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January and February have been some of the hardest months in my whole life, which I half expected since the glory and welcome mat had been so graciously poured out to my family upon moving up to Coeur d'Alene. It was a luxurious calm before a nasty sh*t storm. The beauty of the mountains still captivates me and may it always. Still, what I'm about to tell you has taken a bit of processing to be able to share. I'm shaking right now. I don't want to write it. I usually journal instead these days, but I ran out of the amount of paper I'm going to need to write almost all of this, so here goes everything for honesty's sake, as well as for my sanity.
When we got up here, our friends noticed how my husband treated our son and I. I hadn't said a word about it because honestly, I had thought nothing of it. I noticed the difference between my husband and our friends who were husbands, however. I noticed the tenderness that the other wives were shown, the daily prayer that was shared, the devotionals, and the joy. I noticed the encouragement from fathers unto their children, and I noticed the headship that fathers were leading via Scripture. Something was drastically different, and part of me knew it was that my husband is a combat veteran, but part of me started wondering if I had not just deluded myself into thinking that things were fine for a few years when what really happened was I got so used to the way things were in our house and didn't have many friends off the internet.
I hadn't thought of it being a major problem, just how many of my family and friends I missed talking to over time. He always found a good reason for us not to involve ourselves in the lives of others. Most could not appreciate nor understand my husband, nor would they take the time to educate themselves on PTSD and TBI. They depended on me to do all the educating. All of them depended on me. Every day. I bore the burden of learning, testing, applying, and trying to live out what I was learning so that I could be the best I could be. Yet without support, I was in no way the best I could be. I was wife and psychologist, devoted mother, and friend to a small few who could handle the ups and downs from a little distance. Just that was exhausting.
Some of you are thinking, "Wait a minute. Hold up. Your whole blog is about how your husband overcame PTSD and TBI and you turned him into this man of God that seemed frankly, a bit too lofty and a bit far-fetched for almost anyone to match." I suppose I did just that. Not because I wasn't seeing those things. I was seeing those things. But understand that because I had been so isolated and unable to find combat trauma spouse support in my area, when manipulation and PTSD triggers occurred, and relapses from him not having sought treatment and sticking with it were just compressed and compounded along with pain from his physical ailments, there was little I could do but ride the waves of despair and cope as best as I could. I knew there were problems. I also thought that they weren't so bad because they became the norm. I tried hard to obey and just do what he wanted, making sure things around the house were done, but as far as finding outside support, I was used to hearing "Sorry, we don't have a program or support group just for spouses unless their husbands are severely injured and are actively in a program," that I just stopped seeking it for myself. I knew that every bit of support I needed was in the Boise area, and since I didn't have childcare for our son or my own vehicle, there was little I could do. Church wasn't helping. They didn't know how to handle PTSD and war-related injuries, or for that matter, post-war trauma and reintegration. I had heard of retreats for spouses, but again, we had no childcare, and I did not want to risk giving my son to someone and worsen my husband's trust issues by going away where he could not hear what was being said, and while he was so caught up trying to de-stress in his own ways outside of a program. His only experience with help was between 2007-2009 and that help wasn't so helpful. Being away from him never helps him... as you'll soon find out more about in a very real way, so caregiver retreats were basically "out" for me. (This is going to get very intense. You've been warned.)
Back to staying with our friends: (civilians, mind you, whom we considered closer than family at the time)
They didn't like how my husband treated us, so they tried to confront him about it. Now, without understanding his PTSD and TBI, they were trying to talk to him. I probably should have mentioned this to them, but because I'd been so used to dealing with it on my own, it just slipped my mind that they wouldn't click down the road. Had I mentioned it, I wonder if their discomfort may have unhinged our friendship sooner. I just don't know (and there is no use speculating). Things did not go over well when they confronted him, and I did not feel safe. I'm sparing you the details, but I'm talking about mentally and emotionally here. I was not physically harmed. Granted, his heightened symptoms were not helping him, so his responses were not good. Our housing application had not been processed all the way yet, so we were just staying with our friends until it did, until my husband said he wanted our son and I to leave with him. I didn't feel comfortable up and leaving without trying to reconcile, knowing that so much had gone wrong in so short a time period and our friends really had tried to understand my husband. The thing is.... a guy with intense PTSD and TBI symptoms can't really explain himself in the heat of the moment, can he? No. And I didn't expect any different. Longer story short(er), he left and I stayed behind. I had no idea where he was going to go. I didn't hear from him for days.
Somewhere in there, he met for coffee with two of our friends and I (as I didn't feel comfortable talking with just him because his memory wasn't doing so well -- so I wanted witnesses), both whom were interested in helping my husband a lot. My husband said that he took himself to the VA over the weekend and got himself a brain scan, finding out that he has three TBIs, one active blood clot, one that is smaller and just hadn't gone away all the way, and evidence of a third TBI at the base of his scull from when he was a child, so he was sorry for everything, but that it turned out he was more screwed up than he thought, and said he wanted to work on things and was sorry for being such a complete jerk. So we started to work on things again... with accountability. I said that in order for it to work, I needed to see proof of his appointment, proof of follow-up, and interest in doing what was right and getting help despite all that. I was thankful for the witnesses, who also urged him toward God instead of just to do his own thing and end up who would know where. He was staying in a hotel.
But I called the VA to find out who the dr was to follow up and see when he was at the VA last, and found out his last communication with the VA had actually been 2011. Wow. This meant that he told us all a lie, so so we thought. But instead, I found out that he really thought he was there and that event really took place. It scared him when he found out it wasn't true. He had a memory that didn't match up with reality. I did more digging around and found out that he had memories of a few other things that never happened. My mind was beginning to see things that I had not seen in a while, and I was desperately praying that he was seeing what I was seeing: ultimately, his need for help. I wanted to give him time to get appointments, clear his mind, and figure out his priorities. Our housing application had gone through, so the place was ours and we had spent some time buying things together for it (which was nice but it wasn't all that was necessary to build our family or his health, and we both knew that), but I thought he needed some time by himself, so I said I'd come back when our new bed was delivered. That turned out not to be enough time. Things were back and forth, really rocky, and taking a major toll on all of our families, friendships, and especially us and our son. What a mess. PTSD symptoms went through the roof and I was feeling worse and worse every day, every moment. Our son is four, so he was able to understand a bit of what was taking place, and he was an emotional wreck, too.
A Friday night when he was really wanting to talk, I went there to "our house" with the husband of the friends I was staying with, and we agreed that Monday would be a good time to go to the VA hospital in Spokane and get registered, plugged in, set up with appointments, and try to get proof of the scan he said he had, for both of our sanity's sake. But then Monday came and my husband wanted to go by himself. He didn't want the fanfare. I can understand not wanting a group to go, and on the other hand, I still wasn't feeling comfortable going with just him. He took off by himself and so I went to get clothing at the house for our son and some food for myself. Actually, I tried to.
The locks were changed. I was terrified and hurt. My gut was thinking "he wants a divorce, and this proves it," but I thought that if that was going to happen, I should at least make sure our son and I have some finances to pay the bills with," so I took most of the money and opened a personal account, thinking "if I can't get to the house, at least I can buy him a few shirts and underwear. This is going to get ugly." I have never wanted a divorce, ever. I was confused. I went to talk to a VA social worker, who suggested I talk to a lawyer (which I did not do), and then talk to the police. So I went to the police, and they suggested they meet me at the house as just peace-keepers so that I could get some clothing, but that I should probably protect myself just in case, and head to the courthouse to see about a Protection Order. I hated hearing that.
Hated it!!!!!! I knew it would only make matters worse, and I had awful flashbacks of my mother having to file one against my father. I was terrified of the thought of being a single mother and terrified of what might happen after the order was terminated eventually, and terrified of what would be going through my husband's head. So many questions, so much pain, so much surfacing all at once and I had no idea what to do, because all I wanted was our family to be healthy, happy, and abiding by God.
I filed the protection order, and it was granted not fifteen minutes later. I hated it. I wanted to pinch myself and wake up and be in his arms in a good spot and working together through things. Yet I knew I needed to make sure I was safe while my husbands symptoms were so aggravated. Nothing in me wanted a separation or a divorce. I left the courthouse a mess, broken, stone-cold, scared, and just unable to put words to anything, unsure of what to feel, unsure of what would happen, wanting to be in Heaven instead, but not even close to being tempted to die.
When I went to the house to talk with my husband, since he showed interest in showing me what proof of seeking treatment he had, I also found him acting very paranoid. He must have sensed it. A minute after I came into the house with our friend and he showed me appointment names and numbers, the cops showed up. Served the protection order. But what I had asked for, that I could just get some things and leave, was overruled, and my husband was given 15 minutes to leave the premises. I was not happy. I was terrified. So was my husband. He thought it was over. Everything. And he didn't even know I had taken the money yet. I was planning to tell him but the cops came up to the door so fast I could barely breathe. I didn't get a word in. Court date was set and I was not to talk to him, or vice versa, via anything or anyone. If it was violated, jail time. Horrible.
I found out through friends on FB who were too concerned to not say something (other veterans, thank God), knowing I cared about his well-being despite it all, that he was suicidal and checked into the VA ER that night, had a psych eval, and was being watched overnight. I was devastated. This began a week and a half of absolute agony for me, especially since I knew that if I
could communicate with him, it might just be unwelcome at this point anyway.
To top it off, the very next morning, I found out I was pregnant. I did not share the news with everyone right away because of the whole situation. I knew no one would be able to share in any joy over it. Just grief. I ended up telling my mother, mostly by accident, but it ended up being for the best because she was a huge support for me, even from across the country. I told her the whole situation. She grieved with me, lost sleep with me, and she loved me through it all. She loved my husband, too, but their relationship had always been rocky, so she prayed (and continues to) that he would live, get help, and work things out as slowly as need be so that he could be happy and healthy too, and rejoice in our unborn baby, a blessing from God in the midst of horrible circumstances.
Other friends grieved with me too, wanting so badly for things to work out. I had a lot of support.... but I felt so guilty for that, because I felt like I was being selfish for having support while my husband had almost none. Granted, from my perspective, he didn't want me around anyway, but I was more than willing to work out whatever was necessary for him to know I wasn't interested in leaving him. It didn't look that way, and I had no idea the judge was going to kick him out of the house, but I hoped to God that in time, he would see where I was coming from. My intent was to stay married, for as long as I should live. I just had to see him getting help. Perhaps the VA ER was rock bottom for him. I may never know, but the story continues... and somewhere in the pages, I pray I find out that it
was rock bottom, and I pray things never get that bad again. A few of my good friends tried to talk with him. When he was sorting through everything in his mind one night, he told my friend that if everything worked out, he would love to have a little girl some day. That's what it felt like I was having. He just didn't know it for sure.
Court day came, and out of the roughly 15 cases that morning, mine was the only one in which I, the Petitioner, said an emphatic "NO!" to the age-old question of "Do you wish to continue the Protection Order for another term?" All heads in the courtroom turned on me. All cases were of women against men. I hated seeing that. I also hated that none of the men there, with the exception of one man, was trying to make his wrongs right. No one was going through anger management or counseling for their abusive actions. When it was my turn to have my hearing with my husband, he said he did not protest the order. Rather, he brought proof of his seeking of treatment and wanted to work through things and made it abundantly clear, which I was not expecting, but was praying for!! The judge initially said he was going to extend the Order for another 90 days, but I asked permission to speak and said "Your honor, with respect sir, I love my husband, and I want to be married. I wanted him to have time to think and seek treatment and if he has brought proof of getting help, I would like to terminate the Protection Order today and work through all of this." The judge, I could see in his eyes, was hoping for the best for us. Our case was unlike any other case there. We left quietly with the Bailiff to get our notarized
termination of the Protection Order. I wanted legal proof that I was interested in working things out so that my husband would not think the worst forever. I know how PTSD symptoms work. I also know that sometimes guys need a hard wake-up call where they are threatened with no access to certain things so that they can prove they want what they say they fought for. That's not what I wanted to see happen, but that's what happened.
Outside of court, my husband apologized to our friends for flaring up and not being able to see things properly. He apologized to me for being everything but what he should have been. Lots of tears. Lots of pain. I'll remember that day as long as I live. I went with him out to lunch after and gave him a special gift with a card I wrote out, talking about everything and showing him that being kicked out was NEVER EVER my intention or desire. Help and healing is what I'm after, without a cloud over my eyes. I told him I'm pregnant and he smiled and cried a bit. It was very good. He has lots of paranoia so I was so glad he didn't think that during the separation I had been with someone else. I would never do that. The thought sickens me.
So, we turned a new leaf, knowing that starting over in a new place was going to mean REALLY starting over. He said that while he was with the VA psych people, he actually was given support that he never found in south Idaho. He also got connected with the DAV, the American Legion, the Wounded Warrior Project, and a counselor at the Vet Center, plus chiropractic therapy for his jacked up spine and neck, which made his symptoms exaggerated because of compression in his disks, vertebral subluxation. I moved in with him that night, with our son. He showed me all of the steps he was taking to get help and stick with it. Things
I have not felt fear since. It hasn't been a lot of time yet, but we are going through counseling together and going to appointments together, following through with everything. There have been ups and downs but since we have been back together we both have been forcing ourselves to move out of our comfort zones and reflexes to be what each other need, and slow steps are being taken, relationships with family and friends are being restored and rebuilt, and we are moving forward together.
The worst part of all of this is that, well.... two nights ago we were in the ER for five hours because I had some light cramping and some bleeding. The worst possible situation that I didn't see coming because my normal menstrual cramps were so much worse: I was miscarrying. I still am. The last roughly 70 hours I dealt with contractions that were more like slow labor. But I kept moving forward. Kept doing things, walking around, trying to keep my mind occupied. We are devastated but we are closer now than ever before and we are going to work through our problems no matter what. Just, not as the saying goes, "if it kills us." Today I was mad for a while, just having a hard time with how long this process is lasting.
If you have ever dealt with a suicidal veteran, please know I'm right there with you. To have a miscarriage right after that, after just moving into a new part of the country, having friendships get rocky through it all, trying to patch up relationships with family you haven't seen in years, and still hold your head up and keep your faith strong, plus homeschool, it's a ton. I'm spiritually, physically, emotionally, and mentally spent. And I am craving support from other military veterans and spouses like never before. I sleep in my husband's USMC sweatshirt now. And I agonize over every time I have to go to the bathroom. I have meltdowns about 5 times a day. I go from okay, to happy, to angry, to bitter, to hopeful, to numb. I have not eaten today except for some coffee, some water, and some strawberry licorice. My husband is there for me so much. He is grieving differently, but counseling is teaching us how it is okay to grieve.
Yesterday we went to the VA in Spokane for two TBI appointments back to back. I had our son so I had to wait out there with him while my husband was in there by himself, which wasn't ideal since I get anxiety thinking he might forget to tell me something important that took place. While waiting and dealing with everything pitifully, an old veteran with a big white beard approached us to tell Azarel he was so impressed by his good behavior he wanted to give me some money to get an ice cream cone for him, and also said to Azarel, "I am giving it to your mother because I want you to know you should never take money or candy from a stranger."
I was so humbled it was not even funny. I needed a box of tissues. And do you know what is so dumb? All I could utter in response was "oh sir, thank you so much. And I really like your beard."
So then our son sang about ice cream in the waiting room. And I'm cried. Everywhere I went I cried and everywhere I've been I've been crying. Next time you see someone grieving, please ask them if they need a hug. It's the best thing you could possibly do, because even if they say no, at least it shows you care. If they say yes, try your hardest to show compassion. It does not come easily to everyone, especially if you have never been in their situation. I had my first taste of hearing baby girl coos post-miscarriage next to me and burst into tears in the VA Pharmacy. And yesterday while I cried in the VA pharmacy from hearing that baby girl, something very moving happened.
Azarel asked me what was wrong. I said I was sad because of the baby inside me. He asked what was wrong with the baby. :/ I had to tell him the baby 'was' alive, but it didn't make it. Azarel got so sad and said "What do you mean? The baby died inside you?" I choked back tears and said "Yes, the baby died." He said "Well, can I see the baby?" I said "No, it doesn't work like that. My body has to take care of cleaning itself out." He said "But what happened? Did bad guys come and shoot it?" He looked around for a wound on me. "No, it just... happened. Sometimes these things happen." I was blown away by how sensitive and tender hearted he was being.
The next thing I knew, he was holding onto my face with two hands, looking straight into my wet, puffy eyes, and saying, "I'm so sorry. It'll be okay, Mama. It will be okay. You'll have another baby someday. And I'd like a brother. I love you." Then he kissed me and hugged me without letting go.
My husband has been so helpful while I've been dealing with the loss of our baby. The times I have stood frozen looking into the toilet, clutching my heart wondering if I actually had to FLUSH my unborn child. Thoughts I never want to have ever again. Choices I have never wanted to make. I had moments of wanting to cradle what pieces came out and give it a proper burial. Yet I couldn't do it. I'd just freeze and cry. Look out the window and cry. Blame myself even though I'm healthy and did nothing for this to happen, and cry. No one in my family has ever had a miscarriage, so this has hit us all very hard. But here's the best song I could find so far to help explain where I'm at right now. At least, partially.
Even in these trials, I am thanking God for them. I trust Him and I rely on Him. I am dying on the inside, but I love Him more than ever.
My husband, by the grace of God, has been able to keep his job and he did get promoted, as I mentioned in my last post, I think, so that is one less stress. But oh, the weight of these burdens. Misery. Anguish. Pain. Helplessness. Psalm 103. Psalm 69. Matthew 5.
I'm tired of having to explain the military mentality to people, I'm tired of being made to feel shame for still loving the Marine Corps by people who are against what the military has turned into, I miss being around more veterans who get it, counseling was hard, I don't want to be encouraged to leave my husband while we are working through things together, and I thought the worst of the miscarriage was over yesterday but I was wrong, so excuse me.... But my current thoughts are "piss off." It's ok to have these thoughts, have alone time sometimes, and process things with God slowly and not have to pretend everything is fine. Now may not be a good time for most of you to talk to me bc I'm not in the place to be able to be what you want me to be. I am juggling a great many roles I have to be during this time and I need patience, grace, and God's embrace while I continue trying to be a good wife and mother.
I suppose I'll leave with these final thoughts, as if the rest wasn't an overload. This is all what's been on my mind, though! Life isn't easy at all. I'm still achy, I'm still bleeding chunks, and I have no ability to be much for anyone right now, beyond my immediate family. Try as I might, I just really need to process, grieve, and deal.
You know, sometimes I pray that God dismisses all prayers that are against His will, because I know that in both my own feeble mind and in the minds of others, we pray what we hope for, and sometimes what God's will is, is completely different than what we pray for. Yet even in that, we are called to be specific in our prayers.
The only way I know how to be specific in my prayers for anyone is to first study Scripture and learn God's heart towards situations in life. Then I can pray based on what I know is true rather than take a chance of praying for someone that the one true God would never do. Yes, He cares. Yes, He sustains, and yes He calms the stormy seas in our hearts, but He also allows them to rage and allows turmoil in our lives so that our faith may be tested and built, not upon a pile of sand, but upon the everlasting truth of Christ, a strong cornerstone and a tower of refuge.
May your prayers and ours line up Scripture and may the strength of our faith in our Lord Jesus far surpass the strength of the trials that come against us. May our prayers be built upon absolute truth. We need not guess how God thinks of us or if He desires to fulfill our every need. We need not guess if He wants to heal us or if He wants to stretch us. We need not guess if He is against the uphill climb or the uphill battle. And even when we feel underdressed or ill equipped, we need not wonder if He will supply us with the spiritual and physical tools to get through our problems. He sustains us and our prayers are sacred to Him. Let's pray with reverence and awe, remembering always the mighty God we serve.
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Google Image: Statice flower, meaning "remembrance."
White flowers symbolize innocence, reverence, spirituality, modesty, and elegance. |
Glory baby you slipped away as fast as we could say baby…baby.. You were growing, what happened dear? You disappeared on us baby…baby.. Heaven will hold you before we do Heaven will keep you safe until we’re home with you… Until we’re home with you…
Miss you everyday Miss you in every way But we know there’s aday when we will hold you We will hold you You’ll kiss our tears away When we’re home to stay Can’t wait for the day when we will see you We will see you But baby let sweet Jesus hold you‘till mom and dad can hold you… You’ll just have heaven before we do You’ll just have heaven before we do
Sweet little babies, it’s hard tounderstand it ‘cause we’re hurting We are hurting But there is healing And we know we’re stronger people through the growing And in knowing- That all things work together for our good And God works His purposes just like He said He would… Just like He said He would…
BRIDGE: I can’t imagine heaven’s lullabiesand what they must sound like But I will rest in knowing, heaven is your home And it’s all you’ll ever know…all you’ll ever know…
