Yes, this is my life

I spent nearly a decade trying to get Mike to realize he suffered with PTSD. He knew something wasn't right but couldnt admit it. He thought just "DISAPPEARING" would make our lives better. In that choice, his final act...he actually caused me to develop PTSD. I see the irony now. I've had the condition for nearly a year and a half. Unlike him I recognize the symptoms and work hard daily to overcome. If not overcome at least live with. I met Sean, shortly after Mike passed. He had heard about his death and sent me a condolence message on Facebook. I learned that they had been friends since 1993 at school in Memphis. He said their careers kept them in contact and they even took the retirement class together on Pendleton. I thought it was so strange that they had known each other as long as I'd known Michael, 20 years...and I'd never met him. It made me wonder what else I didn't know. We talked a few times. I felt like he was a living connection to Mike. W

I've had the same dream for several nights now. I am at a familiar location with the kids. Sometimes it's the house I grew up in,other times it's my grandma's house. We are going along with our typical day when the door opens and Mike appears. It always shocks me. I run to him with tears streaming down my face and beg him not to leave me again. I can feel him, smell him, kiss him, touch his face. It all feels so real. I plead with him to just stay with me. His answer is always the same. ...."You know I can't stay." Last night after he said that he told me he didn't know how long he was going to get this time so let's just enjoy the few minutes we had. I didn't let go of him as we sat there together. I just wanted to feel him next to me as long as I could. I didn't ask any questions. I didn't care in that moment. I watched him breathe and smile. I studied the lines on his face and touched his broad shoulder. I put my head on his chest

Pride can literally kill you. The same pride that makes you one of the elite among men/women as a United States Service Member can prevent you from seeking help in your darkest hour. It can keep you from treatment that could save your life and keep your family together. It can break your spirit and your home. There is a stigma that needing help is a sign of weakness. It could ruin your career. What will my Marines think? Pride took my husband ultimately. I tried to get him to realize he needed treatment for nearly a decade. By the time he retired he was broken. His will in life was gone. He decided to fill that emptiness with alcohol and rage. It was easier for him to be mad than to accept reality. He was depressed, anxious, paranoid, sleep deprived and just lost. He became apathetic to almost all aspects of life. He had no concept of time, responsibility, joy, laughter... In the week leading up to his death he began taking down every bit of his Marine Corps awards, photos, flags, a

I think the holiday stress is getting the better of me now. I'm thankful it's almost over and can hopefully have a break soon. Twice today different things have triggered intrusive thoughts. As I type my heart is raving and I'm out of breath. I feel light headed. I was just switching loads of laundry and something fell out of the dryer. At first glance it appeared to be Mikes favorite basketball shorts. But that couldn't be because he was wearing them the night he died. It was enough to take me back to that night. Just that one glance. It turned out they were Masons shorts and they were red not maroon like Mikes. But it was enough to freak me out. And earlier today I had a similar experience at the kids school. We lived in the house Mike killed himself in for 8 months after he died. The cleanup crew used a type of detergent or cleaner in the garage...I don't know what the name or brand is but evidentially the school uses it too. I got on to campus today and was i

Hosting a kid birthday party at a very busy arcade is madness. Especially for a mom with PTSD. There were crowds and buzzing and blinking ringing and bears oh my!  I'm there with my nerves frayed thinking "you know this this day needs?!" (If you're thinking cowbell you are wrong but I like your style) what this day needs is....a live band of children musicians! Oh my em gee. Really? The School of Rock (yes just like the Jack Black movie) was playing the venue. How did we get so lucky? I was in a sweat for no damned reason. Oh wait, there was a reason. Because I'm crazy. But I stuck it out. Mason had a blast. He will officially be ten this week. Where did the time go? I'm really missing his dad and wishing he could be here to see our middle baby turn two digits.

II have an alarm on my Google News. It notifies me when an article regarding Veteran Suicide is published. Today two were released about the SAV act. Both quoted an advocate saying "It might be uncomfortable to talk about..." Now, don't get me wrong I am thrilled we have an open dialog in the country and legislation moving to help our veterans. HowEVER... Uncomfortable to talk about? When I think of "uncomfortable" I think about a mosquito bite. A mild discomfort. If it's uncomfortable to talk about, imagine what it feels like to live with PTSD or TBI everyday. Or to be the spouse or child of a veteran who committed suicide. If talking is discomfort, living with this reality is akin to the loss of a limb. It's like putting a band aid on a severed arm and waking up every morning hoping it's healed. We will bleed to death before that will ever happen. And that's just it...people are dying. Every 65 minutes a veteran takes their own life. The p

Tonight while catching up on older Dateline episodes I stumbled across The Road Home. Video It's about survivors of mass shootings. It really triggered some serious emotions. Although, my experience was more personal and on a much smaller scale....the wounds and lasting effect are nearly identical. This trauma is so specific. The part that really hit me hardest was two victims of two separate tragedies recalling being behind the door from the shooter and holding the door knob closed as the shooter came closer...and then feeling the knob turn and someone attempting to get in. This was the source of the majority of their trauma. ...I was shocked. This was my experience too. Knowing that the flimsy door was all that separated you and death. Knowing any moment you will die. It's a feeling I cannot describe. That moment. The fact that someone else knew. They shared my anxiety. PTSD can be acquired so many ways but the results are so so so similar. It's a relief and bummer

I'm no stranger to loss. I have lost many loved ones in my lifetime. All four of my grandparents have died. Three of my uncles passed. My best friend died when I was 16. My favorite aunt died when I was pregnant with Mason. My cousin was KIA in Iraq in 2009. Before Mike died I had become somewhat desensitized to death. Just accepting it as a part of life. But since Mike died each death is like a searing dagger in my chest. It's becoming more and more difficult to cope with loss. It's like I'm reliving his death each time I get word. I've lost several friends in the past year in a half and I can't even bring myself to attend a funeral. I can't do it. Today I learned a childhood friends newborn baby died. It felt like I was hit by a truck. All day long my anxiety has been so high I feel like I can't catch my breath. I am not sure how many more times I my body and mind can handle this. Will it always be this way now? It's harder and harder to recover

I've been fighting for Mikes death to be ruled "SERVICE CONNECTED" with the VA since he died. It has not been easy at all. There are several factors for this. The first is that Mike was in denial until the end. He never sought help. He never saw a doctor for the specific condition. He did see the doctor for every symptom related to the illness but he nor the  medical staff connected the dots that created the bigger picture. His medical records are now magically missing from the VA as well as the archives in STL. There is record of his service but never record of him having been seen by any doctor for any reason in 20 years of service. After Mike died I did have his full medical record. I gave it to an Army advocate who was helping file. He then gave it to my sister...who mistaken,you gave it to Mikes mom and now she refuses to give them back to me. I got a letter from the VA today stating that all efforts to locate his medical records have been exhausted. There is no

I hear that a lot from survivors. "Life was perfect before he died." I just don't agree with that. I cannot identify. I'm not sure if my husband's symptoms were more obvious or they have a romantic fantasy made up in their heads to help them cope with the tragedy. Maybe it's because some don't wish to speak "ill" of the dead....but that's the thing that gets me...I'm being completely honest. With you and myself. He was ill. He was not well in the days, weeks, months, years leading up to his death. As a matter of fact I didn't recognize the person who slept next to me at the end of his life. I don't say that to demean him in any way. I say that because I know now that different decisions made back then could mean the difference between him being here or not. It could mean you being here or your loved one being here. We just didn't have the tools or the awareness of how deep we were into the disease. Life wasn't easy when h

It's difficult getting through the holiday season when you have an empty space  at your table and in your heart. It's even more stressful when you're a single parent and your late husband's family has disowned you. I have to literally stop myself from going into wallow mode this time of year. I just wrapped the kids Christmas gifts. It's not going to be like the years before. I got them things on their list but not the bigger requests because I cannot afford them. Tj wanted a ps4 400 bucks, Kira wanted an American girl doll $200. Surprisingly Mason didn't ask for anything too big but I still feel sad. I spent every dime I could and still manage to fund Mason's birthday party in two weeks.  Oh...and eat. This is on top of knowing what the kids really want is their dad and I can't give them that either. Saturday night Kira was crying for her dad. It broke my heart. All I could say was I miss him too. What can you say? As I was finishing up the gift wrap

Mikes sister sent Kira a letter last week with a DVD inside. It was a memorial slideshow. I watched it with her. It had a big impact on me. The photos were of him and his family from birth until he graduated bootcamp. That was 20 years ago. The pictures just stop at age 19. It made me realize that his family didn't know him. It made me feel sorry for them. They weren't estranged in that time, they just made a choice to not communicate. It at first infuriated me. All of the harsh words and allegations they made of me and they didn't bother to get to know him as a man. I did. I stuck by him through the good and bad times. I finally made peace with it. It all made sense. They were projecting their own guilt on to me. They were so shocked and denied he could or would take his own life...it's because they really didn't know him at all. I've decided to list what I know about him. Even the little quirky details. Should I ever start to forget, or if the kids ask who h

Since we are leaving for our holiday trip soon I will get a jump on my Thanksgiving entry. Despite such great sorrow experienced in our life the past 14 months I am very thankful, some might be surprised by that. I have so much to be grateful for: *I have three smart beautiful funny healthy strong loving kids. *My belly is full and the roof over my head is warm. *I have a very supportive partner who is patient and kind and shares in my grief. He loves my kids like they're his own. Their relationship is beautiful. *I have two adorable but stinky dogs who love me. *I have the best friends anyone could hope for. *We live in such a beautiful place. *I had the honor of spending 11 years of my life with my late husband. The good times outweighed the bad. The memories will last a lifetime. I miss so many things about him. He was with woodworking the way I'm with sewing. I'd just give him an idea and he'd have it done by the end if the day. We did so many projects toge

Occasionally I wonder what it would be like if I randomly got amnesia and couldn't remember my past. Would it be worth losing the good memories in order to forget the bad. I am not sure but it's something I think about, would I be capable of happiness true happiness again? I wake up groggy and force myself out of bed daily. It sometimes takes hours for me to get motivated to do...anything. Lately I'm emotional and sensitive. I cry several times a day. My health is declining. I wake up choking at night and have terrible sinus infections. I know I'm overwhelmed. I don't want to die, I just want to be left alone by everyone. I'm disorganized, forgetful, irresponsible, tired, uninspired. I'm getting worse not better. Everyone is looking to me to be strong so I just avoid them. I don't want to be strong right now. Or, I do but it's just too much work. I pray a lot. I ask for strength to get through "this". What is "this"? Will I

I'm angry but I'm not sure at who exactly? He's dead, I have PTSD and the VA cares very little. My soul is damaged. My confidence is shattered. My emotions are raw. I'm trying my hardest to not ask "why me?" I'm stressed to the max. My symptoms seem to be in overdrive. Just now sitting here accessing my triggers it occurred to me that the word trigger itself is a trigger. A gun has a trigger. A gun was used to take his life. Then I relive that night again. My brain is swimming as incoherently as I type this blog. This is my life. This is my brain. It's a cluttered mess. I don't know what to do about anything. I don't have the motivation to even brush my hair or straighten up my house. I just want to sleep. Today I don't really have any hope life will get better. Hopefully tomorrow will be a different story. You want the reality of what life is like after  devastating  loss? This is it. Some days I feel like I can do anything. Today I

Sometimes dealing with grief and PTSD is like being bipolar. Only the highs and lows are much faster and really gave no pattern. The past week has been super rough on me. It started Saturday. I found out a childhood friend from back home took his life. And in the same manner a Mike did. It triggered flashbacks and I was pretty much a mess the rest of the day. Strike One. We decided on the spur if the moment to hop in the truck and take the RV to the beach on base for a few days. The beach that my kids connect most with their dad, the beach we spent dozens of days wave jumping building sandcastles and chasing birds most of the kids life. Second Whammy . Monday was the Marine Corps birthday. I was awake to watch the sunrise. I stood there on the beach feeling such a mixed bag of emotion. I dropped to my knees and just cried. And kept crying until the kids woke up and we went rock hunting. Third breakdown. Tuesday was Veterans Day. How can that not be difficult? More sobbing. ...I

Last week I sent the kids school photos to family. Including Mikes siblings and parents. Mostly because I know it's the right thing to do. Despite their hatred for me or how they hurt me when I needed them the most. Mikes mom and sister accused me of killing Mike on several occasions and also blamed me for not being able to stop him on another. It cut me to the core. I was already down and they kicked me. My therapist told me it's not uncommon for people grieving and in denial to blame others. So I worked had and allowed my heart to forgive them. My kids have no idea about what they have said to me. I never would want them to feel anything but love. Today...quite unexpectedly I got a very sincere and heartfelt thank you card from them. It's a start .

This motto is widely used in the Marines. It's something I really paid little attention to before Mike died. He took it seriously. In fact, I am certain that is why he took his life. The circumstances leading up to his passing support this too. The days prior to his death he took down all his military awards  plaques memorials and photos from his garage. When the SWAT team made entry to the house that night he was found in his gym shorts. In his pocket was only his drivers license. Now, anyone who knows a Marine knows they have their military ID on them always,  he didn't want to be identified as a marine after taking his life. In his eyes, suicide was a sign of weakness and Marines weren't weak. I spent eight years trying to convince him to get help and when he finally realized it he decided he'd rather die than dishonor the cherished Corps. Because he never sought help I am now repeating history trying to convince the VA he was sick. It's like Deja vu. It'

Last night we were shopping for a Ford F-250 to pull a fifth wheel. We've been looking for weeks. We finally found one that was not outrageously expensive, had the features we desired and decent milage. We were all super happy driving off in it. Everyone was smiling and excited for all the great adventures we will have as a family in the rig. We love camping and traveling so it really was a big moment for us... Even though my heart was filled with such joy and excitement on the way home as I trailed behind in the Volvo watching the kids stick their heads out of the quad cab windows letting their hair blow like puppy dogs...a sadness came over me. Mike really wanted this truck. It was all he talked about for 6 months before he passed.  He searched online just as we have been doing trying to find the perfect one. I wished for a moment I could have gotten him that truck. I won't fool myself into thinking it would have saved him but he would have momentarily been as excited as we

For the first time in a very long time, when it's quiet and my day is done, after the kids have gone to sleep I am content. For the past 13 months I have dreaded nightfall. At night when my chores were done and my body would rest my mind would run wild with anxiety and fear, sadness, emptiness, longing with a sense of just being lost. I have noticed the past few nights that I am at peace. I feel accomplished by day's end and can sit with myself in silence.  I really hope the feeling stays. I think I like the new me. I don't want anything, I don't need anything. I'm not too hot or too cold, lonely or frustrated. My hearts not racing. I'm not mentally preparing an escape route should disaster strike. I'm just enjoying the softness of my favorite throw blanket on the couch, the breeze flowing in from the patio. The chimes jingling.  The anxiety is slowly starting to let up. I haven't needed my sleep medication for 6 months and I haven't need the kolonip

Twice today I have been told something along the lines of " suicide is the most selfish act imaginable". I understand why a person may think that but I disagree and I have been teaching my kids otherwise. I will tell you why: A person who is suicidal is unable to think rationally. They really honestly and truly believe life would be better without them around. We know that's not true but we aren't the ones who are sick. And that's exactly what I've taught my kids. Their dad didn't make a conscious selfish choice. He felt he had no other choice. He didn't abandon them. I believe that whole heartedly. I don't believe people who are contemplating suicide have the reasoning and rationally required to be selfish.  When you take that factor out of the equation there is no resentment, only empathy for the person no longer with us. I'm not angry, I am doing my best to raise his children to not be angry but instead to understand the deep depression as a

I have been very vocal about our experience, the struggle both before and after my husbands suicide. Mostly because I know it's not uncommon but no one wants to talk about it. No one teaches us how to cope, how to help our servicemembers with PTSD and suicide prevention.  I wonder sometimes if I share too much. Do I bore people with my thoughts feelings and experiences but then I get a message like the one I got tonight from a random Facebooker and I know people are connecting, understanding and needing to hear it. As painful as private as raw as it can be...it's working. Thank God! 

My first experience with PTSD was as a child. At the time my grandparents lived with us and my uncle was returning from the military after being in long before I was born. Both her and his brother, my other uncle served in Vietnam. My uncle was going to be living with us until he got settled. Before he came my grandma sat us down for some very specific and serious rules. I had no idea why but if my grandma made her serious face and said it...it was the law. We were told to never ever wake him up by shouting and shaking him, the way we did to each other. No reason why was given. We didn't ask. We were told when we woke him up to open the door, flip on the light and say his name from the door. We were instructed never to never try to jump out of dark corners and BOO! him. The way kids do in fun. Never try to startle him. Again no reason was given but we didn't ask either.  I learned later why. His natural reaction was to defend. In startling him, he could accidentally hurt us in

I finally watched the movie today. It reminded me how cruel like can be.  Hazel said "you gave me a forever within a number of days and for that I am forever grateful. I love you so much" I don't know if it's worse living a length of time knowing you're dying of a terminal illness or having it all taken away in a blink? I guess we all know were dying. It's inevitable. But would we live differently if we knew it was coming soon? She said no pain in her cancer battle compared to the loss of her loved Augustus. She was even able to tell him everything she wanted to say before he passed. I think that's the worst part. There are so many things I never got to say. Just like the novel Hazel was obsessed with our story ended in the middle of a sentence.  No pain compares to how my heart feels every minute of every day. Grief is like emotional cancer. I take the medication, have a great support network, talk talk talk about it and still it doesn't get better. I

The dream post earlier has me thinking. The truth is...I hope I do get married again in my lifetime. I hope I can have that relationship. The bond that commitment brings. It's the one thing I know I can be good at. I guess, given my track record it appears otherwise. Divorced one. Widowed once. But I did love both men and the life we shared together. I learned a great deal from the experiences. I say I'm never marrying again. I'm not cut out for it but I long for it. I like the security. I've never been unmarried as an adult and it's something I'm not taking for granted. I'm learning to "just be". As a person. An individual.  I just don't see myself alone at the end of my life. I look at little old couples and wonder if I will get my chance to grow old with someone who will stick around into our golden years. I notice young parents with their first baby. The glow, the uncertainty and the love they exude hurts my heart. I think they are so lucky

I just finished watching the Sons Of Anarchy episode when the club brings Opies body in to the board room for a goodbye viewing before the funeral and it reminded me of a dream I keep having. A really odd, far fetched dream that I know is not true but for some reason it keeps happening. At least once a week... I never saw Mikes body after he died. After I held the door closed and heard the pop I picked the kids up and ran. I never opened the door to check on him. I wasn't allowed into the garage to be with him before the coroner took him away. He was cremated after that so my last memory of him is seeing him walk past me with a rifle. I know my dream is related to the regret of not being able to see him. In my dream he didn't really die. He had witnessed some crime and went into witness protection. The reason it took 5 hours for the cops to get done in the garage was to stage the scene of the "suicide" so he could move away to a different town, under an assumed name a

My girlfriend posted a blog today about single parenting. Her husband is a Marine and deployed. She's at home with two little ones. I remember how that was while Mike was in. I did it three times with three kids. Once with only one kid. It's still not "single parenting" but I can relate to what she's trying to present. I am a single parent. The difference between her and I is that I am solely responsible for providing for them. Financially, emotionally, morally, in every way. My husband isn't off earning money while I'm home. I have to budget, pay, pinch alone.  I also am the only one responsible for how they end up as adults. It's a lot of pressure. I never know exactly what the right answer is so I just do my best and make all decisions for them from a place of love. I cross my fingers take a deep breath and hope it's good enough.  I have Sean around and he's a big help but ultimately it's up to me. He could decide to pick up and leave at

I started watching Sunday afternoon. It's Friday night and I'm already five seasons in. Yes, it's been a Netflix binge. As soon as the kids are in bed I'm glued to this show. Its that good. It's also bad in that last night my netflix had a glitch and somehow played an episode three ahead of where I left off and nothing was making sense. I finally realized what had happened and got so upset I just turned off the tv. I went to bed and dreamed about time travel. I'm sure it's connected as I basically fast forwarded through the lives of the people on my show. Super bummer. It's my First World problem...I know. But let me tell you this crazy ass dream. It's completely unrelated to SOA but was some real SciFi channel worthy material. The first part I can recall was my traveling on a horse and wagon with family. We were hauling timber and came to a bridge. It was a rickety old broken thing. I remember quite specifically my cousin Cissy (whom I haven't s

The biggest reason I continue to fight the VA for a "service related" death is my kids. Not for any education benefit or compensation so that they know their dad was sick and nothing they did or said made him leave. I never want my kids for even a fleeting second to think they were "bad" or were a burden to either one of us.  I remind them everyday that we love them. Kids tend to blame themselves for everything. Even kids of divorce feel like "had I just been a better kid maybe they would have stayed". My biggest fear is that one day they might think they had some responsibility in his suicide. He loved his babies. They were the the reason he fought as long as he did. He tried. 

They just announced we will have "boots on the ground" in Iraq soon.  marinecorpstimes.com http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/article/20140923/NEWS08/309230066/Army-chief-Division-headquarters-will-deploy-soon-Iraq I don't even know how I feel about it. Except to say when I read it my heart sank into my stomach and I felt such dread and loss.  I don't care too much for the politics of it all. I can only tell you what I know. That is, my cousin Eddie was KIA in 2009 and my husband committed suicide last year after serving four tours in Iraq between 2003 and 2010.  Although Mike had been twice deployed to Iraq when Eddie died I had a newfound realization that this shit is real. It became personal. He deployed twice more after his death and I agonized every minute knowing.  When they pulled out of Iraq officially I trusted the job was done and felt such relief.  I cried for my cousin and his family that day. He was a hero. I had no idea of the silent war still brewing in my

He would have been the big 4-0. I spent years building up material to razz him on this milestone day. I'd quote from the movie Big Daddy and call him "old balls". "OMG I'm married to OLD BALLS?!" I would throw him a party as I always did even though he asked me not to and he'd be all low key like it was no big deal turning 40 and I would know deep down he felt loved and expected me to make a big deal out of it. He knew... I would blast the shit out of Metallica's Black Album, pour him a jack and Dr Pepper and pull his birthday lasagna out of the oven right before we sang to him and he blew of 40 cake candles (if that many candles didn't burn the house down first!) Speaking of the black album I will share a funny story about his devotion to Metallica. When we first got married the cd was in his car. The songs played over and over again. To the point I assumed the cd was jammed in the player. I never thought to check because it played constantly. O

Today on Facebook I spoke to Mikes MOS. For those who don't know what that is is was his job title in the Marines.  They go by numbers. Each set of numbers is a job title. But I digress.... We were talking about it being a year passing and I shared the tattoo I got in his memory. One Marine said he was sharing our story with his friends because it's common for people to assume you must be a combat Marine to develop PTSD. It still shocks me how uneducated the general public is about the condition. So I will share what I shared with them.

This is why I fight. Jessica. Jessica didn't survive but like me she protected her baby until the end. http://kdvr.com/2014/09/19/georgia-mother-killed-trying-to-protect-baby-who-survived-13-hours-in-toilet/ Reading it is so difficult. Down to the weapon he used. It's eerily familiar. For whatever reason I survived. I will be Jessica's voice. I know the fear, shock, doom and betrayal she felt in her final moments. I lived to tell the story. I will be damned if this keeps killing people and ruining families. Now this baby has neither parent. Why aren't we catching them sooner? I've got to find a way to reach these people and tell our stories. I'm so sad. I don't want to shame our husbands but create awareness and intervention before things ever get this far. I'm praying to God to give me the strength and wisdom to get the word out.  She's a casualty of war. We are all effected. No mother should ever feel she's got to defend her children from their

Just when I think all hope is lost something happens...in this case several something's have happened and all at once. I'm not complaining at all. I'm just feeling really overwhelmed by it. First, I was contacted by Huffington Post asking if I would be interested in being a guest blogger...uh...YES! Then, the Marine Corps Times managing editor contacted me and said they not only want to run my blog but interview me along with it. And finally today an organization contacted me offering help to fight the VA for Mikes death to be ruled "service connected" and an attorney she works with May be willing to take the case pro bono.  I'm just beside myself.  Mikes 40th birthday would have been this coming Monday. What a great gift. I will keep fighting. I don't know why I feel so exhausted right now, It is all such good news. I want to spread awareness and help military families prevent what happened to him become a common bond. I don't want another family to l

I think the best approach to living with PTSD is to be open and honest about your condition. It helps the people around you understand your behaviors, learn your stressors and triggers. If it's spoken about candidly, the stigma falls away and it's just like saying you've got diabetes. A perfectly manageable condition with proper care. It's only ugly if you make it. It's only scary if you don't understand it or deny yourself the right to live a healthy life. I will be honest though, there is a bit of humor in it. Have you ever seen Pitch Perfect? The scene when the character announces she has nodes? I...have...nodes. Sometimes it feels a little bit like that girl.  If you haven't seen the movie here is the clip: http://youtu.be/KzEZjjlWxAQ Really...it's not all that dramatic. People just don't understand what exactly it is. The media has done a number on it. Blames it for everything lately. PTSD isn't life threatening if you work on yourself. If y

About five years ago I became very sick. The doctors could not quite figure out what caused the illness. First, they assumed it was ovarian cysts. I had those removed. Then they thought maybe it's lupus. I saw about five specialists. It wasn't a lot of things. It turned out I had an autoimmune disease. Well two autoimmune diseases. Hasimotos and Sjogrens. I also had a lymph node the size of a golf ball in my neck. It could not be biopsies or removed because it was sort of wrapped around a major artery. I kept having severe sinus infections. My ENT decided to do surgery on that. But that's not all...I also started having nerve damage. I still don't have feeling in my big toe. When I got sick I got really sick. I would wake up and not even be able to get down the stairs because my joints ached so bad.  This went on until right around Mikes death.  It occurred to me this morning that it's been about a year since my autoimmune symptoms have flared. I think there is a de

I recieved a denial message from the VA after requesting to transfer his benefits. This is an interesting loophole because other than the fact that he is not alive to consent the transfer...I am eligible in every criteria.  Mike died just four months after he retired. At the time of his death he had applied to use the post 911 benefits and had even began classes but the VA had not yet made a payment to his school. So...he was eligible. The verbiage on the transfer eligibility terms say I must be his spouse and he must have personally qualified to recieve the benefits and submit a transfer request. Well, he died. He didn't know he was going to need to transfer me the benefits. Their excuse was specifically that he is not alive to consent. I am his spouse and as his spouse at the time of death I am his power of attorney. I am here to consent. He's not going to use the benefits...I assure you. If I can't be approved how about one of my children he left behind. He was promised

Today is the day. The dreaded first anniversary of his death. Mostly I just feel completely exhausted. Too tired to reall feel much of anything.  My friend of Facebook announced her parents 40th anniversary was today. I think that's a beautiful thing but today I also feel cheated out of my chance. We were married over a decade. I thought I knew how the rest of my life would play out. I was 23 when we were married. Barely a woman. Now, I sit here a widow at 35. I'm stuck between believing it was the best time of my life and wondering if it was a decade of waste. I most likely will never get the chance to be one of the lucky wives who celebrate a 30th or 40th wedding anniversary.  She talked about how lucky she was to witness such love and commitment and what great role models they are for her even now in adulthood. It makes me wonder what legacy am I leaving for my kids? Can I still teach them that commitment is good? That loving your partner for life through all the ups and dow