To families of PTSD Veterans, it is not an invisible wound

It is fine for civilian families to say that PTSD is an "invisible" wound of war. After all, they really can't see it as much as we can. While we cannot see the cuts on the surface, we see what PTSD is doing to them. The family of Cody Watson also know what it is like to be a part of a group not counted. The press uses the "22 a day" number when discussing suicides tied to veterans but no one has tried to count the families. Even if they did, they would never know the true number of people grieving for a veteran who survived combat risking their lives for someone else, but couldn't survive back home when the battle was for themselves.

My husband's nephew was one of the years ago when no one was paying much attention. He was a Vietnam veteran with PTSD. If anyone counted the families, they would have counted his ex-wife and son but not the woman he was living with. They would have counted his Mom, brother and sister, but not the rest of his family.

Families are bigger for the troops and veterans because this bond goes beyond blood ties.

Cody Watson came home, sought help for PTSD.

"In late March of this year, he walked away from a voluntary residential treatment housing downtown. On March 25, he jumped to his death from the Monroe Street Bridge. Like every one of the epidemic number of suicides among veterans returning from war, he left a wake of pain and questions behind."

Shawn Vestal: Army veteran survived battle, but not its aftermath
The Spokesman-Review
Shawn Vestal
July 2, 2014

“You could see the change,” Todd Watson said. “He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t happy. He was obviously depressed. I remember telling my wife, this isn’t going to end well.”

Pictures cover the refrigerator in the kitchen at Todd and Renee Watson’s North Side home.

In one of them, their son, Cody, smiles out at a camera in 2009. “This is before he deployed,” Todd Watson said. “He looks like he’s 14 years old. And then you look at him here” – Watson points to another photo of Cody, bearded and looking hard, and his voice breaks – “he looks 15 years older.”

Cody came back from Iraq in 2010, struggling with the demons so many veterans do. Depression. Anger. All the signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. Alcoholism and addiction – efforts to erase the pain.

He returned to Spokane in February 2012 after his separation from the Army. He was treated at the VA for behavioral health and substance abuse problems.

In late March of this year, he walked away from a voluntary residential treatment housing downtown. On March 25, he jumped to his death from the Monroe Street Bridge. Like every one of the epidemic number of suicides among veterans returning from war, he left a wake of pain and questions behind.

“You see this kind of stuff,” Todd Watson said. “You read about it. You think, ‘That could never be my child. We were good parents. He was a happy kid. How did my son, who was so happy, how did he get so sick with depression?’ ”

Suicides among veterans and active-duty servicemen and women are tragically common. A VA analysis of suicides between 1999 and 2011 concluded that 22 veterans a day take their own lives. As the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have wound down, suicide has overtaken combat as the leading cause of death for active-duty soldiers.
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To families of PTSD Veterans, it is not an invisible wound and they are not just numbers.