Page 865 - Total War on PTSD

convoys filled with soldiers getting ready to leave our base in Kandahar. Their shadows tracing a profile against the inside of their vehicles while they awaited their departure. Even now as I think back to that time, the ringing in my ears sometimes gets louder and more distracting. Before these men and women even left the relative safety of the base (at least as compared to being in a convoy off-base), I prepared myself for the possibility of their return being not on their feet but inside a flag-draped pine box. It was an uncomfortable reality but knowing it could happen made the almost daily Ramp Ceremonies just a little less shucking to my system. And maybe a little less sad I guess, it that’s even possible. Every time we had close contact mortar/rocket attacks on base, I wondered whether someone on base might meet the same fate, and if that person would end up being myself or someone I knew.
I often thought, while sheltered in a bunker at work or near lodging, if it ended up being me, how my husband, my mother, or even my siblings might react to my loss. Deep regrets of a loss not yet fulfilled pulled me down further into sadness and a darkness that was mine alone to bear.
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