Nothing Will Ever be the Same Again

It has been nearly 5 months since my boy has returned from his deployment. The time he spent away, the months leading up to it, and even the months since, have changed me in ways I never anticipated. Everyone talks about how deployment and time in war changes the service member. At the extreme end of things there is PTSD, but even if they are not plagued by PTSD, almost all of them are changed in some ways. Usually they have shorter tempers, they are more diligent and observant, they are easy to anger, easy to frighten, withdrawn, suffer from nightmares, feel distant, feel isolated, etc. etc. The list is exhaustive. Everyone talks about these things. They are unfortunate realities of war. But what no one talks about is the lasting effects for those left behind. Everyone knows the family suffers while their loved one is deployed, but no one talks about it lasting past their return. For me, this was not the case. The boy's deployment has changed me in a lot of ways. Many of them for the worst.

Even though the boy is not deployable for a few more months, I find myself constantly anxious about a potential re-deployment. We have no knowledge of another deployment planned. There is no reason he should go again in the next year. But still, every day, I am terrified they are going to send him back. I know they can send him back with only a few days warning. I know it is incredibly unlikely, but it can happen. I find myself worrying about it constantly.

Even though the boy has been back for months, I find myself worrying about him and being scared exactly the same way I was when he was deployed. While I know he is not deployed, I know he is at his base safe and sound, I worry that I will never fully believe that he is safe again. Even when I am with him, holding him in my arms, I feel like he is in danger. I feel like he may be shot at or blown up any minute. I find myself constantly anxious and scared and worried. Always. It is exhausting.

Even though I know the news will not bear my boys name I have to change the channel at the first mention or image of war. Even history documentaries about war. I can't handle them. On campus there is a war memorial in our student union. My boy's best friend is named on that memorial, as he attended this university before joining the military. Before being killed in action in Afghanistan. Even before the addition of his name to the wall, but even more so since then, I cannot walk through that entrance without tearing up. It is too real. Too scary. I never want my boy's name added to that wall. I never want his name added to any wall. He does not belong on a memorial. None of them do. None of them should have died. Ever.

I can't see someone in uniform without being convinced that they are going to deploy. That their loved ones are going to cry every night. That they might be injured. That they might be killed. That if they return, they will never be the same again. That their families' lives will never be the same again. That nothing will ever be the same again. That nothing will ever be beautiful or happy or shiny again. I can't see an American flag without picturing it folded into a triangle, being handed to a spouse, or a parent, or a child. I can't get these images from haunting me. Constantly. I know I need to not think about them, and I've done a lot of things to try to get these images out of my mind, but when I wake up again, when I come home again, when I lie in an empty bed again, when I come back to life, as I inevitably must, the images come flooding back in. Even five months later, these thoughts have not stopped. They have not slowed down. They do not stop when I hold him in my arms. Will they ever stop? I only hope. I am tired of crying.