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My poem

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  • #156888
    PearceHawk
    Participant

    I wrote this poem many years ago whileI was getting rehabilitation in a hospital in Germany. It is about a very wonderful, amazing, and good friend I had. My friend, DB, (I chose to keep his name private) and I did a couple of tours together in Iraq. When I was in the hospital in Germany I learned of his death, so I wrote this poem. Please excuse the structure of my poem as it is kind of not very well balanced. But then again neither was I when I wrote it. I read it when thoughts about when I was there creeps in so reading it helps me cope with the PTSD. I welcome your thoughts…

     

    UNTITLED

    “I WANT TO COME HOME MOM

    GOD I WANT TO COME BACK”

    WROTE THE YOUNG SOLDIER

    FROM HIS BASE IN IRAQ.

    ALL HER HOPES AND HER DREAMS

    HER YOUNG BOY-HER YOUNG SON

    HAD LEFT HOME TO BE

    A SOLDIER OF ONE.

    SHE REMEMBERED THE DAY

    THAT THEY BOTH SAID GOOD-BYE.

    HE SAID,“MOM I’M BRAVE

    PLEASE TRY NOT TO CRY”.

    IN HIS LETTER HE WROTE

    HOW HE LOVED HIS MOM SO.

    “I MISS YOU SO MUCH, MOM”.

    THE TEARS SOON WOULD FLOW.

    HE WROTE, “MOM I PROMISE

    ONE DAY I’LL BE BACK

    AND I’LL NEVER RETURN

    TO THIS HELL CALLED IRAQ”.

    SO EACH DAY SHE HAD STOOD

    IN THE ROOM OF HER SON

    AND REMEMBBERED THE DAYS

    HE HAD PLAYED THERE FOR FUN.

    ALL THE MODELS HE MADE

    AS A KID IN HIS ROOM

    REMINDED HIS MOM

    THAT HE GREW UP TOO SOON.

    HIS LITTLE LEAGUE GLOVE,

    HIS BALL AND HIS BAT,

    WERE PLACED NICE AND NEAT

    BY HIS LITTLE LEAGUE HAT.

    AND RIGHT OVER THERE

    SHE COULD SEE BY THE LAMP,

    HIS FIRST TROPHY WON

    BY HER LITTLE LEAGUE CHAMP.

    HER MEMORIES CAME THROUGH

    SINCE SHE PUT THEM TO TASK

    OF EYES PEEKING THROUGH

    HIS LONE RANGER MASK.

    SO FOR NOW SHE HAD KEPT

    HIS ROOM TIDY AND NEAT.

    AND STARED AT THE SHOES

    ONCE FILLED WITH SMALL FEET.

    THE DOORBELL HAD RUNG

    ONE DAY FROM OUT SIDE.

    COULD THIS BE HER SON?

    THE DOOR OPENED WIDE.

    THERE HE HAD STOOD,

    A SOLDIER OF ONE.

    DISTINGUISHED AND GRAY.

    THIS WASN’T HER SON.

    THE NEWS SHE RECEIVED

    FROM THE MAN FROM OUTSIDE

    HAD SHATTERED HER SOUL.

    HER YOUNG SOLDIER HAD DIED.

    HER SON WAS NOW HOME

    FROM HIS WAR TORN BASE CAMP

    HER SOLDIER OF ONE,

    HER LITTLE LEAGUE CHAMP.

    AS THE JETS HAD FLOWN BY

    AFTER 21 GUNS

    A TRIBUTE WAS MADE

    FOR LOST DAUGHTERS AND SONS.

    A LONE SOLDIER PLAYED TAPS

    FOR THOSE LOST AT WAR.

    FOR HER LITTLE LEAGUE CHAMP

    HE PLAYED TAPS ONCE MORE.

     

    PEARCE HAWK, HMC/IDC

    5-03

    #156970
    Anonymous
    Guest

    Dear Pearce:

    So very sad. So very. Very sad.

    anita

    #156996
    PearceHawk
    Participant

    Sad indeed, Anita. For me, and I KNOW that for many of us, coming home from war is all too often more difficult than the war itself. The time that I wrote it was very difficult. But writing it helped me vent. The emotion reflecting the memories is what my band of brothers and sisters and myself continue to go through. When I read it again, it is still difficult but is getting better, in that now I think of my best friend, this amazing man, in a happy memory, the fun times we did have however few they were. It is equally important for me to express my sadness as it is expressing my happiness. Maybe someday I’ll be able to “come home” as they say, but for now when I do have those PTSD memories creep in to my mind, I capture that moment and send them off to a place called “that was then this is now”, and trade those thoughts for ones of gratefulness. It’s not always easy but it is getting better for me. Ironically those experiences in the Middle East were key in making me a different person in a very good way.

    I am grateful that your emotion, the ” So very sad. So very. Very sad.” that you expressed has allowed me to respond in the depth that I did because it allowed me to “talk about it” which is profoundly difficult for me to do even to this day. Thank you for giving me the chance to talk about it. It is a rare moment for me to trust enough to do that and for some reason, the opportunity for me to trust the gift that you have extended to me is met without hesitation, suspicion, apprehension, and fear. From my heart and soul to yours, thank you Anita.

    Pearce

    #157022
    Anonymous
    Guest

    Dear Pearce:

    I am touched by your post above, by your writing that I had a part in you sharing this “without hesitation, suspicion, apprehension, and fear”- thank you for sharing this. I am grateful to you for having done so.

    You wrote: “when I do have those PTSD memories creep in to my mind, I capture that moment and send them off to a place called ‘that was then this is now'”- It makes a lot of sense to do just that. I read some time ago that the memories of PTSD are kept in an area in the brain where they get reactivated, as if happening now. And that healing from PTSD is about moving those memories to another area in the brain (forming different neuropathways, that is), to a place where the memories no longer get re-activated, and so, those memories are put to rest. They still exist but they don’t get reactivated.

    The poem is very sad indeed. Sadness is unpleasant to feel, but like you wrote, “It is equally important for me to express my sadness as it is expressing my happiness.”

    Thank you for sharing your poem.

    anita

     

    #157056
    PearceHawk
    Participant

    Hi Anita,

    Sometimes, a lot of the time, I experience some difficulty in what it is I want to say. I call it, getting stuck. But thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with me. I don’t sit around and try to assemble some meaningful kind words to say. They just happen.

    What you said about PTSD being stored in a certain part of the brain is true. It is yet not possible for me to avoid the things that trigger my PTSD, but it is becoming easier to recognize the precursors that bring them to life. Yes, those visions are very real. They get triggered by things such as a helicopter flying overhead, by cars back firing, seeing ads for these war games either at a bus stop or a tv commercial, the games that the kids absolutely have to have. One HUGE event that triggers PTSD visions is when I am driving by a street construction site and a jack hammer goes off. There is, however, one thing that triggers my PTSD that shames me beyond imagination. This is very risky for me to say for obvious reasons as others who read this may think bad things of me. When I see a woman dressed in her Hijab I start to get very nervous and my mind goes on hyper alert. A month ago I was in the bank talking with the banker who was going over my account with me. At one point two women came in to the bank wearing their Niqab. When they walked in, their pace was fast and deliberate. As they went to the teller, I went on high alert, got physically nauseated, started sweating profusely, and reached toward my hip expecting to find my gun. This happens at any place, any moment, such as the grocery store, the park, wherever. My bank teller friend knows about my PTSD. When he recognized what was happening he put his hand on my shoulder and said let’s go outside. Not only does this experience resurrect bad memories, they also remind me of the survival guilt I have.

    I must let you and anyone else who reads this and may be offended, please to know that I swear I cannot help it. These reactions are not conscientious. Nor do they reflect my true belief, in any way shape, or form, about these women and the culture. Sometimes when this happens I feel as though I stepped in a pool of quicksand of bad memories. Anyone who may be insulted by my reactions, I apologize profusely and know that it is not a real reflection of what I believe.

    I am going to my beach now. It is my sanctuary. It is less than 1/8th of a mile away. When I go to my beach, there is nothing adverse going on in my life. I am at total peace there. Thank you for your understanding.

    Pearce

    • This reply was modified 6 years, 8 months ago by PearceHawk.
    #157102
    Dawn R
    Participant

    Dear Pearce,

    Thank you for your service and for enduring what many people cannot imagine.  I’m very sorry for the loss of your friend and I hope that writing about him brings you some peace and honor to your friend and your friendship.  I hope that you continue to find ways to grieve and that somehow you find some meaning in your own life despite his death.  I think it is very brave of you to talk about your PTSD moments.  Maybe others who have similar experiences will find comfort to know that they are not alone in their struggle to redefine their lives once they leave the place where they served.

    May you continue to find and use your sanctuary to remind yourself how precious life really is.  Never take one day or one moment for granted.  And always Appreciate all the blessings in your life, no matter how big or small.

    Take Care of yourself.

    Dawn

    #157140
    Anonymous
    Guest

    Dear Pearce:

    You wrote that one of your PTSD triggers shames you. But that trigger, like the others, is not of your choosing- these neural connections between certain sights and sounds and your “hyper alert” reaction (Flight/Fight Response) were made automatically, in your brain, not a subject to thought or choice.

    People often feel shame about what they feel or think, when in reality, feelings and random thoughts are automatic mental events, not subject to … pride or shame. I understand the fear you had sharing this and I appreciate your courage in sharing it nonetheless.

    You described your PTSD experience in the bank: “I went on high alert, got physically nauseated, started sweating profusely…” These are classic symptoms of the Flight/Fight Response to fear. None of your choosing. You didn’t choose the trigger nor did you choose the response (and why would anyone choose such distressing experiences..)

    It is bad enough that you suffered as much as you did being injured in Iraq and recovering in Germany and beyond. At the least, I hope you no longer suffer from the neurological consequences of that injury and experience.

    I hope you enjoyed your beach experience yesterday. I remember going to the beach as a child, teenager. The sun melted all my anxieties, worries, fears. It was my sanctuary too.

    anita

    #157146
    PearceHawk
    Participant

    Hello Dawn,

    It is not easy for me to talk about those experiences. I actually don’t prefer to bring them out into the forefront. However your comment reminded me of a better place I to be and your words make it so much easier for me to go there. When I think about my friend I can only imagine what happened since I was not there. But when I think about him the fun times we had, the laughters we shared, the happiness, however brief, takes away all the thoughts of what must have happened. Happy endures 🙂 Thank you for your time to put some kind thoughts together and sharing them with me. Those thoughts are special.

    Pearce

    #157154
    PearceHawk
    Participant

    Hi Anita…First and foremost I want to tell you that I hope that your ankle(?) injury is but a distant memory. I appreciate the time you took to share your kind words with me. Even though I totally get the fight/flight idea, sometimes I get caught up with having to defend myself against events that, although they happened many years ago, they still feel like 5 minutes ago. Episodes like the bank are an emotional ambush, and believe me being ambushed is no stranger to me, and they happen so fast that it is very hard to come back to reality in a split second and dismiss them as history. When that (emotional ambush) happens it takes me, I’d say perhaps 5-10 minutes to realize I am not there, I am here, and I am doing ok. That 5-10 minutes spent in a memory like that feels like a day. But when I finally realize that memory, that ambush is history, the relief I feel is one of liberation. All of a sudden that glass full of turbid water is now clear and pristine. Taking in that glass of clear cool water feels good.

    Concerning the neurological injury, I still am reminded of that time when it happened because the pain is 24/7/365. Much of the time it is quite tolerable while other times it gets so painful that I wish I couldn’t walk again because that particular pain is paralyzing and unbearable. The reasons for that kind of pain is a constant reminder of that memory which sneaks in and winds up on the big screen. But to deal with it, I think in terms of my back hurts, that’s all, nothing more. I never complain about it. For me to complain about it has no therapeutic value. Ice/heat packs and jacuzzi time is.

    I enjoy the beach every day since it is less than 1/8th of a mile from my home. Just to share a funny thought with you, yesterday an older husband and wife couple were visiting from Canada. The woman, who has a kind soul for sure, after telling me how wonderful it is at the beach, she asked me if it was always like this here. I told her no, half the time it is night time 🙂 The husband said, “Now I KNOW we’re in California,” and they both busted up laughing.

    Anyway, thank you for sharing your very encouraging and kind words. It’s who you are and it’s what you do.

     

    Pearce

    #157170
    Anonymous
    Guest

    Dear Pearce:

    My ankle/ foot injury has healed but I still wear the store bought support. It is a relief to walk again. At the time, as is my tendency, it was difficult for me to believe that the injury was not permanent. Using your imagery from your vision on the other thread, one sand back tying my hot air balloon to the ground, is believing pain, distress will last forever, while most of the time, they don’t. Thank you for asking.

    When I wrote to you above: “I hope you no longer suffer from the neurological consequences of that injury and experience”- by “neurological consequences” I meant the forming of the connection between a certain image AND the Flight/Fight Response, a connection that was activated in the bank example.

    Next, to your other thread.

    anita

     

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