An Open Letter to My Husband with PTSD

  I see the moment you sit by me laughing and happy; pretending to be careless.

  I see the moment we walk into a room and you memorize everyone's faces down to the most minute detail. Or as we walk and you can tell me the last seven people we have walked by in full detail what they looked like. 

 I see the moment we hear a sound: a crack, a pop, a whistle... I see you flinch and smile and carry on as you were.

 I watch as you look at me and your eyes glaze over and I know you no longer see me. You are lost in a world that I can never understand; but I try so hard to. 

 I watch as you toss in your dreams: running, jumping, adjusting sites, down what you need to do so you can make sure you bring yourself "home". 

I extensively plan and look ahead when we go places. I try my hardest to avoid anywhere that will trigger a negative reaction. I don't begrudge this. I happily do this, because what is this small feat compared to all the sacrifices you have made?

I see the look on your face when you feel you have failed me. I can promise you this-you have nowhere come close to failing me. You are not broken to me, you are beautifully whole and wonderfully mine.

I know this darkness lingers, and that it is ever so slowly easing with time. I know there are worst things that I cannot (and will not) list that I know you struggle with.  I see them. I know. I am continuously learning to understand.

You see these things as a weakness. I do not, I see them as a strength. Your mind is not broken, it is more vigilant. For this, I feel more safe with you because no matter where we will go you will always have a plan...an out. I know you will die to protect me and our girls; I have this security stronger than most because you already sacrificed yourself and your mind to protect us when you were gone.

I see the strength, maturity, and logic that has come from this. You weigh decisions more balanced. You don't sweat the small stuff. You have seen the worst in humanity, so in turn you know what is worth worrying about and what is not. 

You are my rock and my stability, even if you drive me nuts by not putting toilet papers on the roller or leaving your dirty socks out so Reese can use them as weapons of mass destruction *wink*.

Yes, you do have PTSD......but you have faced the devil and come out alive.  

I love you. I am proud of you. You are stuck with me forever.