I
remember sitting in the doctor’s office hearing the doctor tell my husband Tom,
that he had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). All I could think was, “Now what? What does that mean?” The doctor gave Tom some antidepressants and
sent him on his way. At that time Tom
had left the Navy after serving 13 years and was serving in the Army National
Guard. That was around the year 1999 and
it was a time when information about PTSD wasn’t exactly free flowing. Neither of us knew how to deal with this
diagnosis or what to expect, so we just went on with our lives hoping it was
the right thing to do.
Shortly after his diagnosis, Tom was
injured at work. He slipped on the ice
and went head first into the side of a truck.
He ended up needing neck surgery, and had to medically retire from the
Guard. It was kind of a relief for him
to be out of the military, but at the same time he felt like he gave up a part
of who he was. As I look back, I really
believe this was the beginning of a long downward spiral. Then America was attacked.
September 11, 2001 we sat glued to
the tv in horror as the twin towers fell and the pentagon burned. My patriot went down to the recruiter to try
to re-enlist, but because he had been medically retired and had a disc fusion
in his neck, no matter how much he begged, he was denied. A few months later my stepdad, Tom’s best
friend, died after a lengthy illness.
Then we started the very stressful process of adopting 2 children, and
in 2003, Tom’s sister was killed in a car accident. In a span of 3 years our world had turned
upside down many times over. Tom was
struggling with flashbacks, sleepless nights, sleeping all day, and depression. He quit going to his psychiatrist and taking
his medication. He started smoking and
drinking again, stopped going to church and refused to wear his garments. It was a roller coaster of a life going from
total sadness, to walking on egg shells, and a few tiny moments of happiness.
October 27, 2004 was the day our
lives changed forever. Tom and I had a
huge fight and I finally told him I couldn’t do it anymore. After many tears, mostly by me, he left. A couple hours later I was awakened by a
phone call from the police department telling me there was a disturbance and
they wanted to know if Tom had any weapons.
While I paced the floor waiting to hear from the Police Department, I
heard two cars pull up. When I opened
the door I saw two police officers on the street in front of my house. Watching them get out of their cars and walk
up the driveway was the longest 30 seconds of my life. Time stood still and everything was in slow
motion. Working in law enforcement I
knew what it meant to have two officers come to my home, but I refused to
believe it. At that moment they told me
they found Tom dead with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his head. My world started spinning and I felt like I was
falling into the dark abyss. In a matter
of seconds, my life changed and would never be the same. All I could think about was our last moments
together we were fighting and now he was gone and I felt like it was all my
fault. While my 4 year old son slept in
the next room, my sweet 3 year old daughter was sitting on my lap with her
hands on my face trying to make her very sad mommy happy and not understanding
what was going on.
At that time suicide was a taboo
subject that was not talked about. I was
struggling with sadness, fear, extreme guilt and a lot of anger. I was never very good at the therapy
thing. Having a stranger stare at me
while I tell them my problems was not something I relished. I hated when people asked me what happened to
Tom. How do I tell people my husband
chose to die? I felt weird saying I was
a widow. I’m too young to be a
widow! I wanted so badly to talk about
Tom to people, but I was worried people weren’t interested in hearing about
him, so I suffered in silence.
I was trying to understand what
happened and trying to help my children, but I was very angry. My anger was beginning to take over
everything, even my sleep. I would have
nightmares about Tom that would leave me feeling drained and on edge. I wasn’t going to church because I was pretty
bitter. One day I was talking with my
bishop and I told him how angry I was.
He said to me, “You have to forgive him and yourself. Your anger is keeping him from progressing
and you as well.” It was as if a light
turned on in my brain. The cobwebs
cleared and I could see beyond the anger.
I didn’t want to be the reason for Tom not progressing.
My kids and I started doing Suicide
Prevention walks. It was sad knowing
there were so many people out there who had suffered like we had, but it was
also a comfort. For the first time in
years I wasn’t alone! My second year
walking I was asked to speak at the walk and tell my story. That was such a healing moment and it started
a conversation with anyone who would listen and with my Heavenly Father. Fundraising gave others who were suffering a
chance to tell me their stories. I
soaked in their stories like my life depended on them and I guess in way it
did. Those wonderful people had no idea
how much they changed me.
I have since done a lot of research
on PTSD and suicide. I realize that our
life was pretty normal as far as a family living with PTSD. It is normal for someone with PTSD to make
very poor choices, treat the ones they love like they don’t matter, and fight
depression. These people are literally
in a fight to stay alive and some just can’t keep fighting. I have made it my life’s mission to give
suicide awareness and prevention a voice.
I talk about it whenever I can and I am currently creating lesson plans
for my work in law enforcement in hopes to make first responders aware of the
dangers of PTSD in themselves. I am in
the process of getting approved to teach my class to dispatchers on a national
level. My dream is to end the stigma and
to stop this way of dying in its tracks.
It is preventable, sometimes we all just need some help. If I can help just one person live and keep
their family from going through what we went through, then I have done my job.
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