Just some thoughts---

Fall is here in my neck of the woods. I'll be the first to tell you how beautiful the trees are becoming, and I love the smells! I just miss the summer. It seemed like summer was never going to arrive, and then when it finally did it was gone in two weeks.

Our home has been filled with busyness these past couple of weeks. School has gotten off to a fabulous start, and we have kids here all the time. I love it! My husband has been busy learning and teaching our sons high school chemistry, and I am in my element teaching other people's younger children. We almost have our own little schoolhouse going on here. I feel like I need to come up with a name for it.

We are preparing for some unhappy news, though we don't know when. We'll have to make a trip to the Southwest sometime in the future. My husband's mother is truly sick, and it's just a matter of time before she goes to meet Jesus. This morning, she faces yet another surgery to manage her cancer symptoms. I just don't know how long her body can handle all the radition treatments and the pain. If you are so inclined, please pray for her today. Since no one has an expiration date stamped on their foot, we don't know how much time she's got left. If the doctor's have mentioned a timeframe, the family has failed to relay the message.

PTSD is nasty and relentless. I am not looking forward to another season of dealing with magnified symptoms and outbursts. I've been praying that my husband's PTSD will remain stable, and it will for the most part. Anniversaries are coming up which will inevitably trigger traumatic memories. I pray he'll be able to manage. Couple those anniversaries with the fact that his mother is dying, and that's another story. Dear Hubby has only so much strength, and when triggers occur it's difficult for him to conciously pray and hand over the reigns to God. His emotions (mostly anger and depression)run amock and it takes awhile for us all to recover and regroup.

On a completely different note, our twins are driving. They are in the process of driving the required number of supervised practice hours before they can legally obtain their driver's license. Of course they must wait another 4 months for their birthday, but they are driving. We've had a couple lot of "instructional moments," but generally they do a great job. Our goal is that they learn and develop safe habits. It has been an adventure!

I'd better get ready for my day. There are lots of items to knock off of my to do list.

Blessings to you all,
the PTSD Widow

Bowling and PTSD

Have I mentioned that my family has taken up bowling? It's a lot more fun than I remember from childhood. I'm terrible, but I celebrate the little victories, for example, breaking 50, then 60 and so on. If I knock down a pin, that becomes a reason to celebrate. If I don't hurt myself, I celebrate. I have determined to enjoy my time bowling. Besides the bowling alley is a great place to people watch. Where else in the world can you watch someone try to guide the ball telepathically? It's just too funny.

The noise gets to me sometimes, but that seems a small price to pay considering the time I get to spend with the boys. They are growing up so fast, and I don't want to miss out on an opportunity to be with them. The goal is for them to bowl a 220 so they can start dating. I think that's my husband's deal with them--I'm sure he's got all the details worked out.

While I was bowling yesterday evening, I began to connect PTSD with bowling. PTSD is kind of like those ten pins at the end of the lane. They are waiting to be knocked over and reset several times each day. If the pins were alive and had an actual voice, they might reflect how tired they are of being knocked over time and time again. Some veterans who suffer with PTSD are only waiting to be knocked over by the floods of memories and what not. Other veterans feel like they are finally reset--only to be knocked down again with memories, anniverary dates, or the next trigger.

I don't know if this makes sense to you, but I wanted to share my connection anyhow. It seems funny how a seemingly normal activity such as bowling can remind me of PTSD and my reality. PTSD is never really that far from my thoughts.

In the meantime, I resolve to enjoy myself as I work to improve my bowling average. Who knows, maybe bowling will prove to be a stress reliever.

Blessings to you,
the PTSD Widow

Just a comment...

Words are powerful, and they can be powerful triggers for my husband's PTSD symptoms. I learned this once again the other day when he was looking at a package of frozen hashbrowns. There was a recipe for cheesey potato casserole (or something like that) on the back of the package. He was telling me all the ingredients and how this recipe sounded so delicious.

Little did I know that my words in the next few seconds would ignite an hour-long lecture, elevate his blood pressure, cause steam to emit from his ears and set the harsh and edgy tone for the rest of the day.

All I said was, "Oh! That sounds like the recipe for funeral potatoes..." I couldn't even finish my innocent thought before he went off! I just made a simple comment. Instantaneous trigger! He yelled, "Why do you always have to bring up dead people? You're always talking about funerals!" Then he continued for at least an hour about how I ruin all foods by bringing up death or something most people find disgusting.

In my defense, I don't always and I don't ruin everything. Funeral potatoes is a dish often brought to grieving families because they are easy to heat and eat and they are meant to serve a lot of people. I hadn't even heard of any other name for this dish before the other day. In fact, one can google "funeral potatoes" and several recipe sites are listed. I totally missed it--I had no clue that my referring to the recipe as funeral potatoes would yield that kind of overreaction! DUH! How could I have missed that one?

The more my husband thought yelled about it, the angrier he became. I had to walk away and remove myself from the situation. I was getting angry too, and he gave me no opportunity to defend myself or try and talk him down. I left.

What can you do when your beloved is making an innocent comment a matter of life and death national security? ( Don't want to mention the "death" word!)I can laugh at the situation now because it's over, but I'll be careful not to laugh about this in my husband's presence. Oh, and I'll be more cautious and selective about which of my powerful words I speak when he's around.

I saw the old playhouse this weekend. It was old and torn up, but the memories were as fresh as the paint on the trailer my father had up on the lifts.

That little playhouse was our drive-through fast-food joint. It was the place in which we spent summer nights and played with friends. It was the house we cleaned and rearranged to accommodate our "club" meetings. That little house was the most beautiful place I remember.

Our friends had the latest and greatest dollhouses; Sister and I had a real life-sized dollhouse. We even brought electricity into the house via an extension cord so we could play our cassette tapes. We had picnics on the porch and brought the first wireless phone out there so we'd never miss a thing. We had a place where we had to use our imaginations and have fun.

I'm one of the blessed ones. I can remember things from my childhood. I can remember a lot of things. My husband is unable to recall many things because of PTSD. Of course he and I grew up in opposite areas of the country; but, since the diagnoses of PTSD and TBI he has little recall of childhood memories.

My guess is that my husband's memory is a lot like that old playhouse. At one time, he had all kinds of pleasant memories. Now it's all torn up and dilapidated. Sometimes I wish I could give my husband back some memories--but I know that is impossible. What I can do is help him make pleasant memories with our children. That way the boys will one day look back and fondly remember--even if their daddy can't.

Blessings for you all today,
the PTSD Widow

Flexible Christmases

This Christmas season has me thinking of Christmases past, present, and future. I can't tell you how many different versions of "A Christmas Carol" I've seen featured on television movies this year! The story lines are all so predictable--it's almost irritating.

Christmases come and go for military families. Many times they are spent miles from loved ones. This is where the term "flexible" comes in handy. A military family has to be flexible--that goes for when to celebrate Christmas and other major holidays. The first Christmas my husband and I had together happened in February because he was out of the country on December 25. I thought it was great!! I got to take advantage of all the after-Christmas sales and put up my tree at the end of January.

Then there was the Christmas when my three-year-old son handed me a wrapped gift from under the tree and said, "Here. It's a ring--it's for you!" I'll never forget the Christmas my husband brought our puppy home. They boys thought his tail was something to pull on. I spent more time protecting the puppy when I should have been taking pictures of the boys!

Today, my boys are teenagers. They are no longer satisfied with Hulk Hands and Matchbox Cars. They want a computer or CDs. Unfortunately, this Christmas will be a lot less than usual. I haven't got a job, and my unemployment ran out three weeks ago. I'm praying they will be satisfied with what we are able to give them this year. I will say that their daddy and I spent a lot of time and thought into choosing their presents this year. We had to--we had a very small budget.

Next year, I hope things will look up financially and we'll be in a better situation. I really want to be able to do more for my kids. Maybe more isn't what it's all about. Maybe more means teaching them to be flexible. Flexible doesn't mean you always go with the flow--it means you make do with what you have and you make the best of the situation.

Christmas Blessings,

the PTSD Widow

PTSD Widow

In all fairness, I must confess my husband is still breathing. He still moves, breathes, and communicates with his family on occasion. However, it feels as if he died. The man I married died a long time ago while serving in the U.S. Army. My husband suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (among other things), and at times I feel like I'm a widow already.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) has redefined normalcy for my family. The fact is, we don't even remember what "normal" is supposed to feel or look like. On any given day, our twin boys are working hard to try to do their best to please their daddy. They rarely earn a smile or a word of praise. Often they will hear how they could have worked more efficiently or done something differently--only to them the words are not constructive. The words are cutting and often yelled in harsh tones. Needless to say, my thirteen-year-olds are learning that this is the way to talk to people. (I'm beginning to believe they have developed Secondary PTSD.) It's very hard to teach my children "normal" social behaviors when they do not have true examples at home.

The purpose of this blog is not so I can vent and explain how terrible my life is--because it's not all terrible. The purpose of this blog is to offer a place to support and encourage spouses of veterans who suffer with PTSD. You are not alone. We are all going through various situations and some of us have been there before.

Some things to know about me: I am a Christian. My relationship with Christ has sustained me and allowed me to stand when I have been at my lowest point in dealing with my husband's illnesses. I homeschool my children. Oh, I have a tendency to be very "bossy" and direct, but whatever I say or tell someone is always, "Take it or leave it." My free advice is only a suggestion because I do not have all the answers, nor do I see everything as clearly as some.

Please feel free to comment and leave your e-mail address if you would like me to respond to you. I will try to update this blog frequently. Some days will be joyful, somedays tearful--This is the way life goes at times.