I… love it. So in keeping with the theme (Mental Health Awareness Week), I want to say that my dad suffers from PTSD after his time in the Marines and Royal Air Force. It’s affected every aspect of his life and is Not something to be taken lightly. I’ve tried to draw on my experience as a family member to write this.
Judy was shaking when he found her in the cargo hold. Her skin was beaded with sweat and there was something far away in her eyes that scared him.
John recognised the look. He had seen it countless times on fellow soldiers out at the front lines of battle. He had seen them look off into the distance, their expressions blank but their chests heaving, and there had been little he could do to help.
But Judy was his daughter. He had to do something.
He strode into the room, made his footfalls heavy and hummed as he got closer so she knew he was there. The soldiers with PTSD he’d known had bolted when they didn’t know someone was there. Some had reacted violently, others had crumbled and been inconsolable. The idea of his Judy reacting like that made his chest tighten with dear.
“Dad?” She asked quietly, her voice wet with unshed tears.
“I’m here baby,” he said softly and sat down against the crates with her. “I’m right here.”
Her face crumpled as she began to sob. John’s heart broke at the sight, memories of trying to hold her hand where it was free of the ice filling his mind. Her voice had been so young in those terrifying hours, the voice of a frightened child with nowhere to turn. Leaving her to get the magnesium had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. And it had been so close… any longer and she’d have died. If Will hadn’t come back when he had-
Judy curled against his side and dragged his arm over her shoulders. She buried her face against his chest and dug her fingers into the fabric of his jumper. After long minutes, her sobs turning to hiccoughs and then to shuddery breaths, she loosened her grip.
“I… I got cold. The duvet was too tight and I got cold and-” she broke off with a choked sound.
John rubbed her arm, kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay. You went through something huge, something not many people could deal with half as well as you;” he brushed a curl away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, saw the thankfully clear brown of her eyes and let relief wash over him. “You’re so brave, Judy. I know it feels hard – like you’re still trapped and you won’t ever forget it. But that’s okay. You’re okay. Just do me one favour.”
She nodded, eyes questioning. “What?”
John smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Talk to me. Whenever you feel trapped or scared or… or whatever it is you felt tonight, talk to me. Okay, honey?”
“Okay dad,” Judy whispered. Her eyes welled with tears again, but her lips curved up into a delicate smile.
“That’s my girl.”
Judy and John talking about PTSD please?
Published
Meg's Mumbles 