You Are Invited . . .

If you are within a reasonable driving distance from Omaha, Nebraska, you are invited to join us for free, no admission, no charge for lunch, to learn about something that plagues the world in which we live.

No one is really safe from PTSD. When we’re bullied as kids, triggers stay in our minds. Not thinking about it doesn’t make it go away. In 1978, when my oldest son drowned (yes, he needed reviving more than three times), I was pregnant with my daughter, and had another son who was nearly three years old. I’m the kind of person, I’m strong through the crisis, then need to vent/talk/reflect about it later. I talked about it with the doctor at my next visit. The only advice he had was, “Just don’t think about it.”

I didn’t know it then, but I suffered from PTSD. Certain smells triggered the panic and my pounding heart. My mouth got dry and I felt like I could vomit. Close my eyes, and I can see my little five year old, convulsing on the gurney. I didn’t actively entertain those thoughts. They appeared out of nowhere.

I vividly remember opening the bag of his clothes from that day. I was in our ancient basement, my little Nicholas was with me, and I took the clothes from the bag. Instantly, the smell of wet sand, lake water, and suntan lotion invaded my senses. I saw my little boy. My stomach lurched, and my tears flowed. All I could do was pray. Thank God he was alive and normal. God listened. God provided for me.

Eventually, I could put it in perspective. I can talk about it now without breaking down. Luckily, my son who drowned doesn’t remember it. He’s now looking at his 51st birthday in a couple months. His life is one of calmness, clarity, and common sense. I believe he “saw the light.” I believe he was sent back to me to be a friend to the many friends he has. I believe he has had purpose I can’t comprehend. He’s always been a good son. I thank God every day.

What I’m saying is, it’s not pleasant to talk about PTSD. It’s even worse to suffer with it. It’s nothing you “get over” or are cured from. You learn to live with it. And it’s hard. We will have representatives from Guitars for Vets, Moving Veterans Forward, 50 Mile March, and others to help find the way.

This is why we’re offering free training on Talk Saves Lives, along with a speaker about PTSD. Lots of folks are coming from far away to participate. Fellow Nebraskans, some Iowans, and many others are gathering at our VFW Post 2503 to learn and offer assistance to those who need it. Here is the information. It’s for the public, you don’t have to be a veteran, all are welcome. Join us if you can. Be brave, and help others, not just Veterans, move forward.

Message me with your Facebook Messenger your questions, or FB Message VFW Post 2503’s page. We’ll answer your questions. Help us help others.

and SHARE with others.

Please register with Eventbrite, click below, or message me and I’ll get your name down. Thank you.

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/ptsd-speaker-siloun-greentalk-saves-lives-military-version-training-tickets-416106996227

The Smartest Word We Can Say

Are “Help Me!”

It definitely doesn’t mean we’re needy. I was raised in a “Do it yourself, you can’t rely on anyone!” kind of environment. When I was a single Mom, I did a lot on my own. At that point in my life, I was angry and didn’t trust anyone to stick around. I was looking for love in the wrong places as the song goes. Nothing was permanent. My kids and I were a great family, we were close, and had a lot of wonderful times. We also had hard times. When the car broke down or we needed a plumber, it was tight. Back then, the local plumber my folks used billed you 30 days later. A Godsend!

The kids and I learned a lot about dry walling, privacy fence installation, and a lot of other things. I was lucky the boys did the lawn without being shamed into doing it; they actually enjoyed it. One time, they tried to make a mowing pattern like they saw at Wrigley Field during the televised Cubs games. Great memories.

If I were to be honest with myself, I was devastated the person I thought would love me forever didn’t understand anything about me, the kids, or the life I thought we were building. It just didn’t matter to him. A lot of relationships end when one person refuses to grow and the other is held down. Sometimes you need to end something in order to become who you were meant to be.

It was the discomfort I felt during that time that urged me to change my life. I had to. I asked for help from professionals who knew what they were doing. It was the biggest risk I’d taken. Since then, I’ve learned a lot about creating opportunities and being honest with myself. I do know enough to lead my life, make my decisions, and enjoy the consequences or learn from my failures.

Honesty is what you learn when you ask for help. I had to be honest, Ken and Barbie were not happy as everyone thought. I’d also grown up in a house where we don’t tell people our business, and we especially don’t tell our father. As I’ve watched a close friend of mine bare her soul of her struggle with PTSDc, I’ve felt challenged to tell the truths I have, the ones that are close to my heart. I’m amazed at how people relate, and say, “I felt that way, too.” Or “I never realized how miserable you were.”

Many times we’re the guy or gal at the end of the rope being pulled to safety in the Coast Guard helicopter. Sometimes, we’re the pilot, helping someone else. I believe this is what we’re here for.

The Babe and I saw this action yesterday, at the end of the 50 Mile March. It got us in the feels for sure. Our friends from 50 Mile March, (Jay Miralles), Moving Veterans Forward, (Ron Hernandez), and Guitars for Vets (Taylor Frye Ullom), were feeling the effects of walking 50 miles in 22 hours. They are battered, beyond tired, blistered, and beginning to plan next year already.

Being part of the ones who battle the 22 a Day statistic humbles us. All we can do is gain information about suicide and learn it is not shameful. People are often at the point of no return and they’re afraid for whatever reason to ask for help. In September, the VFW Post 2503 in Omaha is hosting an afternoon of discussion and training on “Talk Saves Lives.” I’ll share the information soon. If you will be in Omaha on Sunday, September 25 from Noon – 4 p.m., you may be interested.

Today is a warmer day, and in the sun it’s hot. It’s supposed to do that all week, then cool again. Such is early fall in Nebraska. Take care today. Offer to help someone without them asking. Simply holding the door is fine. It all helps. See you tomorrow!

Bombshell Patriots

The Bombshell Patriots of Nebraska held their first Nebraska Conference today. All I can say is I’m blown away. As a new contributor to the organization, I was proud to be there. I was also a vendor, with information on grief from the Centering Corporation, and VFW Post 2503 information, along with some info from the VA itself. The FBI had a recruiting booth, Wounded Warrior represented and sponsored lunch, and VA Nebraska attended as well as others.

Bellevue High School (sorry, didn’t hear if it was East or West!) ROTC presented colors. Alyssa Flood, the Founder of Bombshell Patriots, is a force to be reckoned with. I did not realize she is not a veteran (it doesn’t matter, does it?), and she founded the organization after the grief/anger/angst/frustration from the death of her veteran friend. Grief can be destructive, isolating, overwhelming, or daunting. No one wants to talk about it, much less deal with it.

Alyssa took action to help her deal with it. She is helping female veterans take action to get the help they need during deployment and/or during the re-introduction into life after the military. Of course, there are agencies available through the government agencies like the VA. Do they return all the phone calls? We heard from a couple of veterans who had mental health needs who said a loud “NO” to that question. We heard a female MG question, “Why does she have to wait until Monday?” Good question.

No veteran, male or female, should have to wait, to fend for themselves over a weekend when they need help now. It is no wonder many give up. When they can no longer fend for themselves, they just want the pain to end. That is not on them. It’s not necessarily on their families, health care providers, or anyone specific. From what I heard today, it’s a combination of all the above. Inadequate support for mental health issues is common. Why?

I am certainly no professional in the field; what I can tell you, is our society has hidden any references to mental health issues, treatment, education, and knowledge just came out of the dark ages in this respect. I had a great aunt who had bipolar disorder (manic depressive). The poor woman suffered terribly. They committed her to a mental health facility (Our Lady of Victory) on the original St. Joe’s Hospital campus. She had shock treatments. I don’t think that helped her. I remember being told, “Now, don’t tell anyone she is here, or that we came to visit here today.”

#1 – Who was I going to tell?

#2 – Why couldn’t people talk about it?

It is a shame we whisper about and ignore the number of people there because out of our ignorance. Mental health issues are rampant through our society, military related or not. After what we put our veterans through, why whisper about it or, worse yet, why ignore it? It’s not going away.

Alyssa Flood is now on the front lines as an advocate, referral point, and unrelenting friend to female veterans who need it. Some have families who can help. Many don’t. Why not? Most of us don’t want to ask for help. It’s not a male or female trait, but it’s for sure a veterans trait. Bombshell is a place people with nowhere to go can land, in a safe place, until it can lead them to help if they want and need it. What we’re doing isn’t working. We have to do better. Our veterans deserve it.

Many veterans do not live near family; are emotionally distant; or don’t want to involve their families in their problems. Many don’t realize they have a problem. And the unraveling begins. The risks and prices are so high. It can be frightening. The pain is everlasting. I witnessed it today in a Gold Star Father’s eyes. I will never forget that look. It’s haunting. Fresh as the day it started. We need to hear what these families have to say. We need to listen. And we need to act. Just as Alyssa Flood did. And the speakers. What wonderful speakers there were.

I met some people I only knew online. I hope to talk with them all more in the future. This organization will continue. It will be strong, growing, and effective. We all need this to happen. Most of us don’t know it yet. And we hope we don’t. Until that knock is at the door. And we cannot stop what happens yet. The grief. Oh, the grief.

As I reflect on this day, this gift of a day, with all the ups and downs of the feelings, I am grateful to all the speakers, the educators who don’t give up, the survivors, patients, participants, the veterans who take their PTSD and make beautiful things from it, the music, the artwork, the networking, and the friendships that result. You are all America’s best. Our soldiers. Our protectors. Thank you. Thank you all.

The Hawk. Insomnia. Messages.

I’ve been awake since probably 3 a.m. Yes. 3 a.m. I am still not tired yet at 7 a.m. A quick nap this afternoon will be in order. I woke when the Babe got up to use the restroom, as dudes in their 70s often need to do at night. Lexie was sleeping between us and she stood to circle around and lie down again. She moves until she bumps into any body part on me, then she sighs. It’s kind of nice.

While lying in bed, willing myself back to sleep, my first conscious thought again was the hawk from a few days ago. Here’s that article. Yes, I feel it was a message to urge me to free up time to do the things I want to do – writing, quilting, creating. The hawk, a symbol of honesty and clear vision, came to me in the very spot my friend Rick Tiger said we’d sit and write a song this summer when he and his wife would travel to Omaha to do another show at the VFW. Sadly, Rick contracted COVID and passed away last October.

In the early morning fog of waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, it occurred to me. The hawk may have been Rick. He encouraged me to write, and that is what I intend to do. I am amazed. It’s what I’m working towards, that very thing. And the hawk appeared above me where we were to write the song we talked about. I’m tagging his wife, Joyce, in this blog. Joyce, Rick is still working, isn’t he? I’m grateful for the prompt he asked God to send to me. It’s a gift! Thanks, Rick!

Tonight, the Babe and I are going to the kick-off meet and greet for the first Bombshell Patriots of Nebraska Conference. I’m proud to be part of this event and am eager to hear the speakers tomorrow. They are all very accomplished women. I cannot wait to learn from them. It should be a great weekend. Check them out on Facebook, Bombshell Patriots. They’re in Colfax, Iowa. Their website is: http://www.bombshellpatriots.org.

Should be a great conference.

It will be an honor to hear these women speak and meet them.

I won’t be able to blog until late tomorrow evening, so we will see each other tomorrow. Thank you for reading, stay safe, and have a beautiful evening.

Sliding Into Sunday

It’s been a fantastic three days. All the highs. All the lows that are really highs but you don’t realize it. What? It all depends on how you view events. I am grateful for all of it. Beginnings and endings that aren’t permanent endings. All the feelings that accompany them.

It’s amazing when you meet someone, then spend time with them. Every once in a while, you just know you can be friends. And then you reach out, they reach back, and you talk nonstop for a couple of hours. You could keep going but duty calls. What a great feeling!

I have a great deal of respect for Taylor Frye Ullom. She is the founder and Boss Lady of Guitars for Vets, Nebraska. Any vet who has PTSD can take guitar lessons with an individual instructor. Ten lessons and graduation later, they receive a new guitar and accessories, along with the opportunity to perform with others at a ceremony. I am blessed by attending several of their meetings over the last year and enjoying their music every chance I get. Thanks, Taylor. I love your honesty and candor. It’s refreshing.

We spent time at the Post Friday night for the weekly Fish Fry. Good to see the people, and the new crowd who attend. I did some office work since the group kindly prohibits me from bussing tables because of my chronic back issues. I protested and told them I can handle paper plates, but they insisted. Nice when friends look out for you. I appreciate the kindness.

We went to Gavin’s basketball game Saturday afternoon. He is getting better and better! At the first game, he scored a three pointer at the buzzer! How exciting! He was happy.

We all went to see an uncle of Tracy’s who is very close to the end of his life from congestive heart failure. He is the most active man, the best host, the best friend, and the best mentor. The Babe worked for him for many years, and they knew each other well. They two men were married to sisters.

When the Babe’s marriage didn’t work out, they remained friends and business associates. The Babe got his life straightened out and progressed at work. He became a lead man, then Labor Foreman. His brother-in-law is proudest of the soldier aspect of the Babe’s life. His service in the US Army in Vietnam, and his service now as Honor Guard Captain. Two men, stayed friends for years, despite what life threw at the two of them. What a gift.

I took this photo after we left our friend’s home last night. I believe the angels were telling us that was our goodbye on earth to him. He is ready. May God take him home soon. New friends and old friends. Are all part of our time here on earth. We need to recognize the angels telling us the stories and helping us with new beginnings and older transitions. We are blessed to experience both ends of the spectrum this weekend. Thank you for reading. Hope to see you again tomorrow. Blessings.

Kind of a Big Deal

Well. Look at us here on an overcast Monday morning at the Home Office in Gretna, Nebraska. We’re about to get back into a routine, I think. It needs to be a different routine, however. Instead of concentrating on my kidlit, it’ll be my novel.

Why? You may ask. Because I sent Chapter One of “The Freeing of Katie Fitzgibbons,” to the panel of the Nebraska Writers Guild for publication in their annual anthology. It’s a collection of member’s works. It’s how I found the Guild in the first place. The Babe and I were driving back from visiting granddaughter Kayla, and we stopped at a rest area. They sold books, etc. I saw the anthology for that year and purchased it. It started me looking to create opportunities.

By the way, I received an e-mail Friday telling me my Chapter would be published in this year’s anthology. How exciting is that? I’m honored, proud, and humbled, all at the same time. And those of you friends I’ve tagged need to know you’ve all helped me get to this point. The support from all of you is phenemonal. Yes, all of you. If you read, or liked something I posted, whether it a blog post or FB post, it’s all been encouraging. I can’t thank you enough. And Billy and Kate – Thanks for letting me learn the, “Just because it’s never been done,” philosophy. My life is full of doing things never done before. Out of “order.” As a late bloomer.

That said, now the work load needs to shift (I believe the word now is “Pivot”), and we’ll be closer to the end of the book at the end of 2021. We’ve reached a milestone, friends. I’m really beside myself! Thank you all, for reading, encouraging, feedback, and all of you who read quietly in the background (No, General Dennis Luke from Nigeria, who lives in Saudi Arabia now, and asks me to send him a friend request, no, not your kind of background reading!) Don’t be a creeper, or creepy.

Tomorrow is the annual pilgrimage to Hobby Lobby for Mom, so I’d better get extra rest tonight! Just can’t shake this allergy/asthma flareup. So again, I look forward to a new day tomorrow. It’s going to be a great week! Thanks for reading, I’ll see you tomorrow!