PTSD / Diary of a Vet's Wife / First Radio Interview

I have seen the names of those I know, and, yes, I have cried. My problem is I don't know the names of those I tried to help only to have them die in my arms. In my sleep, I hear their cries and see their faces... Attached to this letter are my service medals. I don't need them to show I was there. I have your faces in my sleep.        ~ Letter left at the Wall

January 1, 2015 ...
Barefoot, I follow the water's edge looking for a glint of sea glass. Maybe today. Lost in the thundering surf, I'm at peace as white-winged seagulls freckle the face of the sun. Icy foam encircles my ankles, then quickly slips back into the sea on its endless journey to nowhere.

Point Dume quiets my many thoughts.

My New Years Day ritual. A perfect place to begin again. The crisp breeze carries a fragrance like no other. Like salty water, or is it tears? The crashing surf calls with a voice from the deep. And if you listen closely ... it will speak to you.

Later, I sit on the sand with my journal and talk with God, sharing my hopes and visions for the new year. He knows my heart. And I know His. I ask for guidance. I ask Him to put the people on my path He wants me to meet. I NEVER know who will appear.

Be careful of what you ask for. His thoughts are BIGGER than ours.

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you.    
      ~ Matt. 7:7

Diary of a Vet's Wife, Loving and Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, my memoir, took sixteen years to write. But not by choice. I resisted for 3 years. The push became a shove. An intense task for a beginner. Yet I knew others shared my story. If only I could give them HOPE ...

This book shows innocent love unblemished with hope and promise, unaware of the imminent demons vowing destruction. For eighteen years, my husband, the love of my live, fought the demons that rode his back home from Vietnam. They vowed destruction, yet Jekyll and Hyde broke my heart. A story of love made strong and raw truth revealed. PTSD is a silent parasite that not only invades our veterans ... but also the ones they love.

I can give you HOPE ... if you give me a chance. 

When the world says "give up," hope whispers, "try one more time."  
~ Author Unknown

Today, literary agents want submissions sent via email. I queried Diary of a Vet's Wife for one full year after completion in 2011. The rare rejections I received were polite ... most were simply deleted. No agent was willing to touch the subject. 

Where do I go from here?

BLOG OF A VET'S WIFE went live April 2011. Traffic showed STUNNING interest throughout the world. As a closet writer for all those years, I never anticipated this response. Yet there they were ... 76 different countries to date.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder continues to grow like mold as war continues to cover our tiny blue planet hung in the middle of the universe. Possibly hundreds of thousands of families are living with PTSD at this moment. Men and women who love their warriors and bravely grieve, knowing life will never be the same.

How does one CARE when one doesn't know?  Does one DARE TO FEEL the heartbreak of these families who could one day be theirs? Can ONE STORY touch the heart of a nation, or the world?

"Courage is simply not one of the virtues but the form of every virtue at the testing point, which means at the point of the highest reality. "   ~ CS Lewis

February 6 - I was approached by a friend after church. One of her speakers for a Retreat had cancelled. She asked if I would consider sharing my story in her place on the 28th. I had put my heart on paper, but to say it out loud in front of one hundred women ... I hesitated. Was it my PTSD? She asked me to pray on it. I did and was dutifully pushed to accept. My fear of public speaking shot through the roof.

February 28 - Fear persisted. But I knew I must do this. The fourth of seven speakers, I had never talked into a microphone. Yet here I was. Suddenly, under a stark white spotlight, it was like someone else was talking through me. My story was openly received. Many came up to speak with me. One bubbly woman said her husband worked with a local radio station, KKLA, and she was sure they would want my story. She gave me a number to call. But for many reasons we never connected.

March 21 - My friend, Sandy, invited me to visit a different church. Frank Sontag was to be the speaker. The same man I was trying be introduced to! He hosts his own show on 99.5 KKLA six days a week from 4-6pm ... the largest Christian station in L.A.
I don't believe in coincidence!

March 22 - We arrived at church early and I was able to speak briefly with Frank before the service. He knew of me through our mutual friend. I offered him a copy of my book for review, which he took on the spot.

March 23 - The NEXT DAY an email arrived from KKLA asking what days would be convenient for me to share my story on their show! That was FAST! A few emails later, a day and time were set. After all these years ... it was REALLY happening!

Could I even do this? I was a wreck. At church, I was allowed to read my 20 minute testimony. On the radio ... it's an open mic conversation for an HOUR!

April 6th - My friend, Pauline, offered to chauffeur me to the KKLA studio in Glendale for the 4pm segment. Traffic was HORRIFIC. I was happy she was driving. We arrived in enough time for a picnic lunch in a lovely little park nearby ... sunshine, sushi and home made cookies. Yummm.

At the Salem Media building, a smiling gentleman approached with an outstretched hand and invited us into his office. Terry Keyes, the station manager, wanted to talk a bit before I went on air. His relaxed manner instantly put me at ease.

Soon we were handed badges to hang around our necks, then escorted into the studio where Frank Sontag waited.

It was dreamlike ...

Frank sat behind a large half-moon desk. Four microphones permanently mounted along the outside edge. A chair by each. His smiling eyes welcomed me. I couldn't hide my nervousness. He graciously assured me everything would be fine. We talked briefly, then he prayed.

I watched as he put on his headset, then welcome his audience like I'd heard him do on the radio at home and in my car. Then he introduced ME as his GUEST and the AUTHOR of Diary of a Vet's Wife ... it was SURREAL. My jitters were fading, but my mouth wouldn't form the words I wanted to say. Frank continued to smile and nod his head in approval.

I remember sitting there, but I don't remember talking. Strange. If it wasn't for the fact they TAPED the show, I'd think it never happened. My one hour interview actually stretched into the second segment. An extraordinary experience I will NEVER forget. Frank Sontag is the KINDEST and most GRACIOUS man I have ever met. He helped me relax as he guided me through my first interview. I shall forever be thankful for this opportunity to share my story and my passion.

To hear MY INTERVIEW - BLOOPERS and all - google The Frank Sontag Show Podcasts. The interview was April 6th (2015-4-06) - Show Hour 1 and Show Hour 2.

And thank YOU for continuing to follow my blog. Blessings to each of you and your family.

"We honor the courageous service of America's 2.8 million Vietnam Veterans - especially the 58,226 men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in serving their country for the enduring cause of freedom."  ~ The Wall Within

NO WAY TO REACH YOU

Geri ... If you're the woman who sent me a poem your husband wrote, please contact me at onhrway@earthlink.net. I'm anxious to talk with you. Blessings.

PTSD / Diary of a Vet's Wife and Memorial Day Memories

War has gone on since the beginning of man's creation. And will continue until the end of time. This necessary evil brings death and pain not only to its victims, but also to the warriors and their loved ones covering our small planet. It's not the way we'd like it to be - it is the way it is.         ~ Nancy MacMillan, author

Diligently, I queried agents for a twelve-month period before I made the decision to self-publish my memoir, Diary of a Vet's Wife, Loving and Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. To my disappointment most agents failed to reply, yet the rejections I did receive were polite and encouraging. Honestly, it seemed to me - no one was willing to touch the subject matter.

Was it too real?

 Memorial Day began in 1868 to honor all the military personnel who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country and freedom. These brave warriors rest in peace not only on American soil, but approximately 125,000 are buried on foreign soil. American Battle Monument Cemeteries are located throughout the world (Belgium, France, Nova Scotia, England, Libya, Russia, Spain, Denmark, the Netherlands, Mexico and Australia). 

The Arlington National Cemetery in Washington, D.C. is one of 146 National Cemeteries in the United States. It covers 624 acres where 267,000 flags fly in memory of each of these brave warriors on Memorial day.

Our country is split by war. Each of us longs to live in peace and harmony, but how can this be attained without welcoming terror to our shores with open arms? There is no easy answer.

For me, this holiday unlocks memories and the trauma of war that daunted my warrior and our family for too many years. Skeletons of battle dancing in the hallways with no way to exorcise them. 

Though wars still fester for power, I'm encouraged by the awareness and hope in growing numbers worldwide, and their passion and concern for peoples of all nations. Women and children are the most vulnerable. 

The war I lived through is behind me, but sadly thousands have stepped into my shoes. Where we differ? They're blessed to have what I never had - someone to reach out to who understands. Many dedicated organizations now exist, while new groups are surfacing nationwide, committed people who truly love and care for our warriors who gave so much, and their families. Selfless men and women are waiting for the phone call. 

My heartfelt cry to those who are struggling - "Please seek help immediately. Love and understanding are waiting, but you must take the first step."  (Contact information in previous blog)

 A love for tradition has never weakened a nation indeed it has strengthened nations in their hour of peril. ” ― Winston Churchill

The post below is from October 3, 2011 - I felt it appropriate, if you're inclined to read on . . .

"The Moving Wall" - An Experience I Will Never Forget!

On Thursday, September 29, 2011, I had the priviledge of being in Santa Barbara attending my writing class on the same day "The Moving Wall" arrived at Chase Palm Park. Was this a coincidence?

Members of the Vietnam Veterans of America, Chapter 218 of Santa Barbara, proudly honored the service and sacrifice of the 11 million men and women who served during the Vietnam War by bringing "The Moving Wall" to their fair city.

"When the soldiers came home from Vietnam, there were no parades, no celebrations.  So they built the Vietnam Memorial for themselves."         - General Wm. C. Westmoreland 

"The Moving Wall" is a replica of the original memorial on permanent display in Washington DC, where carved in granite are 58,226 names of brave Americans honored and remembered forever. We honor the courageous service of America's 2.8 million Vietnam Veterans - especially the 58,226 men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in serving their country for the enduring cause of freedom.

I pulled into the parking lot, took a ticket from the meter and found an empty parking space closest to the Memorial, though I still had a distance to walk. I sat in the car lost in thought. Questions filled my head. This was the closest I've come to "it" since the day I buried my husband's ashes in Houston National Cemetery, after which they folded his flag and presented it to me.  Could I do this with grace and dignity like Jacqueline Kennedy, or would I melt into a blubbering puddle?

I followed a sidewalk to the street and headed toward the monument. A photographer toting a heavy camera passed by. Towering palms scattered the patchy green grass. The sight of The Wall off in the distance, the sky and the ocean it's backdrop, enfolded me like a loving grandparent I'd never met. I felt timid, yet I knew I belonged . . .

They walk as if on hallowed ground. They touch the stone. They speak with the dead. They come to mourn and to remember, memory mixing with grief, making an old ritual new, creating in this time another timeless moment.   - 25th Anniversary Commemorative

In the distance, the long narrow black wall appeared to rise out of the ground where people stood like toy soldiers set in groups of two or three. Flags of many countries rose high against the hazy afternoon sky, furling in unison. A large khaki tent stood guard off to the right. As I drew near, the black panels began to reveal meticulous white lettering. Snapping flags overhead muffled the soft murmurs of family members, some clutching framed  photographs to their chest, as they stood solemnly talking with counselors near The Wall.

It was surreal . . . until it hit me.

The avalanche of names washed over me. Dear God, so many names. Too many names. Each called from the wall. I could hardly breathe. 58,226 names including 8 women. The Vietnam war. They all died in battle. This was all that was left of these warriors who were part of us, never again to feel the sun on their faces, or taste the salty air from an ocean breeze.

A train echoed from afar. A lean-muscled man riding a bicycle pulled up. His fluorescent green jacket and trimmed white beard reflect off the shiny black wall like a mirror. He straddled the bike as his eyes eagerly searched the names. One woman wandered a distance from the wall. Maybe fearful as I was to get too close. Afraid of being swallowed alive by the reality before us.

The Wall elicits a physical response. It has inspired visitors to represent their own grief, loss, rage, and despair. Contributing their private representations to public space they cross a boundary between the private and the public, the nation and the citizen, powerfully claiming the memorial as their own.   - 25th Anniversary Commemorative

The Vietnam war. So many names. So many died in battle. Yet many more returned home wounded to the core still fighting the battle. Their never-ending battle. Day and night the mortars still blaze, the screams, the cries still echo in the din. These returning soldiers who found themselves shunned and abandoned by a great many civilians who were not able to separate the war from the warrior.

As a writer, how can I not say what I feel? How my heart still aches for my husband . . . and all the names on this wall. It aches for all the people who loved and cherished the people who were these names, and feel the pain they still bare. I reached out and touched one name . . . Leon B Smith II in raised white letters. My heart hurt. Then I noticed a sign that read, "Do Not Touch the Wall."

I spent a large part of the afternoon sitting on the grass, a distance from the wall, journaling, taking pictures and thinking. How can these families heal? I wrote a book which allowed me to put my heart on paper. I may have found healing . . . but I can never forget.

Occasionally, I'd wander up to the wall and walk its length looking at the volumes of names which loving parents carefully chose for their precious newborn as they envisioned the bright future their baby would grow into.

And never dreaming the name they chose would one day stand as part of the history of our country.

Lesson Learned . . . or my two cents

The human heart can be shattered in a million pieces . . . yet you still must go on living.

"The Moving Wall" . . . An Experience I Will Never Forget!

On Thursday, September 29th, I had the priviledge of being in Santa Barbara attending my writing class on the same day "The Moving Wall" arrived at Chase Palm Park . . . was this a coincidence?

Members of the Vietnam Veterans of America, Chapter 218 of Santa Barbara, proudly honored the service and sacrifice of the 11 million men and women who served during the Vietnam War by bringing "The Moving Wall" to their fair city.

"When the soldiers came home from Vietnam, there were no parades, no celebrations.  So they built the Vietnam Memorial for themselves."         - General Wm. C. Westmoreland 


"The Moving Wall" is a replica of the original memorial on permanent display in Washington DC, where carved in granite are 58,226 names of brave Americans honored and remembered forever. We honor the courageous service of America's 2.8 million Vietnam Veterans - especially the 58,226 men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in serving their country for the enduring cause of freedom.

I pulled into the parking lot, took a ticket from the meter and found an empty parking space closest to the Memorial, though I still had a distance to walk. I sat in the car lost in thought. Questions filled my head. This was the closest I've come to "it" since the day I buried my husband's ashes in Houston National Cemetery, after which they folded his flag and presented it to me.  Could I do this with grace and dignity like Jacqueline Kennedy, or would I melt into a blubbering puddle?

I followed a sidewalk to the street and headed toward the monument. A photographer toting a heavy camera passed by. Towering palms scattered the patchy green grass. The sight of The Wall off in the distance, the sky and the ocean it's backdrop, enfolded me like a loving grandparent I'd never met. I felt timid, yet I knew I belonged . . .

They walk as if on hallowed ground. They touch the stone. They speak with the dead. They come to mourn and to remember, memory mixing with grief, making an old ritual new, creating in this time another timeless moment.   - 25th Anniversary Commemorative

In the distance, the long narrow black wall appeared to rise out of the ground where people stood like toy soldiers set in groups of two or three. Flags of many countries rose high against the hazy afternoon sky, furling in unison. A large khaki tent stood guard off to the right. As I drew near, the black panels began to reveal meticulous white lettering. Snapping flags overhead muffled the soft murmurs of family members, some clutching framed  photographs to their chest, as they stood solemnly talking with counselors near The Wall.

It was surreal . . . until it hit me.

The avalanche of names washed over me. Dear God, so many names. Too many names. Each called from the wall. I could hardly breathe. 58,226 names including 8 women. The Vietnam war. They all died in battle. This was all that was left of these warriors who were part of us, never again to feel the sun on their faces, or taste the salty air from an ocean breeze.

A train echoed from afar. A lean-muscled man riding a bicycle pulled up. His fluorescent green jacket and trimmed white beard reflect off the shiny black wall like a mirror. He straddled the bike as his eyes eagerly searched the names. One woman wandered a distance from the wall. Maybe fearful as I was to get too close. Afraid of being swallowed alive by the reality before us.

The Wall elicits a physical response. It has inspired visitors to represent their own grief, loss, rage, and despair. Contributing their private representations to public space they cross a boundary between the private and the public, the nation and the citizen, powerfully claiming the memorial as their own.   - 25th Anniversary Commemorative

The Vietnam war. So many names. So many died in battle. Yet many more returned home wounded to the core still fighting the battle. Their never-ending battle. Day and night the mortars still blaze, the screams, the cries still echo in the din. These returning soldiers who found themselves shunned and abandoned by a great many civilians who were not able to separate the war from the warrior.

As a writer, how can I not say what I feel? How my heart still aches for my husband . . . and all the names on this wall. It aches for all the people who loved and cherished the people who were these names, and feel the pain they still bare. I reached out and touched one name . . . Leon B Smith II in raised white letters. My heart hurt. Then I noticed a sign that read, "Do Not Touch the Wall."

I spent a large part of the afternoon sitting on the grass, a distance from the wall, journaling, taking pictures and thinking. How can these families heal? I wrote a book which allowed me to put my heart on paper. I may have found healing . . . but I can never forget.

Occasionally, I'd wander up to the wall and walk it's length looking at the volumes of names which loving parents carefully chose for their precious newborn as they envisioned the bright future their baby would grow into.

And never dreaming the name they chose would one day stand as part of the history of our country . . .

Lesson Learned . . . or my two cents
The human heart can be shattered in a million pieces . . . yet you still must go on living.

A few Vietnam war facts you may not know::

• The Vietnam War was the longest war in history  1955-1975
• There are still nearly 2000 POW (Prisoners of War) - MIA's (Missing in Action) who have not been accounted for, who never came home from the Vietnam War.
• The U.S. fighting in Vietnam was called a conflict because Congress never voted to officially declare it a war.
• 265,000 women served during the Vietnam war. Over 10,000 were stationed in combat zones alongside their brother soldiers. All were volunteers. The names of those who gave their lives are etched in stone forever, there were 8 of them . . . Carol, Elizabeth, Eleanor, Hedwig, Pamela, Annie, Sharon and Mary.