I just wanted to share a little about my morning..my husband has been met with a lot of triggers this week and this morning he woke up in a horrible mood. He ended up taking his anger out on the dogs yelling and screaming at them and walked away from me slamming the bedroom door in my face…I had two choices to make at this point. I grew up with a father with explosive anger issues so I’ve always been pretty passive and calm when people get angry like that..I could either listen to my natural human emotions and get angry and snippy back (justifiably so) or I could take a step back for a moment and be patient. I began to prepare myself for a rough day mentally and decided to let my husband calm down for minute. When I entered the bedroom a little while later to grab my phone I asked calmly what he wanted for breakfast. He was laying on his back on the bed with his hands on his head obviously thinking. Instead of being angry his response was more loving and guilt ridden I took that as my invite to sit down on the bed next to him. I NEVER responded to his outburst in a scolding, angry, annoyed or any other tone other than loving and gentle. He was almost crying telling me he didn’t want to be like this today but he hasn’t slept in several days and everything was setting him off. Hell I can understand that. You should see how cranky I get when I’m Hungary. My point in all this (and I realize everyone’s situation is a little different especially in different stages of recovery) is that honey catches more flies than vinegar. My husband knew how he was acting was uncalled for and the dogs and I don’t deserve to have his anger taken out on us. He didn’t need me to tell him that. But if I had responded with matched anger it would’ve turned into a bigger problem than it needed to be. By responding in love and kindness he could see I understood and could trust me. He was more than sorry and I don’t need to make him feel guiltier..I started our breakfast and he came out of the bedroom a few minutes later and loved on the dogs..he’s still gonna be a little short fused probably today but hes been happy and pleasant ever since..so keep loving your husband’s ladies, be the sweet honey in his life, because we’ve come a long way and I can tell you it does get better..
Growing up I was always told that God works in mysterious ways. I realize not everyone believes this or believes in a higher power but I wanted to share a story about “coincidence” and second chances…
About every three months our church holds a giveaway to the community. We have a friend who runs a warehouse in Texas whose mission is to give back to the needs of the community and minister to them through love and compassion. He usually brings up a semi truck full of food, diapers, school supplies, toiletries, ext. We pass out flyers before hand and usually get about two hundred or better people from our small community to come out. They are always in such need and an act of kindness and compassion like this is just amazing to watch quite literally change their lives….
So the last giveaway we had a few months ago my husband and I really wanted to participate in (because of various schedule issues wed never been able to before). We signed up but come the morning of the giveaway my husband woke up after a night of relentless nightmares depressed, anxious, and in no state to be around a large crowd. He insisted I go so I reluctantly left him at home and headed that way. Of course I was running late, nearly ran out of gas, a “car won’t start I was fallin apart” kinda morning. I almost turned around and went home several times. Thank God I didn’t though because I would’ve missed out on an amazing experience.
I finally made it there in time and was assigned to the group helping carry stuff to the cars and praying with those who wanted us to. About halfway through the morning myself and a friend helped a middle-aged woman carry her bags to her truck. As we approached the truck I noticed a native american looking man approx in his mid 40’s (her husband) sitting in the driver’s seat. No big deal. I also noticed as we were loading the truck (he got out to help) a faded army sticker on the tailgate. Maybe it was just my crazy obsession and passion for anything military or maybe it was God but I just had an unexplainable urge to talk to this man.
He never said a word to us but he seemed kind. He was sort’ve distant and I easily noticed his slightly paranoid demeaner…he kept non challantly looking around watching his surroundings. His wife, a tiny woman with already greying straw like hair and skin that symbolized a lifetime if smoking, seemed nice but very private as well. One might not have noticed at first glance but her body language was not just closed off but almost protective..of him. I recognized this behavior not because I’d seen it before, but because I’d felt it. This woman was me in thirty years..
So I asked the standard “here’s your sign” question just to break the ice.. “Are you army?”
The man looked and acknowledged me for the first time and spoke with dignity and confidence, “Yes. My daughter too.”
We got to talking a little small talk. He told me he served in Desert Storm and now his daughter had served in operation Iraqi Freedom..
“Wow..my husband was over there too..he was an infantryman in he corp..Iraq 04-05. He fought in Fallujah.”
This got him talking a little more…he said he was infantry as well..a toe gunner if I’m not mistaking..
He mentioned that he needed to get down to the VFW but hadn’t gotten himself to do it yet….I was so close to getting him to trust me I thought..to open up just a little more about himself…his wife stood calmly beside him..no doubt dutifully and meticulously watching him…waiting for the moment he either opened that door or slammed it shut again and shed have to hopelessly watch him work through the haunting pain she had become so familiar with.
So I took a chance and chose to trust him first… “My husband was actually supposed to be here with me today…but he couldn’t. He had nightmares last night and just can’t be around people..he has PTSD.”
It seems like a small thing to share but if you have or are close to someone with PTSD you know it’s not so easy to tell people. The understanding in the mans eyes told me I had made the right choice though…Its hard to describe but his body and soul almost visibly relaxed and opened up to me…like walls falling down. A stranger finally finding a familiar friend..We continued to talk and both him and his wife shared with me how restricted their lives had been. He has nightmares too and his own kids knew not to come into his bedroom when he slept because he sometimes fought in his sleep and had accidently hit and choked people before. He can’t even go to Walmart with his wife and he’s been reluctant to get any help from the VA and even visit the VFW.
On top of his daily torment he was also tormented by the experiences of his daughter. She had suffered a TBI in Iraq and was now going through treatment for brain tumor caused by the incident. Imagine going through hell and then watching your baby girl walk right into the same hell just to come home still fighting for her life..
After talking for a while we decided to pray so I could get back to work. I got them to agree to stick around for the raffle. Later I actually saw him come out of the truck and join the crowd. Although he still looked stressed and anxious and left his back to no one it was a huge step few would recognize….
As we gathered to pray I felt overwhelmed with happiness that this man had shared with me and was planning on going to the VFW as soon as possible now. What happened next I never expected. His wife, who’d been mostly silent letting him speak, grabbed my hand and handed me a piece of paper with her number on it. “If you ever need someone to talk to about your husband..” She said.
I had never though before then about how lonely it was having no one to talk to about my husband and what we go through together. No one else who understood my position. She was the first person to encourage me to start talking and to start this blog. Before that event I was closed off and never thought I deserved help too. I had already written off the rest of he world as separate from me, that they could never understand our lives.
I’m sharing this story because I don’t believe God is a complacent God that doesn’t care. I believe he is an active loving God and he can use anyone for good if we let him. I believe everything happens for a reason and healing can be found through his love and compassion carried out through us. This Saterday we are having another giveaway. My husband will be there this time…and I can’t wait.
Recently I was working with a couple fellow airman tasked with the wonderful duty of moving a bunch of medical equipment across town to another base where our unit has a storage compartment. I’m fairly new to the squadron and the other girl and I were making small talk on the way over…somehow or another the subject came up and I told her my husband is a Marine vet..the rest of the conversation went like this..
Her – “Oh wow..so does he treat you right?”
Me – “Oh yeah of course..better than I deserve even.”
Her – “That’s great!..that’s pretty rare I know majority of Marines are wife beaters and such ya know.”
(yes, she said she KNOWS this…it was almost comical)
…she then went on to talk about how they’re brainwashed and trained to kill so of course they would seem and be dangerous..I mean how on earth could you possibly tell the difference between a terrorist in a combat zone and your 120lb wife right? And gosh that PTSD stuff must affect the Marines worse or something since the Army Infantryman aren’t inherently wife beaters… Sorry, I have to make a joke of these kinda things in order to keep from telling people they’re ignorant asses to their face..But in light of this I figured I could use it for the better on my blog. A comment like this is simply not as unheard of as one might hope. So I decided to make a little list of myths and truths about all those big bad wife-beating Marines out there…please hold all giggles for the end..
Myth – all Marines are wife beaters
truth – players? sometimes. rough in bed? sure. But majority of Marines don’t need to beat women to get what they want….just walk into a San Diego bar on a night the boys are wearing their blues if you don’t believe me..
Myth – all Marines have bodies that resemble body building icons like Hulk Hogan and The Rock
truth – with the exception of your occasional moto-pog who actually has the time to drink creatine 24/7 and go to the gym every night most Marines drink way too much booze, eat way too much pizza, and run way too far with way too much equipment to ever have the ability to resemble anything close to that. And besides…bigger bodies make bigger targets.
Myth – all Marines marry fat Mexican chicks or fat white trash (I don’t mean to offend anyone that’s just how the myth goes..)
truth – while many a marine do love good food, and these women make GOOD food…not ALL marine’s need more “cushin for the pushin”
Myth – all Marines are brainwashed in boot camp
truth – the Marine Corp is too poor to do such things. If any branch was going to have the funding and ability to experiment with mass brainwashing it would be the Airforce…just sayin…oorah
Myth – all Marines are stupid
truth – Walter Cunningham, John Glenn (astronauts…not the first either), Drew Carrey, Jerry Coleman, Keith Jackson, Jamey Johnson, Howard Johnson, George Jones, Robert Kiyosaki (author of Rich Dad, Poor Dad and expert in financial freedom), Hugh McColl (former CEO of Bank of America)…I could go on…
Myth – all Marines have moto tattoos and a tattoo of their dog tags on their side
truth – I think I know at least one that doesn’t….
He rarely spoke of it. Not to his family or best buddies, fellow Marines or medical staff watching over him.
But Cpl. Farrell Gilliam had endured far more by the time he died this year at age 25 than most people could comprehend.
The Camp Pendleton infantryman survived three months of combat in 2010 with the “Darkhorse” 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment in Sangin, Afghanistan — one of the deadliest battlegrounds of the war.
Amid firefights and insurgents’ bombs, Gilliam saw limbs strewn across the ground. He loaded broken, bleeding bodies for medical evacuation, and grieved for the friends they could not save.
Gilliam’s tour ended early when his legs were blown off by an improvised explosive device, or IED. “Farrell’s Fight,” his struggle on the homefront that his big brother helped him chronicle online, included more than 30 surgeries and three years of rehabilitation.
It was a story of triumph over wounds that would have been fatal in earlier conflicts. A story that was coming to an end, but not how anyone who knew him expected.
Gilliam was months away from a medical discharge from the Marine Corps and a new life as civilian college student. Physically, he had one surgery left to remove hardware in an arm. Psychologically, he was suffering from invisible wounds he hid behind smiles and upbeat banter.
Or so his family discovered on Jan. 9, when Gilliam committed suicide by shooting himself in the head in his barracks room in San Antonio.
Gilliam finally succumbed to his battle wounds, said Sgt. James Finney, his former squad leader in Afghanistan. It doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger — to him Gilliam was killed in action just like the other 25 from their battalion.
“It was an 8,000-mile sniper shot,” said Finney, 27, now an infantry instructor. “His passing was directly due to a situation because of his wounds received in Afghanistan. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
The suicide rate for active-duty troops spiked in 2012 to nearly one a day, a record during this era of warfare and twice as high as a decade before. At least 350 took their lives that year, more than the number of service members killed in combat. (Final numbers for 2012 and a year-end tally for 2013 are pending, a Pentagon official said.)
Last year, 45 Marines committed suicide and 234 tried to. It was by far the highest number of suicide attempts for the service since at least 2003.
Among veterans of all the armed forces, at least 22 commit suicide daily, according to estimates from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.
Gilliam’s death blindsided his family and friends. Amid their raw first waves of grief, anger and irrational guilt, they pray that sharing his story might inspire others to stop suffering silently. Or spur a family to intervene. Or close a gap in support or education.
“I want no family to have to go through the pain that we are going through. If there’s just one person who gets that help that saves them … then it’s worth it,” said Gilliam’s brother, Daniel Lorente, 30, of Palo Alto, who cared for him full time as his non-medical assistant early in his rehabilitation.
“My little brother would be next to me right now if it wasn’t for what happened to him in Afghanistan,” Lorente said. “It’s all a tragedy of this war. Call it (post-traumatic stress disorder), call it whatever you want. But it’s still a war. It’s still going on. It’s on our own soil, with our own soldiers.”
Read the rest of the article here… http://m.utsandiego.com/news/2014/mar/28/farrell-gilliam-marine-suicide-amputee/
A little over a year ago, in my husband’s and my college town, a man was involved in a confrontation at one of the local bars, and upon leaving the man he was in confrontation with attacked and ran him over with a large truck in the parking lot of this bar. The man that got run over was a Marine, just back from Afghanistan and out of the corp only a couple months earlier. He ended up making a full recover to my knowledge but was in very critical condition for quite a while. The 18 year old boy who attacked him was easily caught and is in prison now. When my husband and I found out about the incident we, like most of the community, were absolutely outraged. At this point (and for several following weeks) it did not look like this man was going to survive. My husband’s angered response to the news was “He just survived hell for his country only to come back and lose it all because of some piece of shit 18 year old BOY!” The story broke many people’s hearts including our own. The man had a wife, two kids, and a baby on the way at the time. This was right around Christmas and the Collegiate Veterans Association (a club my husband helped start at the local college while we were there) had been collecting money and helping the family since the incident occurred. When it got closer to Christmas my husband and I decided to send the family a Toys R Us gift card for the kids and a spa gift certificate for the mother (I’m sure she could’ve used a little stress relief whenever she finally got the chance to use it). We didn’t put a return address or our names. We only knew them through mutual friends and peers, we’ve never actually met them. Sometimes I really wish I could’ve seen if it helped at all or how it made them feel, but I have never cared if they ever knew that we were the ones who did it. I was really proud of our community for how they responded to the incident. I am always so humbled by how much people can come together to help others during times of crisis, loving others without expecting anything in return is what humanity is meant to be about.
…I just created a couple more pages containing and organizing previous posts so that they are easier to find and don’t fall through the cracks. Maybe one of these days I’ll upgrade my WordPress and make my blog more customized but for now I think this makes it a little better….So feel free to check them out if you haven’t been following my blog for long or seen some of my previous posts I think you might like them and always love feedback! Have a blessed day all!
“And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil because I am the baddest mother f***er in the valley.” -Scout platoon 4th tank battalion 4th Marine division, my husband’s platoon wore shirts with this quote on their backs into Iraq. It’s one of my favorite quotes.