This story is to honor the memory of a friend's father.
Dad
was seldom a happy man. It didn't matter Friday brought with it the end
of a hard work week or, holidays were a time of joy and birthdays were
suppose to be a really special day. His handsome features were rarely
softened by the simple act of a smile.
When the pain inside his
head was so explosive or, his nightmares scared him to the brink of
terror, he would strike out not because he wanted to but, because he
was fighting an enemy none of us could see ... only him.
A
thunderstorm was always his enemy and distant rumbling sounds rolling
across the countryside struck a fear throughout our household like no
other. It did not matter whether it was day or, night time, because the
sky was always ominous and the air impossibly heavy to breathe. Dad's
demeanor flicked quickly like the light switches that controlled the
current running through the walls of our home.
I never understood
when I was real little why my mom religiously listened to the radio
wherever we went, wherever we were. She always kept an ear open for
that warning of an approaching storm and then would quickly scoot us
away to a neighbor, to the local theatre or to Grandma's, who lived
upstairs in our two-family home. When bed time came around ... there
was no escape for any of us though. We were held prisoner by the same
demons just like dad while he relived the horror of a war he served at
sixteen and was missing in action for more than a year.
The older
I became, I realized my dad really did love me. Dragging me kicking and
screaming in the middle of the night down into a dark, dank cellar that
shared space with canal rats as big as my mom's toy poodle was in his
own tortured mind his way of protecting us from the phantom bombshells
that stole and destroyed his youth. During those tender young years
when my pleas of, "Daddy, I promise I'll be good," fell upon deaf ears,
I did not understand and prayed for the angels to please come and save
me. For so long I thought I was being punished for something I did not
do, something I had no power ... no control over.
Turning
thirteen was a pivotal time in my life because it was then I first read
about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder at my middle school library. Every
storm that approached thereafter, I then became a soldier and stood
fearless and proud at my dad's side offering a calming voice and soft
words of support to help him through his nightmare. Never again did I
hide in the shadow of the very fear that took the joy from his heart,
the laughter from his voice and the spark from beautiful blue eyes I
will never have the joy to gaze upon again.
This story is for all
of you who may know someone serving in our armed forces. Please take a
moment to read and research PTSD. We can not help our loved ones, if we
are ignorant of the source which is sucking the life from their very
souls. To know is to understand.
For more information on PTSD you can visit the following informative links:
www.helpguide.org
www.mentalhealthamerica.net
According
to the National Center for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder nearly 1/3 of
all veterans suffer from this disease, dramatically affecting not only
their mental health but also, their employment, relationship with
friends, and most importantly, their interaction with their wives and
children.
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