A Veteran's Story

A Veteran’s Story

by Laurel Richards

Today is September 11th – 09/11th in the military world evokes so many painful memories. It was the day when so many innocent people died in New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia. A day like no other in history when Islamic martyrs decided that they would meet 100 virgins by becoming suicide bombers.

I have been in active military service for fifteen long years and have had three tours in Iraq. Most of them were survived without incident. I came back safely after those tours. My body was fully intact. It was my mind that suffered and I was diagnosed with PTSD. This was common amongst us who are put in a combat situation and then returned to our country after the tour.

I never even knew that I had PTSD. My landlady in Virginia suspected that I had PTSD, after several incidents in her house when her basement got flooded. Sometimes I just could not remember how or what I did the past night. I would wake up in the middle of the night, go down to smoke a cigarette on her patio, and then go back to sleep. Or so I thought. Until the next morning when we would come down from our bedrooms to discover that her basement was flooded – without even a single raindrop falling from the sky. Crazy, right? My mind was sick and I didn’t even know about it. With her care, I was getting a little better every day so I thought that Virginia might be a good place for people like me.

My landlady was a gracious host. She let me stay in her home for five years while I finished my tour in Arlington with the Old Guard. I loved Virginia and the Old Guard! The place was so historic and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was visited every day. Most of the tourists were very respectful as they watched the changing of the guards. That was my dream, to be an honor guard at the Tomb but I never passed the written examinations. My mind could read the review booklet but when the examinations came, I could not remember the answers. My mind just goes blank and all I can see is a white canvas. And try as I would, the answers never appear on that white canvas. At least not enough answers to make me pass the exams.

My landlady never said anything when I told her the sad story of my life. She was always cheerful and optimistic around me. She and I attended concerts by the Army Band in the summer and saw the President lay a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier during Memorial Day. She was always supportive of me and really laid back. It made quite a lot of difference for me as I struggled to adjust in a new place. Did I tell you that she was my human GPS? I would call her if I get lost driving home after work and she would tell me how to get to her place. She’s very good at giving directions. And I needed that especially when I start getting confused and all of the streets look the same.

I was having financial problems when I was in Virginia because half of my salary was being sent home to support my paraplegic husband. He had a lot of pain after his bungee jumping accident in New Jersey. He lost the use of his legs and had to be in a wheelchair. You could say that he was the main reason why I joined the military – I needed a steady source of income after the accident. I was the breadwinner in the family.

My husband never wanted to join me in Virginia. He wanted to stay in our double wide trailer and was content to just see me during the holidays. I could only fly back to see him once a year because I could not afford the air fare. And it was too far to drive home. But we talked every weekend and he always knew what I was up to.

“You’re lucky to have such a nice landlady,” my husband used to tell me. They talked to each other on the telephone before I came to Fairfax County.

“I agree. She’s cool. Some of her children are active duty so she knows what military life is like.”

My five years in Virginia flew by fast. I went to cultural events while I was there, explored the Smithsonian museums, danced at a couple of balls. It was a lot of fun! And my landlady made sure that I stayed out of trouble.

Pretty soon, I was being reassigned to South Carolina and had to leave. I was to undergo training and learn how to jump off airplanes in South Carolina. I did not like this assignment after Virginia and I requested for a transfer after three years.

My next duty station was Colorado. My husband and I started to have domestic problems after I moved there. So I thought I would look up my former landlady for a little morale support. By this time, I was assigned to a desk job and was a colonel’s aide.

My former landlady answered her cell phone with a smile in her voice. That was a relief! I needed a friend who would listen to my family woes. She had left Virginia and had a job in Utah. So we planned to see each other when she visited her daughter in Colorado. What luck!

I had found her in time before I could have a nervous breakdown. My husband was becoming more irritable and was in too much pain because he refused to take his pain medicines. He hated being in a wheelchair and was not even being civil when I came home for my visits. Once, I was so annoyed at his outbursts that I told him I was considering getting a divorce. Only my Catholic upbringing was preventing me from filing for divorce.

I remembered how he was, before the accident. He was charming and funny. Easy on the eyes, too. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth then. He ruled the roost. I was younger by fifteen years and he had to ask permission from my father to marry him. I was never in love with him but my father thought it would be a good match for me. I guess I was draining the finances of the family so my father did his best and found me a husband.

I am driving home from Colorado, for this Thanksgiving, to see my husband. He is running out of medicines again and I have to get the insurance to refill his pain medications.

Why am I so tormented with this marriage? Is it something that I just hang onto, foster, even cherish just because I’m Catholic? During the midnight hours when I would be smoking, I would start questioning the ways I’d understood the torments of this marriage. It would be liberating if I could write a story on how I can pull myself out from under it.

“So how is your job in Colorado?” he asked me from across the restaurant dinner table. The restaurant was half empty during that Thanksgiving. “I’m having so much pain that I don’t know how long I could last anymore.”

“It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s not discuss your pain. I will go to the doctor before I leave and have him refill your prescriptions.”

He looked at me from across the table and smiled gently. He was trying to be nice to me. I have never seen him do this and I appreciated his attempts. I did not have the heart to tell him that I can’t get the prescriptions refilled until my next pay check is in my bank account.

After that Thanksgiving weekend, which was fairly nice, I went back to my work. About a week later, I got a call from my neighbor. She was worried, “I haven’t seen your husband come out of the house for over three days now. When was the last time that you called him?”

“I was just there over Thanksgiving weekend. Why don’t you call the police and ask them to do a spot check on him?”

“No, I can’t do that. The last time I had the police come over to check on him, he was so upset with me. Can you come home this weekend?” My neighbor is a really nice lady and he should not be upset with her for helping out. But it is just like him to be inconsiderate of the people around him.

“I will try. No promises, though. So if I’m not there by Saturday, you’ll have to find a way to check up on him while I’m at work.”

After our conversation, I went to my commanding officer and requested leave for the following week. I started driving on a Monday night. The Colorado mountains looked green, gold and hazy but amazingly beautiful. I can understand why the skies here are so clear. We’re so high up in the mountains that even the air is thin.

I made sure that I passed by the drug store when I got to Texas, to check if my husband had picked up the medicines. The pharmacist told me he had not picked them up. I paid for the medicines and headed home. I was annoyed at having to do everything for him and that he’s acting so helpless now.

My husband’s van was parked in front of our trailer. It had not been moved since I left after Thanksgiving. This is very, very odd.

Feeling a sense of dread, I went up to the door and unlocked it. “Honey, I’m home!” I half expected his wheel chair to appear after this greeting.

No response and it’s eerily quiet. I could feel the hairs in the back of my neck rise…

I crouched and crawled through the living room. I could not hear any sound coming from the bedroom.

The bedroom door was partially open but I could not see the wheelchair. Still crawling, I gently pushed the door open. The wheelchair was facing the bathroom. “He must be in the bathroom,” I thought.

I got up and walked to the wheelchair…

My husband’s head was drooping to his chest and there was blood all over him and beneath the wheelchair. I touched his neck, trying to find a pulse, and could not find one.

I was choking at the sight of so much blood!! I ran outside and dialed 911 for emergency help. The police arrived in seven minutes while I was crying my eyes out in my car.

The police went inside the trailer and they approached me after they examined my husband’s body. “He’s dead, M’am. We’ll bring him to the morgue and order an autopsy for you. We can’t let you in the house today so you might want to go to a motel and spend the night there.”

I was a whimpering dog inside. Twelve years of our marriage ended today with that sentence!

“Did you see a gun, M’am?” that question from the policeman startled me.

“No, I didn’t see a gun. Just blood everywhere.” I managed to answer. Three tours of duty in Iraq where I didn’t see combat and I come home to find all the blood here in my home today. I was prepared for combat but not in my own backyard and the sight of it made me want to puke.

I checked into the nearest motel so I could plan for the funeral after the police release my husband’s body to me. In between fits of crying, I manage to find a piece of paper to list down all the names that I should notify about his sudden death.

A month ago, I flew to Seattle for my grandmother’s funeral. Now I’m attending plus planning a funeral again. Maybe I should just use the group text from my grandmother’s funeral. I pick up my phone to find it. Now, just hit send and don’t think about it. Wait, I have to include my former landlady with this group text. There – it’s sent.

“Are you all right?” my landlady texts me back.

“Pretty much,” I answered. “I’m home because my husband died.”

“I got this group text from you today but I’m at work. I’ll call you when I get home tonight. Condolences on your loss.” This is the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me today. She’s priceless!

I lie down on the bed and try to get some sleep. I’m so tired from the trip and what I saw today. Maybe tomorrow will be better…I fall into a deep sleep and see myself under water, so dark and deep that I can not rise from it.

I see my husband walking down the street in my dream. He’s smiling, looks younger by twenty years. “I’m free now of all the pain.” He smiles again and waves at me. "Don't forget to look for my little black book." Then he’s gone forever.

“What about me?” I shout at him. But he no longer hears. I’m all alone now. The years are gone; all of my sacrifices gone. Is this fair, I wonder. All I tried to do was to keep him alive for all those years. I endured the separation, loneliness and just worked so I could keep him alive!

I wake up the next morning and find that my eyes are all swollen from crying. My sister in law is coming today with her son. I have not heard from them in ten years but she is his only living relative. I need to freshen up and look decent, so I rummage through my suitcase for a dark shirt and a pair of pants.

We meet at a bar for dinner and she manages to let me know that she can live in the trailer after I go back to work. “I can take care of the place for you,” she offers. I don’t know if that is a sincere offer or not because she never even visited her brother while he was struggling with his pain.

“I’ll think about it,” I replied. I offer to pay for two rounds of beer and we end up drinking five rounds before calling it a night. She’s got more financial problems than I have and her alcohol addiction is not getting better.

The next day, I get a phone call from her son. He is furious at me for paying for his mother’s drinks at the bar. “Didn’t you know that she is a recovering alcoholic?” he bluntly asked. After fifteen minutes of venting at me, he gave me an ultimatum not to take his mother back to the bar or pay for her again.

The next two weeks were a blur to me. I got through the funeral, said goodbye to all those who came to bury my husband and returned phone calls to those who could not come. After all these tasks were don, I looked for my husband's little black book that he told me about in my dream. I turned the trailer inside out and found it in one of his coat pockets.

I could not wait to get back to work so I put the little black book in my bag and drove back to Colorado to put in the paperwork for my next duty station.

It’s now two years after my husband’s suicide. I am healing while I am in the middle of my 3-year assignment in Italy. My life has been a roller coaster ride.

I texted my landlady the moment my feet touched Italian soil. I tried calling her before I left the USA and she could not pick up the call.

“What’s up?” she texted me back.

“Life! In Italy right now.”

"And how are you?"

"Enjoying the Tuscan sun! I got the little black book from my husband, it has his life insurance policy details and I'm selling the property in TX. I'm a rich widow living in Europe!"