Sunny with a chance of EXPLOSION!

 Memorial day.  A day that triggers something deep inside him.  Something he doesn't even recognize.... I swim circles around him, around the children, around the cat.... Protecting, I guess.

Its hot, and tense.  Ever since he came home, he cannot tolerate heat.  He becomes agitated, beligerant, downright nasty.  NOT the door opening, yes ma'am, light your cigarrette man he is most other days. 

Today he is the self absorbed (and that is okay, I get it), buzzing, red, land mine husband.  I love him dearly, but, sometimes I need to get away too....

The baby cry is too much, the "Daddy! Dad! Daddy!" swirling up the stairs hitting heavy on his ears, the 564th time he's heard, "I'm bored, I want to go to a friend's house...." from our oldest.  Today, the day of his Fallen, its just too much.

It really is too much for even me to have to carry.  But I try.  I clean and straighten and hustle about the kids, keeping them busy, keeping them from fighting, keeping them from raising their voices, hush the baby....

I can't do it all, everytime.  I'm human.  Remember?  Born of the same flesh as anyone else.  I can't keep the natural energy of boys contained for long.

And then,  an explosion.  In my house, in my yard, across the river.  On this day, the day to remember the Fallen, the GOD-DAMNED FUCKING PAPER MILL EXPLODES.

Sirens.  Police.  Fire.  Ambulance.  We know the different sounds of them.  We know so well how close chaos is by the downshifting of the fire engines.  I know.  I know its close. 

Those clouds peeking through the spaces of our monstrous boxelder tree.... so dark, so ominous, I was mentally preparing while inahling and exhaling.  Inhale: Fuck.  Exhale: Wonder how bad this one will be.  Inhale: I need to get the baby for a nap...before it starts.  Exhale: Maybe this will be quick.  Inhale: Be calm, be quiet. quietcalmquietcalmquietcalm.  That's my mantra when I prepare to deal with "combat petey".  The wild eyed husband that is PTSD.  Quiet, and calm.  Works well.

As I'm destroying my lungs and the air around me, the neighbors start coming from the houses.  I snuff the cig out thinking, "OH yeaaaaaa, oh YES!  Thank you!" and I subconciously flick off the sky. 

But it isn't a storm that draws them like a moth to the flame.  It actually is flame!  FIRE!  The papermill is on fire, and in a glorious step to my right, I can clearly see, those aren't dark, ruin your freaking life clouds, that is SMOKE!  I immediately redact my giant fuck you to the sky and look at my neighbors.  It is a fire.  And here come the sirens.

We walked down to sift through the carnage.  It wasn't quite that dramatic, but if I could have, that is what I would have done.  But, kids in tow, with my neighbor, we walked the 4 blocks down the river to get a clearer view. 

But all the excitement has worn on him, and we are home now, and the baby is crying, that nap isn't happening after all.  I am tired.  To the bones.  Seriously, my arm bones hurt.  Have you ever been that tired?  Its not just a saying. 

Here is a picture....

And, there is a chance of more explosions.....

Not the VH1 type Flashback.....

You just never know.  You never know how.  Where.  Why.  These things you will never know.  So stop trying to figure them out. 

Be prepared.

For what?

Good question.  Everything.  Always.  Everywhere.

Driving home from a pleasant afternoon on a farm, my husband tells me.....

              I can't get that fucking smell out of my head.

  I can fucking taste it.

Stoically, I look ahead, focus on the road.  Breathe.  I look at him, in the passenger seat, seemingly normal, but his hands give him away.

I start running through my head.  Make the smell go away.  Its going to ruin the day, make it go away.

Go away go away go away go away go away.

Perfume! I have travel Ed Hardy in my purse, he starts digging.  He can't find it.

Rounding the long slow curve on country roads, to the left and then to the right.... surely a town is up ahead... a gas station.  Cough Drops!  Coffee!!!! We'll stop and get you that.  That will work.... 

No.  I don't want to stop.  Keep driving.  Get us home.

Again, focusing on the road, cool, and calm, and collected am I, while screaming bloody hellish screams on the inside.  Why won't you JUST FUCKING GO. AWAY.  ?????

I'll call a friend, she'll know. 

No answer. 

Its just he and I.  With a child in the backseat.  Everyone was calm, but on his side of the car, was an invisible rage building within him.  I know it.  I can sense it.

On my side of the car, rage, bloody fucking rage, fighting inside of me, taking over my head.

                                "Mom-ma?" 

The syllables from the back seat bounce around to the front off the windshield, land in my heart.

Yes baby....

                              "There were kittens in the barn, when you come to them, they run away.  One kitty, she stayed.  She was nice.  I could pet her....."

Yes baby, I saw that.....

And my heart breaking, realizing that forever I must be the one who holds this family together, to lick his wounds from war, to protect my children from those same wounds.  To be strong, and to lick my own wounds on my own time, because clearly, CLEARLY, there are tender fragile egg shell hearts all around me. 

And tonight?  Tonight?  Why, there is storm coming. 

I get by with a little help from friends....

I haven't blogged for awhile, and I also do not have ANY of my blog posts from previous episodes of frantic writing.... but for those who do know me, Here I Am!  I'm okay, and, life somehow managed to continue on...

My husband returned recently from a 7 week inpatient program for PTSD.  He had to go all the way to "TUH"peka (I say TOEpeka...) and we are still adjusting to his homecoming.  His depression has lefted, but, we have a whole not new slew of problems that resurfaced.

Memory.

Processing.

Innapropriateness.

Migraines.

Organization.

Oh yes, hello TBI....

We continue being jerked around a bit by the powers that be, but I think most people who work with us have realized, that I am not going to back down from doing what is right, and doing what is the best for my husband. 

I still am meeting less than supportive forces around me, and that's okay, I'll continue on.  As most of us Wounded Warrior Wives do.

And I'm not alone.  This time, I'm actually NOT alone, physically.  I'm finally hooked up with another Combat vet and his wife, and I love them, *dearly*.  See.... Here they are....
Real, LIVE, breathing, living, fleshy people just like me and my husband! Its like FOV, but in person! In stereo!  And I love it. 

And I already love them.  But they know that.