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Click here"I don't know if I can do it tonight."
"You don't have to do a thing except follow me."
Amy led him back to the bedroom where she slowly removed his clothes. She ran back into the living room and brought back two large pillows.
"C'mere..." Amy said as she tugged him into the bathroom.
In the bathroom Amy had set up a half dozen candles, and a bathtub full of hot soapy water awaited. Soft music from the radio filled the bathroom. Amy helped him into the hot water. She placed the pillows down on the floor beside the tub. When he was in the water, Amy turn around and slowly peeled her panties down, showing Dean her soft white derriere.
"Here," Amy said as she poured a tiny amount of lavender oil into the water, "this will help."
She kneeled down on the pillows. A misty ambience filled the room. The bathroom was aglow from the flickering yellow light of the candles, throwing soft shadows against the walls. The scent of lavender was in the air. Neither one spoke. Except for the sounds of Amy's sponge breaking though the water and the soft music, the room was still.
Amy gently washed his arms and his shoulders. She ran a sponge down his muscular legs and gently washed his feet. Dean watched as her long black hair would fall from her back and flow down her shoulders. Her breasts would play hide and seek with her hair as a nipple would peek out from behind a black curtain only to disappear when she moved.
Adding more hot water to the tub, she wet his hair as she rubbed in a vanilla-scented shampoo. She ran her fingers through his soapy hair as she worked it into a foam.
She poured water over his head, rinsing the soap clear. She reached behind her for a can of shaving cream and filled her hand with the warm white suds. She tipped his head back and covered his chin, neck, and face with the smooth cream. With a touch so gentle, Amy began to shave his face. One stoke, then another, she would dip the razor into the water with a splash and return to his face. She stopped, bent over and kissed him; some shaving cream stuck to her cheeks. Dean reached over and with his finger, wiped the soap from her warm face.
"I'd say you look done," Amy said. "Let's get you out and dried off."
Amy pulled out a large, soft, white towel and gently dried the water from his body. She moved in as close as she could so he could feel her hair fall onto his bare skin; feel her warm naked body against his. She reached over and picked up a small bottle of Burberry Brit cologne and placed a few drops on his neck.
"Did I ever tell you the scent of Burberry Brit causes my jeans to come down?" Amy said. She looked down her body past her tight tummy to a small triangle of black fur between her legs. "Oops! Looks as though those are already gone!"
Amy wrapped the towel around their bodies encasing them within the soft cotton material.
"I was thinking," Amy said, "I've got a lot of comp time on the books at my job and your employer is slow right now, what do you say we take a trip to Aspen? I've always wanted to give skiing a try. We could go and stay a weekend and be back before Thanksgiving.
"Even if we don't try the slopes, I'd love to sit in one of those big lodges with the stone fireplace and watch the snow fall as you and I sip hot chocolate. We could get a room with a Jacuzzi. You could lock all my clothes up, keeping me in nothing but a pair of heels all the time we're there. You'd like that wouldn't you? I would. And at night, you could make love to me in front of a roaring fire.
"Honey, I can't erase the memories you have of that damn war. I'd like to help you make new memories— memories with me."
"Amy?"
"Yes, Dean?"
"I love you..."
****
"Are you sure you can't come?" Amy asked, "I need to finish some work up today to meet a deadline. It's Christmas Eve day. We always have a small party at work. I'd love for you to come."
"I've got a few things I've need to finish up here, unfortunately. Don't stay too late," Dean said.
As Amy was about to leave, she reached out and kissed Dean.
"What's wrong? I can tell there's something wrong by your kiss."
"There's nothing wrong."
"You still love me?" Amy asked.
"More than life itself, Amy... More than life itself," Dean said. "Say, what's in the gym bag?"
"Oh, this. It's a Christmas present for you. Something really short and sexy I'll have on when I get back. I'll change at work."
"You don't need to do that. My God, Amy, they're calling for temps to be no higher than a few degrees above zero this afternoon."
"Then you'll have to warm me up when I get home, won't you," Amy said with a seductive smile as she turned and walked out the door.
Just before the party started, Amy changed into the clothes she had brought with her.
"Damn Amy, that's short," one of her friends said as she looked down at Amy's skirt, "You're going to freeze your legs off when you go outside."
About that time Amy's boss came over and said, "Looks as though we made the last deadline for the year. Hey, did you notice all the guys looking at you, Amy? You've really changed since you met that man of yours."
"Thanks... I've been hoping he would take things to the next level soon... "
Just then Amy shook in her heels. "What's wrong, Amy?" her boss asked.
"I don't know. I feel as though someone walked on my grave," Amy said. "Oh God. It's Dean. There's something's wrong. I feel it. I've got to go."
Amy rushed out of the party, jumped into her car, and drove as fast as the snow-covered highways would allow. Tears filled her eyes. She knew.
****
Dean picked up his dip pen and plunged the nib into the half-empty bottle of India Ink. Tap. Tap. He gently tapped the pen's tip against the glass mouth of the inkwell knocking the excess ink from the pen. A small light bulb in the desk lamp illuminated the room. The warm yellowish glow of the incandescent bulb shined down upon the desk.
Ever so slowly he began to place ink on paper. Letters slowly joined together forming words; those words into his thoughts. The tip of the pen scratched across the rough fibers of the paper as the shape of letters appeared.
The room was so quiet, Dean could hear the pen's movements against the paper resonate within the stillness of the room. Another trip to the inkwell. Tap. Tap. More words appeared on the paper. Post traumatic stress disorder... Afghanistan... my buddies...Tap. Tap.
His hand was steady and true as he continued writing in his own style of calligraphy. Five lines now, each one in perfect alignment with the one before it. Sandy... blood upon my hands... under fire... Tap. Tap. The glass neck of the inkwell rang out.
Dean stopped writing and gazed out at the snow softly falling on this Christmas Eve. A slight smile appeared on his face as he recalled better times. Then as quickly as a snowflake melts in the winter sun his smile disappeared and Dean returned to his letter.
Tap. Tap. His pen returned to the paper. More words filled the sheet of paper. Amy... IEDs... Humvee... I love you...
At last, Dean put his pen down and lifted the paper with both hands. He read it over then once again. He put the paper down upon the desk and gently rolled the ink blotter back and forth upon his thoughts painted on the paper. Three careful folds later he slipped the sheet into an envelope.
A burst of bright yellow light filled the dim room for a second as a match head flared. Dean held the burning match to a small block of sealing wax and several hot drops fell and formed into a warm puddle upon the flap of the envelope. He pushed his thumb into the wax sealing the letter. A quick puff of his breath blew the match out, sending rings of smoke upward. Dean watched, almost in a daze, as the wooden match head slowly cooled from orange hot to cold black.
He reached over and picked up a small rosewood box that sat on his desk. His fingers gingerly slid the brightly polished brass catch to one side then he opened the box with great reverence. It was lined with green felt. He took out a small piece of polished steel and held it in his hand while he ran his fingertips across the silk ribbon. After a few moments, Dean replaced the article back into the box rejoining the others and closed the lid. He reached over for another sheet of paper upon which he simply wrote: "Give these to Amy Patterson."
Dean pushed himself back from the desk, then reached over and turned the desk light off. "It's time," he said to himself as he walked out of the room and to the garage, carrying the letter in his hand.
****
Amy pulled in the driveway and ran up to the door. She could hear a car running in the garage.
"No!" she cried out.
She fumbled with her keys, dropping them once into the snow before she got the door opened. She ran to the inside garage door and opened it. The garage was filled with the pungent odor of car exhaust. She snapped the light on. Dean sat in the car. The engine was still running.
"Nooooooo!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "Ohhhh nooooo..."
Amy yanked open the car door; Dean's face was bright red. He didn't appear to be breathing. She reached in and shut the car's engine off. She pressed the remote control on the visor, and the garage door slowly opened. She kicked off her heels and ran to the opening of the door, taking in a few quick breaths of the bitterly cold fresh air. She ran back. She knew she had to get Dean into clean air.
Amy looked out to the open door and the fresh air that beckoned her. It was Dean's only chance of survival. She slipped one arm under his legs, then other behind his back.
Amy lifted Dean out of the car and carried him outside, laying him in the snow.
She laid him down and pounded on his chest. Her legs and feet were clad only in a thin layer of nylon that offered no protection to the bitter cold. Her knees sank into the snow.
"Breathe! Breathe!" Amy demanded. "You can't do this to me. You promised me! You promised me! You promised me we'd be together—you and me! Dear God, please don't take this man from me..."
She pulled his head back and breathed into his lungs as she attempted to push vital oxygen into his body.
"I don't know what to do!" she said as tears fell from her cheeks, instantly turning into small balls of ice before they dropped onto the snow.
"You can't do this to me!" Amy shouted again as she pushed down on his chest trying to get him to breathe. Spit and snot fell from her mouth and nose, falling onto the snow.
"Noooooooo..." she moaned again.
In an act of desperation, Amy piled snow up along his face.
Amy placed her hands on her knees as she looked at Dean's apparently lifeless body lying in the snow. "The Christmas wreath on the door is supposed to be green, not black," she said to herself. She heard sirens in the background; someone had apparently called 911.
Suddenly, she heard a gasp and she saw Dean's chest move. The noise and sudden movement startled her. She picked Dean's head up and placed it in her lap, protecting him now from the cold. Amy was sobbing out of fear and joy at the same time as she rocked back and forth. She cried uncontrollably as she held the man she loved in her arms.
She looked around, and the snow began to glow with reds and blues as an EMS squad and a police cruiser pulled along side the apartment.
"What do have here, Miss?" one of the paramedics said as another one started working on Dean.
"You've gotta help him! He's my boyfriend. His name is Dean Bradley. I found him in the garage. He was in the car with the engine running. I carried him out here in the snow."
The paramedic looked up to the open garage, noticed only one set of footprints leading back to Amy and said, "You picked him up and carried him that far? That's over forty feet!"
A policewoman walked over with a heavy blanket and wrapped it around Amy; their eyes locked for a second before she led Amy back to an ambulance.
"Is he going to be all right?" Amy asked as she started to shiver.
"No promises. He's not out of the woods yet. Putting him in the snow more than likely saved his life. The cold slowed his body down. Placing the snow on his face kind of shocked him back. Like rebooting a computer. Now we need to get both of you warmed up before hypothermia sets in."
****
"Miss Patterson, how are you feeling?" the ER doctor asked. "Besides cold, that is."
"Just cold right now, I'm really cold. How's Dean?" Amy asked.
"I'll check on Mr. Bradley. But right now let's worry about you. I'll send in a nurse to help you get out of your wet clothes. We need to get you warmed up."
The rings on the curtain moved and Molly stepped in. "I'll help her with that."
"Molly?"
"I'm here, Amy," Molly said as she reached out and took Amy into her arms and rocked her back and forth.
Amy started to cry. "I didn't know what to do... Is he going to be all right? How'd you find out?"
"Sssshhh," Molly said. "Let's worry about you right now. As far as finding out, Vicky drove over and brought me back here. Harold and I long since quit driving in the Colorado snow."
"Who's Vicky?"
"Vicky? That's policewoman Officer Vicky Rio. Vicky, come in here and say hello to Amy."
Officer Rio stepped out from behind the curtain as Molly was helping Amy get undressed.
"Hello, Amy."
Amy looked confused and asked, "How did you know?"
"My husband and I were at Molly's Bar the night you and Dean were there. We watched you two make your promise. That's how I knew. Here, we found this in his car before we secured his apartment. It has your name on it."
She handed Amy the letter Dean had written, the wax seal still intact. Amy looked down at the letter and softly began to weep. There on the front of the envelope Dean wrote out her name; exactly as he had the first night they'd met, in big beautiful script.
"Amy," Molly said, "tonight is Christmas Eve. You were given something very special. A Christmas miracle. Perhaps you should leave what was to history."
Amy thought about the words Molly spoke as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. She looked down at the envelope, the wax still sealing the flap closed, and said, "It's not a Christmas miracle. It's a Christmas gift."
"I don't follow," Officer Rio said.
"Don't you see? It's a gift—a second chance," Amy said "Dean was given a second chance at life."
****
After being released from the hospital, Amy returned to their apartment in the early hours of Christmas day. Unlocking the door, she entered the apartment tentatively, almost afraid to move. It was quiet, still and cold. The dinning room table was set; the glassware, napkins and plates were still where Dean had placed them.
She walked into the bedroom and crawled into their bed; she never bothered to undress as she pulled a blanket across her tired body. Amy pulled Dean's pillow into her arms and squeezed it with all her might. Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks, soaking through the bed sheet. She pulled the pillow to her face and breathed in the scent of the man she loved.
"I touch you with my fingers. I see you with my eyes. I feel your heart beating with mine," Amy said to herself as she clutched the pillow in her hands.
****
Two days passed before Dean was allowed visitors. The skies were gray, and the weather was blustery. Dean stood in front of a large window staring out at the parking lot below. He felt as cold as the snow that buried the earth outside his window. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder and just as quickly he noticed a warm hand slide into his; startled, he turned. It was Amy.
Amy leaned her head onto his shoulder and said, "Springtime is a promise the earth will always keep. Just like the promise I made to you. Together—me and you."
A slight smile appeared on his face. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again, after what I tried to do."
"I promised you I'd always be here for you. How you feeling?"
"I'm not real chipper," Dean said, "I let many people down; especially you Amy. I hope you understood my letter."
Dean moved his hands toward her face and then dropped them back to his side.
"Please touch me," Amy said as she took his hand and placed it on her face. "I never opened it. It's still sealed and put away. That was a goodbye letter. I'm not ready to say goodbye for a very, very long time.
"Here, I brought you some clothes and other stuff from home they told me you would be allowed to have."
Amy pulled out from her bag a sheet of paper, his dip pen, and a crayon and handed the items to Dean.
"What's this?" Dean asked.
"The man I fell in love with once told me, 'Each morning you're given a clean sheet of paper. You can write upon it in beautiful script or block letters with a crayon. Which one do you want to write with?'"
He looked surprised, then handed the crayon back to Amy.
Dean smiled. "I might have to be on pills for a while. I've started psychotherapy again. This time my counselor understands— he was in the Vietnam war. Amy, he knows what it's like. My counselor said he'd like to talk to you, too. Would you come?"
"I'd be honored to go with you," Amy said.
Dean sighed, "I'm tired..."
"C'mere, you," Amy said as she took his hand. "Let's get you back into bed."
She helped him into his bed and pulled the sheets over his legs.
"There...how's that?"
"That's fine, Amy."
"Dean, why didn't you tell me about the medals you had put away in that small box? I made some phone calls. It seems you saved the lives of nine men in your unit that day. I was also told you got wounded saving those men. It wasn't the first time you saved someone's life during the war.
"There are nine mothers out there that didn't have to bury their sons because of what you did. Dean Bradley, I'm so proud of you I could burst!"
"Amy, I'm sorry for what I tried to," Dean said as his eyes filled with tears, "That damn war nearly destroyed me. I wouldn't let it destroy you, too."
"Sssshhh." Amy placed a finger across his lips.
Amy hopped up on his bed and scooted herself over as close as she could to him. She leaned Dean's head onto her shoulder. As he touched her hair with his fingers, Amy began to softly sing…
- COMMENTS
Great story needs a better or more sincere ending, where they marry and have a child or two with the help of Amy things will get better. War can be hell!
This is amazing story. I have been on thiss site along time and its o r of the top three best in my eyes
We re soooo touched, soooo honored to absorb your beautiful story, and we are sooooo misty!!!!!
Thank you for sharing your heartfelt words with us.
5* I guess beauty is in the eye of the reader. This romance has love at first sight, commitment, near trade gy and hope. Well done.
DP
Why was the slut Amy dressed in a very short skirt at her Christmas party when Dean wasn't around!!
The bra concept if removing it in front of everyone and being naked waist up for almost 10 minutes was so FUCKED UP!!
WHAT NEXT, WILL THE STUPID CUCK SHARE HER WITH OTHERS IN THE BAR AND CLAIM PTSD!!
MOLLY WAS ANOTHER STUPID OLD BITCH
I am a Vietnam Era Vet and I have suffered with PTSD, I know what it is like to have the recurring nightmares and I know fellow vets who got them from service in Vietnam. Mine did not come from military service fighting the NVA but from the racial hell that can happen and still does here in the US. I thank this writer for finally putting my many nightmares under there real definition. It was hell being black back then, even being mentally gifted as the admin of the US services treated all blacks as lessers and assigned us the most dangerous/worst jobs that they could. More of us died in Vietnam than any other group, as a group.
My hell was the terror I faced in America just trying to grow through racism in my own home but that is another story. I am just happy to have finally pieced the causes of my hell together and this story did that for me,
To all the people who had the war PTSD, I salute you, regardless of race. PTSD is a horror and more than war can create it.
Thanks. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
In my 22+ years in the Navy I was never in combat. On board the ship I was on at the time of our entry into Vietnam I saw Marines getting shot when we launched them to the beach and we were under orders not to provide cover for them because there might be women and kids ashore in the jungle. I still think of that and did not feel to good about those orders.
Read before ... not just 2 people "together - you and me" but all of us "together in this world - now and forever."
Thought this was going to be another nice love story heading towards 5 but then you ramped it up a notch with the promise in the bar making it really sweet. But then came the ending and, boy, did that really ramp up the emotions, the whole story and the score to a 5 plus. Sorry I can only give you a 5 though. Excellent.
I served in the Army for three years in the 60s just missed going to Vietnam. Spent time in Germany and France. Ever since Nam I consider myself extremely fortunate the way my life has turned out.The disrespect shown our GI's after Nam was a crime.
Never faced battle but did have dreams after discharge for 6 months that I was back in the Army because of the war and the protests and all. That damn war affected us all with the loss of so many lives. Great writing, keep it up!
never served because of a wild horse ride on 12/22/1959 , have known many who have . nothing but RESPECT for those that did. had 2 cousins that were in NAM.
What a story that is so full of emotion, love and friendship. You had this old man grabbing for the Kleenex several times because this is one of the most moving love stories I've read. My gratitude goes out to all the young men and women, past and present, that did their duty and served in the military and to all those that gave the ultimate sacrifice.
I like the story line. I would have rated it much higher but I felt the dialog had a robotic feel that made it less compelling. I think the writer was too afraid of making the story too long. The whole sequence of them meeting and their initial conversations lacked believability and felt empty of warmth or connection. Still worth reading.
Your story rings several bells, apart from being well-written.
Thank You
HP
I was 13 when my older brother went to Vietnam. He was in Hue during the Tet Offensive on the Perfume river serving on a 40' PBR river patrol boat. He never talked about his year in Vietnam. The brother I knew never came back, he was never the same. Dave died from the effects of agent orange 5 August 2015. After years of research, I discovered he was the lone survivor of two boat crews. This story hit very close to home. Thank You Rwsteward for a great story.
the military men didn't go because they wanted to but went in service to our country . I have the utmost respect for them. I didn't serve in the military because of losing the use of an arm. if I had I would have joined the Marines because of family history . when returning home they were spit upon and any other thing you could think of. these men & women were like the young men of 6/6/1944 saw things no young person should have to see. well written about about what they went through before the days of PSTD . given to help with the problems they came home with
You have written a story that could have come from a Vet's medical file with only a little more on the side to fill the story. I know some of the vets coming back from the "Freedom War" that the people we're there to help could care less. Since our military and political leaders won't the soldiers fight to win, us vets will have to do the job here at home with all the ragheads that are here already.
While that's not OK, we'll fight to win, and those who don't stand behind our troops are more than welcome to stand in front of them. 'Nuff Said! To the Anon 'Nam Vet on 9/9/16, I join in your praise of this story. I too have lost friends and family to 'Nam!
A really dramatic romance.
I had a coworker who was in Afghanistan (not in the US Army). He returned alive, but with a disease that was about to cost his life, leaving him disabled for ever.
The support of a person who loves you is vital in these cases, and in this story, Amy is that person.
I must say, that I had begun to read the continuation of this story, but upon seeing the author's foreword, I changed this chapter before continuing to read.
In my life, I have seen death from an early age (7 years), and it has always made me very crazy when it has happened to me, sometimes I still have visions ...
5 * for you.
Semper Fi!
I apologize for my English (yet), is not my native language.
Dear Sir,
Thank you.
It chokes me up and brings a tear, some thoughts, some memories.
I pray you an "AMY" in your own life, now and forever.
Sincerely,
A Veteran
Your story touched my heart and made tears run down my face. I am not a veteran, and don't know many veterans. However. my frequently depressed mother tried to kill herself about eleven times, and almost succeeded once. She was saved by my father,
whom she later divorced, and never regained the use of her left hand. ( Eventually, she died from a stroke, years later.) So I have some insight into Amy's courage as well as Dean's pain. Thank you !
I too am a Nam Vet that has lost friends to that war. I also lost my first wife to diabetes (she was 49) and a son to cancer (he was 27). I stayed in the Air Force for 20 years. I met and finially married my second wife, we have been together for 16 years now, I still have problems in my head but she is helping me thru them. Thank you for this story.
A powerful story showing the strength a
real love can give someone. It's great reading all the comments from fellow veterans, each telling how this story had impacted them, and me, This tale is one of the few on Literotica that transcends the normal range of emotions displayed here, and taps in to deep, powerful, and very personal raw emotions. Many of us reading this are veterans off combat and we all relate to some degree with the main character in this story.
Thanks to the author for s very moving story. I'm gonna go cry now......
I have a friend a former Marine who came home from Viet Nam in a 3/4 body cast and to this day hates the REMFs who not let him go back to be with his brothers and to this very day is still being treated for his PTSD. Thank you for your story !!!
Thank you for this wonderful story. I too am a veteran, of both Viet Nam, and Desert Storm. I too have lost many friends, two marriages, and several jobs. I tend to push people away, so it doesn't hurt as much when they leave. As Dean, I too went to the V.A. when my life fell into the downward spiral of PTSD. As of this day, I have not been able to maintain a meaningful relationship with a female, and have finally accepted that I will never have that bond or connection again. It is a conclusion I have come to, realizing I am a man unto myself. I have not found anyone willing to tolerate my sleep patterns, or my tendency to withdraw into myself. I want to thank you for addressing some of the issues you have brought forth in this story, and am looking forward to the Epilogue. With Deepest appreciation.
I'm currently at Camp Pendleton, California, a Marine Corps base, as a civilian. I'm a coach for the Wounded Warriors Marine Corps Wheelchair Basketball team. I also suffer from Traumatic Brain Injury but not from war related issues. Some of the TBI symptoms are the same as PTSD.
I was just talking to another coach the other day. Her boyfriend is a wounded Marine who suffers from PTSD. She's heartbroken because he won't let her in his life or allow her to get close to him. She doesn't know why.
She told me she begs him to let her in. The more she does, the more distant they become. He actually moved from Florida to California and so they're now a country apart.
Because if my TBI issues, and even though I've been married for many, many years, I fear, everyday, that my wife, no matter how much I know she loves me, will eventually leave me because I have personality disorders and temper issues. I become very difficult to deal with. Over the last 6 years, I have lost nearly every friend I have.
I gave my new friend the same advice your story repeated over and over. I told her the best thing she could do, no matter how difficult he gets, to let him know that she will always be there for him. Tell him she will never give up on him or leave him.
Amy, in this story, did just that. It's the best thing to do for those of us struggling with these issues. It took a few years, but I'm finally about 99.999999% convinced that my wife will never leave me. As contradictory as it sounds, I'm still 99.999999% convinced that she will. It's a never ending struggle.
THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS! I'm making a copy to share with my new friend. I don't feel comfortable sharing a "sex" story with her but I will pass along the link in case she is interested.
This one was written from the heart. It is one of the few stories that I have read here which really got into my heart. Can't wait to read the conclusion. But I will have to take some time so I can stop the tears from falling. Thank you so much for this story.
for some reason my vision kept getting blurry.
I connected to this story in a way that most people can't. I too was deployed to Afghanistan. But there was one word that when I read it I froze for what felt like hours. I was flooded with emotions and memories. It was when I read Kunduz. I was stationed at FOB Kunduz for 10 months. I lost friends there. I was in convoys hit by ied's. My vehicle was hit by an ied. The only ones that truly understand are those that have been there and seen it, lived it. It didn't destroy me. Don't let it destroy you. Lean on your brothers that were there and understand.
I liked the concept and the story, but it was too fast paced and there wasn't enough character development.
I have never commented before. I am sitting here with tears in my eyes, and I am in awe of the story. I give it a 6+.
Thank you for your wonderful story.
I tried to help a very dear friend, but did not get to share a Christmas gift.
I miss him to this day, and always will.
To those that have served and still do, thank you.
I was in Iraq but never had to face what Dean did, so only being able to vote it a 5 is somewhat of a letdown! Awesome story and great ending - no one will ever know what each individual is facing when they come home from war, but you did a masterful job. Thanks and keep up the stellar story telling!
tm
this was awesome. PTSD is a huge killer of people who are heroes, both in the US and in Canada and we are just beginning to understand the real pain they are going through.
Well written. Another author on Lit wrote a very good series on PTSD and veterans. It took some prodding to get him to finish it as some people took offense to the references to God and the lack of sex. in the end, it brought out some great comments from people who are in similar situations.
This is a great tool to get PTSD out in the open and I am so glad you wrote such a good book. I am going to read the second part right now.
What a beautiful story! I've never served in uniform, but I know the mental torture and deep heartache of living with the pain of physical and emotional traumas! As a toddler I was sexually assaulted, but didn't have the comprehension & vocabulary to explain what happened until I was much older (blessing or curse I have many, very clear memories from a Very young age). Again at 16 I experienced a sexual assault, this time while I was old enough to fend off the physical advances, the damage was psychologically more damaging as he was a very close "grandfatherly" friend who obliterated my trust! I've been in a series of car accidents leaving me disabled & in constant pain since my late teens. All of these mostly "invisible" pains are still a source of daily struggles for survival! The internal battle to deal with what you feel is "your problem" & to not involve, or inflict "your pain", on those you LOVE the most, can lead to some actions viewed by most people as VERY selfish, but in that deeply depressed state can feel like you are SAVING them from the harm of YOU!
Your beautiful, loving, & insightful writing in this & the "Epilogue" (having come across and read both today), will perhaps Inspire those suffering to keep fighting to find the help they need & those who love them to never give up! Bravo on excellent writing! I now have the joy ahead of reading more of your work!
No matter what you never really forget. I am fortunate that I too found a woman who holds me and helps when I wake up screaming. The things I see are blurring now, but, they are still with me. You have a gift! Thanks for sharing what it takes for some of us.
USAF 1965
This is what writing is all about.
I don't have enough adjectives to describe my feelings for this story.
I didn't want it to end.
The tears are flowing free again. I've held so much in lately. You've help release the deamons from my mind, at least for a while.
Thanks,
Sole Survivor 1969
for all the GIs that got fucked over by their wifes. for all of you that had a wife not strong enough to stand by you in your time of need, i pray that you will find this kind of love. you served your country and deserve to be honored and LOVED. THANK YOU rwsteward
This story puts it all together. Everything in our world lives in us, and sometimes we can't quite separate now from then, love from hate, warmth from cruelty, lust from pure survival. It is simply beautiful, and will live in my memory for a long time.
Until you have lost a brother in hell, you cannot understand .....
The year was 1967 - Chu Lai, Vietnam - on a Sunday night - about midnight - I was a Corporal in the Marines - 20 years old. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion at first & it was as if it took me 20 min. to get to my foxhole. Still today I can see & hear almost everything that happened. You never forget the first time you face combat & there were mortars incoming from everywhere. Sand bags are nice but they aren't mortar proof. It was as if they had a map and knew the coordinates of everything they wanted to hit. Just one degree of change in their aim and I wouldn't be one of the lucky ones. Times were very different then and none of us were popular or very well liked. At least that has changed today. Thank all of you who support our troops today because they didn't ask to be where they were and now they have some support when they come home. Remember this about war ... better there than to worry about IED's in NYC or your home town.
Semper FI
I'm a Gulf War (1st) Veteran, and am also a Disabled Veteran. I read this story, and had tears in my eyes throughout. I'm a male, but this story really touched me. I truly do hope there is a continuation.
Thank You for your story. It so graciously tells of the pain of those who you could not save and how it changes your life. Thank You Former Aviator
PTSD is a lonely journey. Too often it becomes "Journada del Muerto". You seem to understand it well, Hermano. Thank you for a very sensitive treatment of it in you story, which was also a great love story.
Well done sire, tears are welling up in my eyes. Maybe you'd be kind enough to write a short epilogue or a one-page story of their marriage if they got married?
That was one of the most romantic stories i've read. You have a gift. Excellent Work
Please write a part 2!! I know it will be just as beautiful and heartwarming as this one.. While I wait, I'll go read your other submissions. Keep up the brilliant work!!
I am a young vet myself and this story really hit me. I can tell your writing with experience and I hope that the story that inspired it was a happy ending as well. I am at a loss for words, this was remarkable.
Doc Hal~
Most people do not see in to the human soul like this story
You had me crying at the end
This was a wonderful story. I was never in the military, but I try to do what I can to help veterans. I just found your story and it was wonderful and had me in tears. You are a wonderful author and are now one of my favorites.
It left me with tears in my eyes. I don't know that I have ever read a better love story than this one. Thank you so much for what you do.
You did an EXCELLENT job on this story, plus the verbalization of how to love a woman and a woman to love a man---WELL DONE !!
Sam
I know what he was going through ! I went through that shit for 33 years before I was able to get professional help, that did help me !! But for 25 years I had a wonderful women to help me - even if most of the time she didn't understand how, what or why !!! Without her I wouldn't have made it either. A beautiful story - thank you & keep writing !
CCH
It isn't often that a story will make me emotional, but you managed. I well written story, well paced, very easy to loose yourself in. Thank you for making me feel all that you did.