Days of Suffering from PTSD Should Have Ended Years Ago
A son remembers his father’s struggles after World War II
When my dad returned home from being in the Army during World War II, my mother had to remove the whistle from the teapot. Every time, it blew my dad would hit the deck as if it was an air raid siren.
As a family, we never talked about it. It was more of just a case of being understanding of the horrors my dad saw while in the service. Moods were just accepted as something that would pass, and they usually did. You learned to understand Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day could be difficult as the memories of fallen buddies were relived in his mind. These were solemn days and weren’t for cookouts.
When I was real young, my dad undertook the responsibilities of making sure the veterans in our town had a flag on their service marker for Memorial Day. I went along with him, quietly, as we showed the deserved respect to the soldiers from the Revolutionary War to Vietnam, where at that time, the graves were still fresh. My dad told me stories of their sacrifices and the different battles. I listened, learned, but I never heard about my dad’s service.
Oh, there were little things here and there when I would ask a question about something I learned in school or read in a book. One night, I was all excited about learning about the Battle of the Bulge. I asked my dad about it, and I got a simple reply. “I was there.” After that, he mostly corrected what I had learned, but never told me his story.
I knew he had been awarded a bronze star, which he gave to me when he died, but I don’t know how he got it. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” was the standard answer when he was asked about it.
At the drive-in one summer night, my dad watched the movie “Patton” intently, which was unusual for him. After working two or three jobs, he was usually exhausted when the feature film played. He told he was there with General George Patton and told a few funny stories, but nothing about the battles.
Before he died after reaching his 80th birthday, I told him I had watched the Nuremberg Trials on TV. “I was there,” was his response. Maybe, because he was near the end of his life, he finally told me something about the horrors he saw as he watched the Nazis hung for their war crimes. It was a rare and very brief look into what he saw. I pressed him, but the wall went up after a short while. Finally, though, I learned something.
Recently, my aunt moved she found a photo of my dad with my other aunt taken during the war. I had never seen the photo before, but my aunt in the picture filled me in. She told me it was before he was in “D-Day” where he lost a lot of his buddies. My dad never told me about that.
When he returned from the war, my mom just made allowances for when my dad’s memories would overcome him. “Battle fatigue,” we were told it was. Back then, nobody talked about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
When I was about 9 or 10, my mom started sending me with my dad if she thought he might be having a tough time or, as we know now, PTSD was returning. My mom’s game plan was, if I was there, my dad would have something else to focus on. Sometimes, it worked. Other times, we knew it was going to be a rough period. I would just find a spot to be out of the way for a while.
His American Legion friends had been in the same war and had the same horrors. Looking back, I know there must have been some comfort being around those who went through the same thing. Drinking beer and telling funny stories were a way of bonding and remembering without reliving the horrors.
Sometimes, though, the conversation would take a right turn back to the horrors of war. Silence for a couple of minutes was followed as they went back to a time when they saw things no one should ever see.
In my hometown, the soldiers were treated with respect because of their service to our country. If they had a few too many beers, there would be a ride home often with an understanding police officer or a sober friend would just show up. If that wasn’t an available option, a couch would be found to crash on until they were OK to go home.
Nobody talked about it. Silence was the word, but looking back, it was far from the solution.
My experiences with my dad were almost most 50 years ago. Now we know and talk about PTSD more, but the wars continue, and the numbers of those suffering rise.
Those numbers for veterans and entire population are staggering and growing. Here are some of them:
- In the United States, 70 percent of adults or 234 million have had a traumatic event, according to PTSD United.
- If you added up the number of people who have PTSD at one time, it is 24.4 million or the population the size of Texas.
- One in nine women are most likely to suffer from PTSD. It affects women more than men.
- Estimates have it costing the country up to $193 billion in lost earnings per year.
- Every day, more than 22 veterans and active-duty members are lost to suicide.
-Without effective counseling and treatment, veterans with PTSD are twice as likely to divorce. (NATIONAL CENTER FOR PTSD)
-The Veterans Administration estimates up to 20 percent of veterans involved in Operating Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom veterans have PTSD, compared to 30 percent of the Vietnam veterans. (PTSD United)
While my dad didn’t want to share his own experience, being able to help his fellow soldiers, young, and older, would be a task he would step up front and center to volunteer for.
(NTI, a nonprofit organization, helps Americans with disabilities, veterans, and family caregivers find work at home opportunities with free training and job placement services. If you are interested, go to www.ntiathome.org. )