Terry Wilson's hands shook as he stared at the bottle of whiskey, its amber contents promising oblivion. The silence in his house was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos he'd known for over two decades.
He could still hear the explosions, smell the acrid smoke, feel the weight of his rifle. Twenty years as a Green Beret had etched every moment of combat into his bones. The adrenaline, the fear, the brotherhood – it was all there, lurking beneath his skin like a parasite.
"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." The words from John 15:13 echoed in his mind, a bitter reminder of the sacrifices he'd made.
Terry had become a machine, hardened by war and tempered in blood. He'd excelled at combat, thrived in the crucible of conflict. But now, in the suffocating quiet of civilian life, he was lost.
The day after the pullout from Afghanistan, he'd hung up his uniform for good. And that's when the real war began – the one inside his head.
Rage consumed him. Bitterness ate away at his soul. He felt betrayed by the very institutions he'd sworn to protect. The Army, his regiment, his country – they'd all let him down.
His family became collateral damage. His son, a stranger. His wife, a ghost moving through their home. But Terry convinced himself he was fine. Green Berets didn't break. They didn't falter.
He stared at his reflection, barely recognizing the man looking back. Overweight, depressed, a shadow of the warrior he once was. "I'm fine," he muttered, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth.
But deep down, in the part of him that still remembered how to feel, Terry knew he was dying inside.
So he did what any Green Beret would do. He attacked the problem head-on.
Counseling sessions became his new battleground. The gym, his proving ground. He devoured books on mental health, marriage, parenting – anything to fill the void left by war.
Church became his sanctuary, a place where the weight of his sins felt lighter, if only for a moment.
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28 spoke to him in a way no drill sergeant ever had.
Slowly, painfully, Terry began to heal. He rediscovered his wife's touch, his children's laughter. He found solace in the brotherhood of veterans who understood his pain.
The warrior wasn't gone, but he was changing, evolving into something more. A man who could love as fiercely as he had fought.
Terry looked at the whiskey bottle one last time before pouring it down the drain. He didn't need it anymore. He had found something stronger – hope.
"No Para Mi, No Para Ti, Si No Para Nosotros," he whispered, the old motto taking on new meaning. Not for me, not for you, but for us.
Terry Wilson, Green Beret, husband, father, survivor, stepped out into the sunlight, ready to face a different kind of battle. One fought not with weapons, but with love, faith, and the unbreakable spirit of a warrior reborn.
Lo Que Sea, Cuando Sea, Donde Sea. Whatever it takes, whenever it takes, wherever it takes. De Oppresso Liber. To free the oppressed. Including himself.
You finally got me. I've hooked up reading many of your admonitions but never had tears roll until now. Dad saw combat during WW II, Korea and was headed for Vietnam until he was medically retired at 29 years. He fought demons I never understood until I did my own 23 during Nam and DS. He drank himself into an early grave because men didn't go to counseling in the 70's. I did, and therefore I'm not.
Thank you for sharing...