When Moms Go to War
Sometimes I see it over and over in my mind. My family does not understand so I do not bother to try to explain it to them. They do not know how it feels to have a friend literally die in your arms, a buddy who would and did risk his life for his unit, who sacrificed his life for his unit. Even now, after being home for nearly two years, I can not sleep sometimes because I see his face, his final smile telling me to hang in there.
Sometimes I am told I am a hero because I went to war. Yet when I seek treatment for the nightmares and headaches, when I try to talk it out, when I take a chance on letting someone get close to me, I feel like I am being judged. My family tells me I am not but I am. I am judging myself and I am not coming out on the good side of it.
My mother does not look the other way when I go on drinking binges. She does not let me get away with it. She sought help for me, first through the VA and when that did not help, then through a treatment center. She would not let me fail myself as I felt I had failed my buddy by not dying in his stead.
When the humvee exploded that day, we all felt it but only he died. The headaches began that night but I shook them off. How do I go see the medic over a lousy headache when my buddy lost his life? How do I forget that day? I don’t.
I remember feeling like I just wanted to die. People were going about their daily lives here at home and yet my buddy never would again. I was going about my life. How fair was that? I began drinking to forget. I couldn’t. Still, I drank more and more, hoping I could at least pass out and not have to deal with the nightmares.
Still, my mother would not let it go. Sometimes I think if our mothers went to war to defend us, there would be a lot less casualties on our side because mothers will fight with a vengeance to protect their children. When moms go to war, they make things happen. When it became apparent that I had turned into an alcoholic, my mother did just that: she went to war on a new enemy: alcoholism.
I have been clean about six months now. My mother takes me to Alcoholics Anonymous and sits in the car reading while I am in my meetings. She is helping me with my VA case and encouraging me as I return to school. She reminds me of what I keep forgetting: that she had a son over there, too, and that he is worth saving.
Thanks, Mom. I love you.
