Page 36 - Total War on PTSD

We walked all the way to the other end of the ward with her holding my arm and guiding my steps as I silently sobbed — a grown man crying unashamedly. I couldn't help it. As we stepped out into the hall, she released my arm and handed me a Kleenex. I dried my eyes; she dried hers too. Then she led me to the room where the General and his entourage were.
I stood at the back of the gaggle of officers; they didn't even notice that I was there. It was as if I was on the other side of a two-way mirror looking on but not part of the scene.
When the General was finished, the group broke up, and I left the hospital alone. Instead of walking toward command headquarters, I began to walk the other way. I wasn't headed anywhere in particular, just walking and thinking. I needed some time to myself.
After a while, I realized that I was about to walk into the Canadian section of the base. I had been there several times before with my boss as a guest of the Canadian General.
There was a Tim Horton's Donut Shop in the center of the compound. I went there, bought a cup of coffee, and sat outside at a small table under the shade of a scraggly palm tree to think. I was ashamed of what I had done, or rather I should say, what I hadn't done. I wished that I
had gone beyond that curtain when I had had the chance and spoken to that young man. To this day, that still bothers me. Talking to him was the least I could have done. I didn't even know his name!
The following day, as soon as I could, I went back to the Role III Hospital and found the nurse from the day before. I asked her if I could visit with the young soldier in the Special Care Unit.
She just stared at me for a few seconds before she answered. I immediately knew that something was wrong. "He's not here Master Chief," she said. "He expired late last night, and
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