor these days and I laughed when I thought of him playing tricks with our children, and sometimes on them as well.

Sometimes old dreams aren't meant to be and we have to let them go and embrace what is to come. A new dream, a new vision for the future. For me it's a life in the country and enough time in the day to spend with my children, my husband, and my severe crafting problem. It's the dream of when he's working nights and it's raining outside so I can leave the window open and listen to the rain as I fall asleep. It's a campfire and laughing as our son tells the worst jokes in the world.

If we spend our time thinking on those old dreams and regretting what life has become doesn't do us any good. It holds us back from the happiness we can have now. This life is full of enough surprises and shocks. We spend enough time in hospital waiting rooms and finding innovative ways to keep one step ahead of the rest of the world to prevent chaos. Enjoy those new dreams, whatever they are. You're worth it.

Remembering... Not just on Memorial Day, but always.

2013-05-27T22:38:00.000-05:00

Today, our nation celebrated Memorial Day... a day not meant for BBQ and trips to the beach... a day meant to be set aside as an opportunity to remember those who have lost their lives in service to our country. (for more on the history of Memorial Day, there's a good summary here: http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html)

Since our country's beginning, more than 1.2 million heroes have laid down their lives in combat. Many more have been lost later as a result of service - to suicide, to cancer and illnesses as a result of exposures, to alcohol and drugs used to "self medicate" and run from the memories of war. And, each of these heroes left behind a family and friends - people for whom life will never be the same, people who carry the costs and losses of service with them every day.

My daughter and I were in the car this afternoon listening to a local radio station. The station was encouraging people to call and share stories of loved ones who had been lost in service to their country. As one caller shared the story of his grandfather who served in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam, my sweet seven year old answered his plea at the conclusion of his story, "I just hope people will remember him and the many others who have served and given their lives" with the simplicity of her youth... "I will remember."

Each of us enjoy the benefits of those lives every day. We enjoy our lives - our freedoms - our homes and families... we enjoy the experience of living in a democratic country... we pass through our days all too often with relatively little thought for those who paid the price for all of our liberties.

We fail to remember.

In many Veteran families, failing to remember is an impossibility. The heroes lost visit many nights... their last moments coming in the form of nightmares. Their stories are something that not only our Veterans know, but they become part of the fabric of our homes. We know their names. We know the families they left behind. We know the "what ifs". We know the "if only's".

So today - and really for the last week - as with every Memorial Day, my hero here at home and many (mannnnnnnny) heroes around the country have struggled and warred, cried and yelled, grieved and missed those they knew. It is a solemn time in our family... a difficult time... but honestly, in a strange way, I'm grateful that at least we don't fail to remember. I'm grateful that for our family the meaning of Memorial Day is very clear. I'm grateful that there is no danger of us forgetting or becoming complacent to the costs paid by those who serve. Carrying that torch is painful, but a solemn responsibility... a promise to carry them forward, knit close to our hearts, and forever a part of our story.

And so, we are here remembering.

May our heroes rest in peace and may we each live lives worthy of such sacrifice.

Remembering,
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!

Meeting Partway

2013-05-26T12:36:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow is Memorial Day. Many people are enjoying a three-day weekend, planning family get-togethers and a backyard BBQ. Memorial Day is so much more, though. It's recognition for those who fought and died for our country. I know what it's like to fear for my son's safety while he was deployed. I am thankful that Memorial Day isn't about him as he made it home safely even as he deals with a TBI and PTSD.

No, Memorial Day is in memory of those who never came home and the reality is their families and comrades never forget that. The following poem is emotional. I wrote it one day after hearing of a soldier who had died and finding out his wife was expecting their first child.

Meeting Partway

I'm sorry, Son, it isn't fair to meet you in this way;

I hope you know I love you and we'll meet again someday.

I thought about you often as I fought on the streets of war;

I wondered if we'd ever meet, if I would see you born.

Please take care of your mother for in the days ahead;

She'll need you more than ever so be there in my stead.

You won't understand her tears for many years to come.

Just know I love you and I'm proud that you're my son.

Try to understand when Grandma holds you extra close;

And tell Grandpa I was proud of him the most.

Go now to the future and from above I'll stand my guard;

Tell mama that I love her and I'm sorry that it's hard.

Daddy, I will miss you and I hate to see you go;

I'm already missing the good times we'll never know.

I know we haven't had a chance to be father and son.

But Daddy I'm so proud of you and when this life is done.

We'll sit and talk together and look on the films of life;

Taking long walks; having long talks, having the gift of time.

I promise to do my best to comfort Mommy's pain;

I'll have your hair and your eyes and your dimpled chin.

I'll give Grandma an extra hug and remind her of a smaller you;

And when I'm a little bigger Grandpa will take me fishing, too.

I'm going to miss you, Daddy, but I promise to be strong;

I'll take care of Mama, Grandma and Grandpa.

“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.