AFTER: The Battle Has Just Begun

by R. J. Belle

  Caregivers, like our veterans, have stories of pain and sorrow. They often struggle with psychological and emotional trauma, broken relationships and guilt when all they do isn’t enough to bring relief or bridge the gulf that war experiences have created between them and those they love.

  I entered into the world of ‘life after the war’ when I began a relationship with a man who had seen three deployments and suffered a catastrophic injury that ended his last one early. I had no idea what living with him daily would be like. I went in with an open heart and the desire to nurture. What I discovered is that I can’t banish his demons; I can only help him fight them. I can’t erase his memories or the feelings associated with them. I can’t make his physical challenges disappear either. That was an agonizing realization for me. To know that you can’t make the person you love feel better leaves one feeling helpless.

  I fell in love with Toran for many reasons. Our connection was immediate and made me feel in ways I had never experienced in any other relationship. One of the first things I noticed about Toran was his positive attitude and how he seemed to glide through life as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I found his attitude puzzling given what I assumed he had seen and been through. It wasn’t until I sat down to interview him that I learned the ugly truths; at the time I had no idea that he hadn’t shared the ugliest of them all. After hearing his story, I fell even harder.

  In the beginning, it wasn’t all that challenging. Once Toran and I became serious, I started hearing from people who had been in his life long before I came into the picture. They told me how much he had changed and how happy he seemed – always crediting me with this miraculous transformation. I too witnessed him blossom into a more positive human being than he had been when we first met.

  The outward change was nice, but inside, he felt the same terrible insecurity and guilt that had been there, waiting to come out and cause mass destruction. I saw small signs here and there but always chalked it up to ‘one of those days.’ We all have them. I granted him immunity convincing myself that he had it worse than anyone I knew and deserved to have his outbursts overlooked.

  In the beginning, I will admit, it felt good to have others believe I was changing this man; the man I loved. That he was less angry, insecure and anxious because of me was a beautiful feeling but also a temporary one. Similar to the first time you open a tube of super glue, I learned that eventually my ability to piece him back together with any permanence was just as unlikely as opening that super glue tube for the fifth time expecting the thin stream of ultra-adhesive magic to seal forever a chasm. What I learned was that each day is about repairing and building further the bridge between our loved ones, irreparably changed, and the world they have returned to.

  One evening Toran and I were at my home, and he was in a grumpy mood changing the usually light energy in my home into something thick and dark. I was frustrated and didn’t understand how a lovely evening could go south so quickly and for no apparent reason. For the first time in our relationship I called him on his corrosive behavior. I wasn’t soft or passive. My words were spoken to him while tears streamed down my face. I gave him the best advice I could think of at the time, and I gave it to him with a sharp tongue. I figured out that a huge part of his anger and depression came from losing guys over there, but it was something he rarely spoke of. I knew it had a dramatic effect on him because of observations I had made. The bracelet he always wore, the American flag hanging in his living room with names written on it followed by ‘Never Forgotten’ and the way a sad country song would put him in a trance and send him staring off into space. Bella, our daughter, and I have a term for that far-away stare; we call it ‘glitching’.

  “You are not honoring them by throwing your life away or ruining your relationships by pushing those that love you away. Do you want to honor them? Live your life. Remember them, but do not hold onto the past so hard that you let it destroy your present or your future.” That’s what I told Toran that night.

  Toran had a full calendar the year we started dating. Between surf competitions and marathons, he spent most of his time at my house. We fell into a routine without ever discussing it. There was no discussion of personal preferences and routines let alone special needs. I thought I could figure out what needed to be modified for him, and he allowed me to believe that was the truth. He always used the spare bathroom, and I assumed it was because he was trying to respect my space in my master bathroom. I found out later it was because there was a stool in that bathroom that he used to get up to the toilet. I did all the cooking and cleaning in the kitchen; assuming again that he felt the kitchen was the woman’s area – never did it occur to me that he couldn’t reach anything in that kitchen. He would use my master bathroom to shower, and I found it odd that he would leave his toothbrush and razor in a cup on the floor of the shower. It was because he couldn’t reach the bathroom sink.

  As we spent more time together in a home environment, I began to understand Toran’s limitations and we adjusted accordingly although rarely did we do it with grace. Typically the adjustments would take place after a blow up; he would become frustrated by my hovering and smothering and I with his grumpiness and what I felt was ungratefulness. It took us time to learn how to communicate our feelings. I came to understand that he hated asking me for help and felt like he wasn’t doing what a ‘man’ should do and it was easier for him to do things the hard way, unsafe ways or go without rather than ask me for help. It took him time to understand that it hurt my feelings when I was trying to help and he snapped at me. It took him time to believe that my attempts to make things easier for him were not me insinuating that he wasn’t capable. These are things we should have discussed long before they caused arguments between us, but how does one know how to bring up the topic of things you can or can’t do around the house when you don’t have legs? I can tell you who doesn’t – the person without legs and the person who loves that person. It’s awkward. It’s not something you can walk into a bookstore and pick up a how-to manual for. Maybe someday I will write one of those – assuming I ever figure out the step-by-step guide to being a wife and caregiver for a combat-injured veteran.

  The new year came and we took a trip to see Toran’s family. He hadn’t spent much time with them after his injury and when they were there during his hospitalization he was medicated and not the most coherent. I was on his butt regularly about reaching out to them. I questioned why he spoke so harshly to his grandpa and why he seldom picked up the phone to call his brother. It didn’t seem normal. I speculated as to the reasons and told him I thought it was important for him to see his family. I never considered how going back home would feel for him. I didn’t think about him seeing old pictures, places he had played basketball in his youth or the home he had walked out of the last time he was there. I figured I knew what I would want if he were my child. I thought about it from a parent’s perspective instead of from his perspective. Meeting his family and being in a living room where he had spent his childhood, the uneasiness between he and his family was evident. While driving back home from that trip, it finally occurred to me how painful it must have been for him. Of course, I didn’t say anything to him about my epiphany because how do you talk about understanding the emotional pain of such a life-altering injury with the man who is living in that pain?

  At the end of that January, Toran and I got engaged and we realized we really had to figure out our living situation. He was living in transitional housing, and I was in a lease, so we agreed it made sense for him to move into my house. I cleaned out half of my closet to make space for his stuff – okay, a third of my closet – and a few drawers. One night I was lying in bed and asked him a question that had been on my mind for days. He had been bringing a new, full backpack with him every day. I asked a few times when he wanted to move his stuff in and he avoided the questions by saying he didn’t have time. I asked him about the backpacks, and he got quiet for a few minutes. I pointed out the fact that t
he bottom of the closet was starting to pile up with full packs and inquired as to what was in them. He let out a long breath and told me why. He couldn’t reach the rack in the closet, and he didn’t want all his stuff in my way. He also let me know the reason he hadn’t brought his prosthetic liners in from his trunk was because his ‘special’ stuff took up too much space. That broke my heart. To know that he thought his stuff was in my way and that I still had no clue how to accommodate his needs was a crushing blow. The next day I went out and got plastic drawers and stacked them three high in the bottom of the closet for him to put his clothes in although it seemed little consolation to offer for my oversight.

  I imagine that the continuous fumbling through our new life is the natural, albeit strange, rhythm for anyone in our position. That’s easy for me to say now; back then I thought it was a hopeless puzzle that we would never figure out. I had no idea who to ask for advice or where to turn for help. I didn’t have any girlfriends who could relate, and I spent a lot of time buried in work to avoid dealing with it.

  February came, and another funeral came with it. This funeral hit Toran hard; it was for one of his Marines. I knew many of the people in attendance, and it took everything I had not to fall apart watching the amount of pain felt by all. After the funeral Toran withdrew again and I could see him slipping into a dark place. I asked him to reach out to one of his mentors and one of my favorite people in the world, Jack Lyon. Toran spent a few hours on the phone sitting in his wheelchair, in the middle of the street in front of our house talking with Jack. I could hear his yelling all the way in the living room. I peeked out through the blinds and watched him for a moment; he appeared broken, defeated and scared. I had no idea what to do – there was nothing I could do. When he finally came back to the house, we both acted like everything was fine even though we both knew that was a lie. I learned later that Toran’s angst after that incident was the worry that if it could happen to that Marine, it could happen to him too. Suicide. It is the specter that haunts even the strongest of our veterans.

  It’s easy to spout statistics. The media takes a line and runs with it and pretty soon the tag-line is on the tip of everyone’s tongue. ‘22 A Day’. Yeah, I know you’ve heard it. It isn’t entirely accurate, but we can leave that point for someone else to debate. What is true – painfully true – is that it happens, and it happens with unprecedented frequency within the combat veteran community. Why? There are some theories out there, and there is a massive amount of speculation. I believe the likelihood of it happening increases exponentially for those who do not have a strong support network around them and people paying close attention. I also think that sometimes no matter what measures are in place, for some the thought of being free from emotional pain far exceeds the will to go on another day. I don’t know what the answer is. I wish I had a solution or alternative to offer but there isn’t one. The pain is going to be there; the challenge is learning how to not only deal with it but to thrive in spite of its existence. I know with Toran the best days he has are days when he has exciting things going on, things that make him excited about living. That could be a new garden tool, pumping up basketballs or riding across America. It doesn’t have to be something significant or particularly special. You just have to be able to recognize the beauty in simplistic everyday occurrences – the ones you would miss if you were gone.

  Continually seeing the ‘22 A Day’ statistic in the media affects us, the caregivers, also. In addition to worrying about the myriad of daily physical challenges that our veterans face, we are ever reminded that assisting with the physical challenges is only part of our duty as caregivers. We must also be vigilant about identifying triggers that cause our veterans stress and signs that they are struggling emotionally. Nobody can explain what exactly those are, and I’m sure it varies depending on their individual experiences. We are left to figure it out, and that’s scary. For me, that responsibility feels heavier by far most days than the responsibility of making sure Toran doesn’t fall or glitch while operating a vehicle. I also feel constant worry about his emotional wellbeing. Most of the time I have no idea what to say or do to bring him back to this reality – our lives in the here and now. To know that I might miss a sign or not realize he has fallen into a depression until it’s too late keeps me awake at night and causes me anxiety. Some days there is a lot of silence in our home, silence and walking on eggshells. I wish someone could tell me how to fix that too.

  Toran had an exceptionally tough time in the fall of 2015. He admits to me now that he was suicidal; I knew he was at the time and did everything I knew to do in that situation. I reached out to his personal network of men who understood what he was going through and pointed him in the direction of the VA’s crisis line. We began the task of getting him into a serious therapy program in August, and his first appointment was the following January.

  During that time I was battling anxiety and it got to the point where it was unmanageable. Reaching out for help wasn’t easy. I was the one who was supposed to be keeping it all together, keeping both of us afloat, and I was sinking. I asked my VA Caregiver representative for guidance and was advised to go to the VA for therapy. I attempted to make an appointment and was fairly shocked that I got a date only three weeks out. I hung on as best I could. On the day of my appointment, I was told that there was an error in scheduling and that I would have to return the following week. By then I was having panic attacks, and I was scared that would happen in front of Toran. The last thing I wanted to do was let him see me fall apart. I reached out to Tricare and told them the situation and was given several doctors names. I must have dialed ten doctors that day. The soonest appointment I could get was a month out. I ended up going to urgent care just to get anxiety medication. I returned to the VA for my re-scheduled appointment and am so thankful it was I sitting in that chair and not a suicidal veteran.

  My appointment was with an intake coordinator. She took me into a small office and began asking me standard questions about my age, family structure, physical health and the like. During those questions, her personal cellular phone was on the desk. She replied to multiple text messages and took one phone call. Then she moved on to extremely personal questions and at the tail end of a breath-stealing question, just as I was about to answer, she answered her personal cellular phone again. I left shortly thereafter and was beside myself with anger and disgust. I thought about it for days, weeks and it made me sick to my stomach. I told my VA Caregiver representative about it, and his advice was for me to file a complaint. It still angers me when I think about it. If that was my husband and he was at the end of his rope, that incident may have pushed him over the edge – he or any other person going in to seek help. If it hadn’t happened to me, I might not have believed it possible but it did happen and since then I pay closer attention when people talk about negative experiences at the VA. There is one thing that is undeniable; the VA system is broken. Until the VA identifies the shortcomings in psychiatric care and therapy for veterans and implements a practical solution, veterans seeking that care from the VA will continue to die. And until more caregiver resources and training are available, we will continue to fear the worst instead of being prepared and equipped to be a part of the solution.

  Toran and I have lived together for over a year, and we are making it work. It’s not all bad. There is an incredibly abundant amount of beauty in our relationship. We both put forth the effort to learn from each other, understand each other’s needs better and grow. I believe most people looking in from the outside only see the fantastic stuff. They see him ride his bike across America wearing a smile in all the pictures. They didn’t see all the tears, strife, physical exhaustion and the emotional toll it took on him – on all of us. People see him walking on his legs and say ‘man, you are incredible.’ They didn’t see him wincing as he was first standing in them or almost fall five times before making it to his truck. They didn’t see the two minutes it took him to get into his truck. They don’t se
e me cry at night when he has a bad day or our daughter go to school worried because he is visibly in pain. I wish the world could see what we see; I wish the world could look through a caregiver’s eyes. I wish every American could see the other side of war and understand that this sentence is forever. There’s an expression ‘you can’t un-ring the bell.’ Never was there a truer analogy than that when speaking of the experiences of war. It can’t be undone. His mind isn’t going to wake up one day and not remember, and his legs aren’t going to grow back.

  For the caregivers, I wish we could take it easy on ourselves. I wish we could worry less and smile more. I wish we could band together and come up with solutions that will help to heal our veterans and our families. The veterans – they stick together – once a brother, always a brother. I believe us caregivers need to do the same.

  In a world full of bad news with negative rhetoric coming from every possible media outlet and evil spewing from every crack – vow to be one of the crazy ones. Be a person crazy enough to think that you, one single person, can do something to change the world. You can. We all can. And we should. That one good thing – the light you shine in the world – has the power to cause a ripple effect, and there is no telling how far and wide it might travel.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Basketball Star

  Josue Barron joined a gang at age fourteen and walked that road through high school. He found acceptance from the older men who became mentors and father-figures to him. After high school, he found himself getting into trouble and came to a point where he felt he was being selfish and causing his mother undue stress. He received a ticket for graffiti and his mom had to pay the penalty. This became a turning point, and he began seeking an alternative to the life he was living and where he feared it would ultimately lead him.