In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Helpless.”
On March 15, 2002 one proverbial telephone call changed my life forever. I can remember it like it was just yesterday the “Ides of March” or, the middle of March that same day that Julius Caesar was murdered. I heard a frantic voice at the other end of the telephone saying, “…Come see about your boy ma’am he’s been hurt…” From that point on all I could hear was this very audible drumming sound in both of my ears. I could hear even a pin drop my nerves were raw just with the thought that something bad happened to my youngest son age twenty-one. It is a nightmare like someone deliberately tipped over a bucket of marbles out on the floor where I was walking. My son was murdered on that day, and for weeks after that every time the either the door bell, or the telephone would ring my entire body trembled uncontrollably. I sat in the living room for days feeling helpless where I last saw my son hoping he would come back through that very same door, but it never happened. So two years ago I went to a birthday party for a young man who had served in the war in Iraq. It was a joyous time during the holidays some would say, but I noticed that young man saying, “…Stop the noise…” It was just too loud for him, and was a trigger for some past memories. It took me a minute because he was still so young before I could come to the realization that he was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I could not only see but I could almost hear his nerve endings pricking his skin just causing him so much misery. I too had walked down that same long hall and I was moved with so much compassion because I understood what he was really going through. On that day I knew that I had to get outside of myself, and surrender to something greater than myself or lose it all.