Ben was put on medication for the first time, and his PTSD rating was increased to 30 percent. We learned everything we could about the condition, and discovered that his symptoms were pretty typical. He began to talk a little about his survivor's guilt. He told his doctor that of the 350 men who underwent jungle training with him and went to Vietnam together as a unit, only 18 of them came back alive.

Four or five times a year, he would have what I called a "spell." It was like he would turn into another person. He would get this edge to his voice, and nothing my daughter Aubree or I did would be right. Finally, he would retreat to his room upstairs, slamming the door. I just left him alone. After a time, he would come out and be very apologetic. He knew I would still be there for him when he "came down."

In January 1993, he spent a month in the PTSD unit at the V.A. Medical Center in San Francisco. I found a note he had written in the hospital that said, "To survive my part of the Vietnam War, I detached myself entirely from what I saw, and completely forgot the battles and the names and the faces of the men I had served with. ... I have come to understand that this type of detachment is not something stepped into and out of easily. It takes time and effort."

In July 1994, I went with some old friends to a family cabin we have on the upper Sacramento River. Ben could not go because of his work schedule. I talked to him on the phone Sunday. He sounded fine. Aubree called me after she got home from work on Wednesday and, when I asked about Ben, she said that the same "Do Not Disturb" sign had been taped to the bedroom door for two days. I asked her to look to make sure everything was all right. She came back to the phone frantic. Ben was on the bed not moving, and there was a bottle of pills and booze on the bedside table. Ben had not had a drink in twelve years. I told her to call 911. Ben knew that Aubree would find his body. I am finding it very hard to forgive him for that.

I don't know when Ben made his fatal decision, but it wasn't spur of the moment. He had gone through financial files and left things in order on his desk. He left me a short but not very revealing note. "Judy, There should be close to $xxxxxx. I'd like to have left you more. I'm at the end of my rope. I love you forever. Ben"

It has been tremendously hard bringing up things that I have been trying to put behind me, but I want people to know about Post Traumatic Stress. I want people to know that there are ways to deal with it, to make it better, but there are no guarantees. We can't guard them twenty-four hours a day. I want to tell survivors that all their "should haves" probably wouldn't have changed a thing. Ben had a privileged upbringing, a good job, and a loving, happy, stable marriage. He had beaten his addictions. We knew about PTSD. He was under psychiatric care and on medication, and I was in constant contact with his medical providers. I thought we were doing everything right. I thought we had everything under control. And still he killed himself.

 

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4.11.07