He twists and turns, then wakes up, startled, wide
eyed and looking around the black room. The darkness almost threatens to
suffocate him. He looks at the clock, it is 2:13 AM. Quietly he tries to
remember what military time translates into this civilian time. Next to him
lays his wife, so glad that he is finally home, safe and sound. Little breaths
are heard coming from the right of the room, his one year old is finally fast
asleep.
Trying to gather his thoughts that are consuming him
like a fire to dry trees, he tries to repeat what his therapist told him to do,
to calm him down.
My
name is Taylor Graham. I’m 25 years old and married. I am a father to a one
year old. I came home about 5 months ago fro-AAAAAHHHH! Instant
flashback to the dream he woke up from, where he is trying to save his comrades
from an IED explosion that hit their Jeep. His dream still allows him to
remember the dead in the vehicle, already long gone without any hope of
revival. He smells the smell of burning flesh, machine fire, and war, hears the
cries of pain and desperation. He is drowning in this dream-he can’t escape the
dream, he hears and smells and touches and tastes magnified a hundred times in
this dream.
He wonders when this will stop. His wife has been so
supportive, helping him with his therapy and the daytime nightmares that plague
him. His family thought the war was done for him when he stepped of the plane
and into their arms.
In reality, the war really started for him then-a
quiet war raged in his own mind, silent to any outsider.
Such truth in those last few lines--soldiers home from war have battles left to wage. I really can't imagine how they do it--how my sweet grandpas saw so much horror in WW2 but remained gentle and kind. I love the line about his thoughts"consuming him like a fire to dry trees."
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