Mortars for the 4th...

I wrote this back in 2010 and though we've spent a few more 4th of July holidays together, the feelings still hold true.  It saddens me to no end that the holiday will never be the same for me and thousands of other loved ones and veterans, but I'll never give up hope that some piece of it can be regained somehow.

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July 4th is coming. It's like a monster approaching my house, a giant Godzilla - only not as rubbery and fun.

When I was a child, the 4^th was an important day. Family and friends gathered in the neighborhood. We ate blackened hot dogs and drank ice-chilled generic sodas from the old metal Coleman cooler.  At the end of the usually-sweltering Kansas day, we watched an impressive display of shimmering fireworks while fireflies blinked and mosquitoes did what mosquitoes do, all in celebration of this great nation we call home. It’s a cherished memory from my childhood.

Now, the celebratory whistles and explosions are twisted into small arms fire and mortars. I’ve spent two Fourth of July's with Chris and it has been a sad realization that the very day celebrating everything he stood and fought for has become a source of pain and fear. It’s another item on the long list of things he’s misplaced to PTSD, and by association I’ve lost as well.  I say misplaced because I refuse to give up on the possibility it can all be regained in one form or another.

Chris’s reaction to the sounds surrounding the 4^th is hard for others to understand, most think it’s simply being ‘jumpy’. 

‘Yeah, loud noises bother me, too. I’m not going to let it ruin the day for me. Man up.’

Loud noises don’t just bother Chris. They make him fall to floor to take cover. Incoming.

We’ve got inbound.

Baghdad tower to Dog Pound, please acknowledge.

He’s there. He’s back in Iraq waiting for helicopters carrying the wounded or sending rounds down range. He’s forced back into a reality that he’s already lived and shouldn’t have to live over.

So, while America celebrates her birthday, please give thought to the men and women who are hunkered down in their homes, windows closed, pillows clutched around their ears, waiting for the party to end. Remember them and their gift of freedom to the rest of us.

Maybe this year, don’t light that illegal M-80 because old man Jacobs down the street is a Vietnam vet or because the Martin’s boy just got home from Afghanistan and he looks ‘different’ somehow.

This day should not be a day filled with dread, but for many people, many amazing and valiant people, it is.  Be aware not everyone wants to hear explosions to celebrate our freedom because some listened to them while fighting for it.

simple things...

A couple of weeks ago, Chris and I went to the movies together for the first time.  I know it sounds odd, but simple things aren’t so simple when your spouse has PTSD.  Movies are loud.  They’re crowded.  They offer multiple triggers in a darkened two-hour session that we just always avoided.

But it was his birthday and he’s my Star Trek geek.  So I made him bagels, fixed him breakfast in bed, and gave him his gift – two tickets to see Star Trek Into Darkness in 3D.  Luckily his birthday fell on a Wednesday weeks after the movie had premiered.  I chose a matinee and crossed my fingers. 

We arrived early because I’m obsessive about not being late.  Luckily, I’d chosen well.  The theater was empty and practically stayed that way when the movie started.  Without missing a beat, the first trailer was filled with explosions.  I have no idea what movie it was for because my eyes were locked on Chris.  He began his frantic breathing and clutched my hand.  From the beginning I told him that if he couldn’t do this we could leave.  It wouldn’t hurt my feelings at all.  But he stuck it out. 

I missed parts of movie because each time there was a sudden noise I looked to him to make sure he wasn’t “fading” into the unconscious state he sometimes falls into.  But, I also watched his face light up when the old theme from Star Trek played and Kirk recited their five-year mission.  I watched him realize we can do normal things.  I watch him for the first time tell PTSD to piss off because no matter what he wasn’t going to miss this movie.  We made it to the end of the movie without incident.

It’s amazing how many people don’t understand why going to the movies would be stressful for us, but I know there are just as many who know exactly what I’m talking about.  Simple things, they just aren’t so simple anymore.  But they’re still pleasures if we take the risk and try.  It’s too easy to get mired in PTSD and become house bound.  Living a semi normal life with this issue is work, but it’s worth it because we deserve it.  He’s already talking about the next movie he’d like to see.  It’s a small victory, but it’s a victory all the same.  We have to move forward to keep from spending all our time looking back.  Stay oscar mike.  Always moving forward, always looking for the bright spots, the simple pleasures.