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