Reflections on Leave
We haven't heard from him in almost ten days- which causes some anxiety since we had been used to getting an email or talking to him on chat regularly - even an occasional phone call. Not much new to report. Everyone has read or heard about the rise of attacks in Iraq. The resurgence in terrorism. The kidnappings. The violence. It's at times like these that we reflect on what he's already told us, we wonder what he's doing now (if he's safe) and dream of a quiet future. So in this email I digress to the time when he was home on leave.
We had a party at our house during leave. At first he hadn't wanted a party, he didn't want a big fuss. But then something changed. Suddenly he wanted people around - family and friends. We invited immediate family and a few close friends. Those that greeted him in our home on that day had no idea what he had endured (unless they had been in the same situation). No matter how much news coverage we've watched, how many newspaper articles we've read or how many photos we've seen, we can't relate. He has lived it. He has his own news reel that constantly plays back through his mind.
He told us stories. He shared some photos. But he told us he was bored. He talked about safe subjects. He didn't talk about the day the IED blew up next to them. He didn't talk about the mortar rounds hitting so close he could feel them. He didn't talk about the ambushes. He didn't talk about all the times he could have died. He didn't mention the dead. These things bothered him and he couldn't talk about them that day. He didn't want to worry us even though he was worrying himself.
One night, very late, I asked him how he really felt. He said he was afraid of death and I didn't know how to respond. It's a subject we'd never had to really deal with before. It's then that I realized he'd aged more than his years. I had already sensed a chasm between him and his friends. He had changed so much and they had remained so much the same. He missed his buddies in the Troop. With them he was safe. They never ask how many guys he's killed, they don't care. He has nothing to prove with them. And it's something we didn't dwell on.
He welcomed the smell of a home cooked meal and would devour it in two minutes and then leave. He stayed out all night and came home early in the morning. The self inflicted fatigue helped him cope with his new reality and the restlessness he felt. He spent hours trying to make sense of a world that he no longer felt a part of, things he no longer knew.
His life was in turmoil. The things he wanted to be the same had changed and some things that hadn't changed, he wished had. His life seemed like a movie with an hour cut out of the middle - his life no longer made any sense.
When he was here we gave him time. We gave him room. Allowed him to share his experiences at his own pace, (and understood that maybe some of them he'll never share). We accepted. We understood. And we also realize that when he returns to us when this is over we must give him even more time, continue to accept and continue to understand.
We had a party at our house during leave. At first he hadn't wanted a party, he didn't want a big fuss. But then something changed. Suddenly he wanted people around - family and friends. We invited immediate family and a few close friends. Those that greeted him in our home on that day had no idea what he had endured (unless they had been in the same situation). No matter how much news coverage we've watched, how many newspaper articles we've read or how many photos we've seen, we can't relate. He has lived it. He has his own news reel that constantly plays back through his mind.
He told us stories. He shared some photos. But he told us he was bored. He talked about safe subjects. He didn't talk about the day the IED blew up next to them. He didn't talk about the mortar rounds hitting so close he could feel them. He didn't talk about the ambushes. He didn't talk about all the times he could have died. He didn't mention the dead. These things bothered him and he couldn't talk about them that day. He didn't want to worry us even though he was worrying himself.
One night, very late, I asked him how he really felt. He said he was afraid of death and I didn't know how to respond. It's a subject we'd never had to really deal with before. It's then that I realized he'd aged more than his years. I had already sensed a chasm between him and his friends. He had changed so much and they had remained so much the same. He missed his buddies in the Troop. With them he was safe. They never ask how many guys he's killed, they don't care. He has nothing to prove with them. And it's something we didn't dwell on.
He welcomed the smell of a home cooked meal and would devour it in two minutes and then leave. He stayed out all night and came home early in the morning. The self inflicted fatigue helped him cope with his new reality and the restlessness he felt. He spent hours trying to make sense of a world that he no longer felt a part of, things he no longer knew.
His life was in turmoil. The things he wanted to be the same had changed and some things that hadn't changed, he wished had. His life seemed like a movie with an hour cut out of the middle - his life no longer made any sense.
When he was here we gave him time. We gave him room. Allowed him to share his experiences at his own pace, (and understood that maybe some of them he'll never share). We accepted. We understood. And we also realize that when he returns to us when this is over we must give him even more time, continue to accept and continue to understand.
posted by deesci | 4:35 PM
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