166 Days: My Journey Through The Darkness (23 page)

I returned to the NCOA (Non-Commissioned Officer Academy) with a whole new approach to my lecture, and spoke from the heart about my personal struggles with PTSD and how I was getting through it. I shared the journal with my family and then I began to share it with friends. Each time it was read the feedback was overwhelming. People were getting something from my experience. The lectures were impacting people in such effective ways. My pain, my struggle began to have a purpose. I became more and more receptive to people as they told me their own stories after hearing mine.

The story began to reach people in a much greater way. People who were struggling from experiences outside of military deployments - life in general - were finding the strength they needed to face their own darkness within. They were moved to the point they realized it was time to get help and that it was ok. The more this happened, the bigger my experience became and I began to realize it was much bigger than me.

It wasn’t about me anymore. It was about reaching out to people and touching their lives with the hand of understanding and reassurance they needed to move on. I became the voice some couldn’t be, that they needed. As a woman, I realized how unique and unspoken my perspective was, and as I watched more and more of my fellow female active duty friends suffer in silence I saw the importance of my speaking out. As a woman, living in a man’s military world, it was even harder to show any emotion because of the infamous stereotype, “It’s because you’re a woman.” I had to fight harder and prove myself my entire military career. I had to show I could handle the same things my male counterparts could; therefore, I couldn’t show weakness or vulnerability.

Realizing this in myself, I understood my reactions and assumptions to Greg’s response to my situation. I soon realized my fellow female service members shared the same burdens I was carrying. I knew I needed to be that voice, for them. This empowered me to continue with this calling. I began to feel my empty heart slowly start to fill again, with each person I was able to reach. The more time passed, the more important it became. I continued to let people read the journal and each one who did stated that they felt I needed to do something with it…yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wasn’t ready. My marriage continued to grow, and my husband became my rock in more ways than I ever could have hoped for. I was so thankful that he decided to hang in there with me. He didn’t give up and neither did I.

I began running again, and so did Greg. He reminded me of the promise I’d once made to run Rod’s Race and said he would run it with me; side by side. We began to train together several days a week and eventually signed up for a race. We paid and registered; the commitment was made. We were doing the half marathon. We also recruited several friends to run it with us, including Tera. I knew I had to do it, for Rod. As time went on the race day grew closer and closer. I found myself becoming more and more emotional about it. Greg and I had shirts made saying, “Rod’s Race” on the front, with our dedication to Greg Rodriguez on the back.

Despite my multiple failed attempts to do it in the past, I knew this was it. On the day of the race I was so overcome with emotion. I made sure “Simple Man” was on my playlist on my iPod that day, as I wanted the whole 13.1 miles to be in honor of Rod, our fallen hero. As I ran each mile, I thought of all the good memories I had of my friend. Several times throughout the race we had people give us pats on the shoulder as they read our shirts and people yelled from the sidelines, “Let’s go Rod’s Race!” as we passed. It was incredible. As we completed mile eleven I hit a peak of emotion and during the entire final mile I had tears streaming down my face as I honored my friend. When we crossed the finish line, Greg and I held hands and I pointed up to the sky with my free hand as I said, “This is all for you Rod!” It was a moment that words cannot begin to describe. I needed desperately to accomplish that for him and it was incredible that Greg was able to complete it with me. It was a giant step towards closure for me.

I eventually pinned on Captain, and each day got easier, but I knew the military chapter in my life was ending. I needed to move on. I was now a mother, and I recognized that though my heart was once very much involved in the military, it was no longer. I needed to let go of my past in order to move forward with my future. Saying goodbye to the life I’d known my entire adulthood was a very scary thing, but after ten years seven months and three days of service, I took off my uniform and unlaced my boots for the last time. I cannot begin to express the amount of pride I have in my heart for my time in the Air Force and the experiences I had, and I admire those who give so much more than I ever could.

During my own journey to recovery, I heard news of another team member who also struggled greatly with the realities of the experience in Afghanistan. Remember the Australian bomb dog Sarbi? She’d gone missing after the battle on September 2
nd
. Apparently they never gave up hope in finding her and returned to the firebase multiple times in hopes to bring her home. After fourteen months, she was finally recovered by an American soldier who noticed her walking with a local Afghan. She was unharmed and healthy and eventually was returned to Australia and her handler, who was one of the soldiers wounded in the attack. She later received the Purple Cross, Australia’s most prestigious animal bravery award, from the RSPCA. This award recognizes animals for outstanding service to humans, particularly if they risk their own life or safety to save a person from injury or death. There has even been a book written to tell the amazing story of her survival.

When I heard of her story, I also learned that one of the Aussie soldiers became the first recipient of the Victoria Cross for Australia for his actions during the battle. This is the highest award in the Australian Honors System. I was honored to have been in the company of both of these war heroes, and it warmed my heart to know Sarbi made it home. I felt while the road for our individual journeys was bumpy and seemed never-ending for us both, we each eventually found our way back.

After I separated from the Air Force, Greg and I agreed we would both pursue our dream jobs and whoever got their job first would determine where we ended up next. Greg had a friend at his current job he talked to frequently about me, and she knew I was a PA. She told Greg about a Vascular Surgeon named Bud Shuler in Panama City that I had to meet. “Greg, it’s one of those things I feel is just meant to be,” she said. She helped coordinate an interview and when I met him I knew instantly it was a fit. We spent two hours in the interview talking about making a difference for our patients. I was offered the job on the spot, and I couldn’t have been more excited. I couldn’t wait to get home and share the news with Greg. He saw the excitement in my eyes and it brought him to tears.

“Jenn, I haven’t seen you
happy
like this in such a long time. You have that spark again,” he said, and he was right. I was truly happy about where the future was taking me in my career path. The very next day, he was offered a position in Washington D.C. that was essentially
his
dream job. When he told me the news I said, “What are we going to do?”

“That’s easy, Jenn. We stay. This job, the practice, and the people you are about to work with has lit that fire again in you. It’s a no brainer; this is where we are supposed to be.” So we officially planted our roots and I became a member of Vascular Associates.

Time went on and I continued to heal. The Special Forces group I was with ended up moving down to Florida and I was able to reunite with Hal. We sat down to dinner one night and I had the opportunity to introduce my husband to the man who took such great care of me and Becky while we were away. Seeing them together was amazing. They immediately connected, and hugged like they were long lost friends.

“So, you’re Hal? Huh, Funny, I thought you were taller,” Greg said.

“Well that’s okay. I thought you were fatter,” Hal replied, and they were instant friends. Watching them sit and talk and get to know each other was an incredible moment for me. I had an amazing bond with Hal after our experience in Afghanistan; I would walk through fire for him. I truly loved him as a brother and I was so fortunate to have a husband who completely understood and respected our friendship.

“Hey man, listen, I can’t thank you enough for watching over her,” Greg said with tears in his eyes.

“Greg, thank you for allowing her to be a part of our team. I don’t want to think about how that deployment would have gone without her,” Hal said. Hearing him say that to my husband offered validation to me for what I did; I’d always wondered if I did enough. As dinner came to an end, and we said our goodbyes for the evening, I felt such gratitude for the friendship I had and that Greg was forming with Hal. We’re still very close and we spend time with each other’s families as often as we can.

I still needed closure with Afghanistan and Greg knew it. He knew exactly what needed to happen, so he took it upon himself to make it so. He called Bud and arranged for me to have time off and surprised me with a trip to Arlington National Cemetery. It was time for me to say goodbye to an old friend. I couldn’t find the words to tell him how touched I was that he had gone to such trouble for me.

I was so nervous, my heart started pounding as soon as we got in the car the morning we visited Arlington. I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time I saw Rod. As we walked into the Visitor Center a lump formed in my throat and I was overwhelmed with emotion. As I stood in front of the kiosk, that would give us the location of Rod’s gravesite, I reached out to enter his name and my hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t steady it long enough to push the keys. Greg took over, and as the paper printed he grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“You ready to do this sweetie?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” I managed, and we walked out the door and started on our long journey to his grave. I was speechless with solace as we walked through the sea of white tombstones around us. It was breathtaking. So many souls had paid the ultimate sacrifice. We were surrounded by thousands, upon thousands of heroes. It was such a significant moment; it put so much into perspective. The walk to Section 60 seemed never-ending, which was fine by me. I didn’t know if I could do it, face the memory head on. I thought of the moments I shared with Rod, and how they were such a small part of his life, but they were so important in mine. I was honored to have known him and proud to have served next to him. I thought of the last morning I spoke to him and the last time I saw his body.

I felt nauseous. My stomach was in knots.
Ugh. What do I say to him? How do I say goodbye? Am I going to be able to do this?

“Jenn…..Jenn? We’re here,” Greg said.

“Huh?” I looked up and realized we had stopped walking and we were standing in Section 60 and next to his row.

“He should be about halfway down,” Greg pointed, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Um…no. I’m ok,” I said. I took a deep breath and started walking down the row. My legs felt like a ton of bricks as I made my way towards him. I looked at the names and the birthdates on the headstones that I walked by. So many young soldiers, most were younger than I was. I looked at the dates that they were killed, all around that same time period as Rod. I walked by the flowers, the gifts that family and friends left for their fallen heroes. Many left pictures and letters and it was heartbreaking.

And just like that, I was standing in front of his grave. I saw his name and instantly started to sob. I knelt down and put my hand on his headstone and just wept. I was surprised by the emotion that came to the surface and how quickly I was overcome with it. I had learned through my therapy to let it happen, so I did. I let all of the tears flow, all of the pain and sadness needed to come out. I wanted to say something, but for several moments there were no words. I brought the medal I was awarded for my deployment and my squadron coin to leave with him. I held them so tightly in my hands as I knelt and cried for my friend. I remembered the day with our salad and our silly conversations. I remembered how he worked so hard with Jacko, and the nights he was at the track while I ran. I remembered the last words we spoke, and I remembered seeing him lying there in the clinic, so peacefully in a pool of blood. I remembered having to step over him, and watching his body being loaded into a bag and onto the helicopter.

“My dear friend, I don’t know what to say to you right now. I just….want…I just
need
to say I am sorry. I am so sorry. Not a day goes by that I am not grateful for the few moments we spent together. I am honored. You are a hero; you are my hero. Thank you…Thank you….Thank you….Thank you.”

I must have said those two words ten to fifteen times, but it was all that could come out. I looked down at my medal and my coin and I squeezed them in my hands one last time, and I placed them in front of his grave. I stood and looked up and saw my dear husband standing with tear-filled eyes several feet away. I waved him over and hugged him tightly. We stood together in silence in front of Rod for several minutes. I was finally ready.

“Goodbye my friend,” I said and I turned and walked away. As we walked, I could feel the weight had been lifted from my heart. I had no idea how much I needed that moment. I felt such a sense of closure, knowing that my last memory of seeing Rod was no longer that terrible day. I felt after that moment I could easily return to his grave and not be scared or nervous about my emotion, but for a visit that would be a peaceful reunion with a memory of a friend. It was a huge day for my recovery.

September 2
nd
was always a hard day for me. The first anniversary of that fateful day I literally couldn’t take it and had to leave work. The next year was a little easier, but still very emotional, which took a lot out of me. The third anniversary, in 2011, took a turn for the better. I’d been feeling rather sick for several weeks and had taken a home pregnancy test the night before and it was positive. The morning of the 2
nd
I decided to make an appointment and have an official test. On the way to the clinic I began to cry as I recalled the events of the fateful day in 2008. I arrived at the clinic, and after submitting a blood sample, it was official. I was having another baby. I could now associate September 2
nd
with a beautiful moment in my life, and that was so important.