It is my home, my neighborhood, and my history. It is what I am and where I came from. Embarrassing? Yes Boring? Never

Saturday, June 21, 2008


Received a call from our soldier, who sounded extremely good for having actually been diagnosed with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder, which I miss pronounced while I was on the phone with him, and called it post dramatic stress disorder, where upon he told me he did not have that illness, it was me that has PDSD - ha ha funny boy) He has been moved from his housing to a temporary tent and will soon be shipping out for the home land. God forbid the Army give him any exact dates and we all know my boss has zero tolerance for 'spur of the moment' vacation requests (because 'you should be able to plan your vacation at the beginning of the year when you are making your flight and hotel reservation - REAL WORLD- I cannot afford flight and hotel reservations.), so I am a little concerned we will not be able to get there when he gets off the bus. (he is not aware at this time that his birth mother and her mother are going to be staying at his house that week, my poor daughter in law says 'I do not mean to be gross, but I really do not want them in the house the days my husband is first home.' I am not going to be the one that tell him.) He also tells me that because he is close to boarding the plane, he will not be put on any more missions! Yeah! I will now be able to watch the news again! He is worried about his PTSD, because he has it, I would be worried if he didn't. He is in a war and that is pretty traumatic. They told him - no crowds, no situations where he experiencing stress or fear. (And again I refer to his mother and her mother living with him for a week, note, his mother and wife are bitter enemies) So he tells me for the 589th time he does not want a party with random people that he has met only once or twice. I reassured him, no party, which, as hard as it is, I am not having a welcome home party, I am just going to let him come home and let him and his family just visit. Then he goes off on a tangent about how the insurgents are using dead bodies (animal or human) to hide explosives and I say a little mini prayer to help him get over the trauma. And he tells me how much he loves me and how great I am, and I say another little prayer about how thankful I am for him and his being alive. So we ended the call on the love fest, and the fact that he really would like to just come home and spend a week just being here. (He is under the impression that being here is less stressful than Baghdad, obviously the war has messed with his memory) A week will be great, I should be able to actually stop crying by then!

1 comment:

Neko Noir said...

Hey, I have PTSD too! Yay! Well...I guess it's not all that wonderful, but misery loves company.