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I crawl away and shut myself in a room with my Beatle records, the music that would keep me from suicide and strong enough to care for our baby daughter.
This was the aftermath of his tours of duty in Vietnam, bringing that war home to our front door, letting itself in uninvited,
causing both of us to relive the demons of the violence he experienced over there. It is a story that many women of my era who were married to combat Vietnam vets seldom tell; and who certainly wouldn’t commit to paper. It’s not a book about The Beatles; but their music is the backdrop to my story, a passion, a love and a musical therapy at the time that absolutely kept me alive. It is the story of the terror a war can bring
home and how it can continue with devastating consequences. At that time; when our soldiers returned home from Vietnam; there was no mental health support program for us or our families. They were simply dropped back into a society that despised them and the war they fought; forcing them to internalize the trauma and relive it every day in their minds, and in our homes. Too many committed suicide, too many took my husband’s path of physical violence, until finally, during the Gulf Wars our government recognized the need for debriefing and PTSD therapy when soldiers returned home; but it is still a token gesture. My story highlights how bad it really was back then and how much more attention needs to be drawn towards the minimal mental health care that our returning veterans receive today.
