I write for my husband, Roger L. Adams, Jr. KIA 29 June 2009. Click HERE to read more.
I noticed this morning when I awoke that I had a missed call from the Wilmington Police Department. Of course, I felt my whole body become numb. My mind never races to the worst case scenario because it doesn’t have to. It’s always resting there, waiting.
The first thing I did was check on all four boys, then I looked for our vehicles in the driveway. Everyone was good. Actually, I still don’t know what happened, but once again, I am jarred.
It happened another time in Massachusetts. In my true fashion, it was early, maybe six. I was sitting in my porch wearing my hot pink bathrobe, smoking a cigarette and drinking a hot cup of black coffee. (Sexy, I know.) I heard tires slowly crunching against the blacktop driveway and became still. Around the corner walked a Southampton police officer, angling his head cautiously to see me.
“Is everything ok, Ma’am?” he asked.
“Yes, why?!” My mind went to Tyler who lived in North Carolina, and my heart remained at my parents’ front door step in 2009 when they told me about Roger. Are you Teresa Adams?
“Someone called 911.”
I went into the house and saw Baylee randomly standing in the middle of the living room.
“Did you use the house phone?” I asked him.
“Yes, but I tried to dial 910 but I forgot the 1 before it so I added it when I remembered.”
I went outside, told the police officer what happened (including the fact that our previous area code was 910), and broke down.
My brain naturally, and rightfully so, goes right to the worst possible scenario. It doesn’t lightly visit an old friend who may need to be bailed out for a drunk in public charge, or even that someone was found with my credit card. It goes to death, loss, and the past. How long does PTSD last? I’ve read it can become a chronic issue.
I do know one thing, no matter what my life turns out to be, I will never be OK with the cops coming over for any reason, and them calling isn’t any better.
To learn more about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, start here:
Teresa Forester Adams 
I know the knotted tumny feeling and the inner voice that screams loudly, but for a different reason. In my experience, once the sensors are shocked, it’s imprinted. This isn’t meant to be a downer at all, it can also be used as a cushion to absorb that “impact” feeling. ILYAW
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It’s hard being the one who can’t make it easier to deal with also.
Just keep dealing best you can.
auntie sue ❤
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Dear Teri,
I’m afraid that we will continue to “retain” certain thoughts, memories, and even mannerisms, for the rest of our days here on earth; but we remain strong in doing so, because such tragic events in our lives, have provided us with a “different” perspective on life itself; a perspective that many do not have…
Love,
Uncle Lee
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