Shell shock. Combat exhaustion. Stress response syndrome. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Post Deployment Syndrome. All the many things to describe a soldier’s mental state after returning from combat, and each one more militarized than the last.
Post Deployment Syndrome – a mental health condition that is triggered by a horrific event during a soldier’s deployment. Symptoms include flashbacks, nightmares, depression, and anxiety. Treatment can include psychotherapy and medication.
This definition does not include how loved ones are supposed to help the victims of these synonymous stress disorders. Maybe because there is no single, concrete way to help them.
All we can do is try.
It was a hard lesson to learn when Ryan returned home from a tour in Iraq.

A stormy Sunday evening, May 5, 2015. Ryan and I were sitting on the familiar couch watching TV with Rommel and Churchill curled up on our laps. Rain lashed at the windows and pounded on the roof above us so loud that we were forced to turn the volume up. Crashes of thunder followed lightning bolts more frequently and forcefully as the storm moved closer to our little sanctuary. We took little notice, however, until we heard the sirens.
“Great,” I groaned. It was more of a chore than an actual concern. We lived in northern Iowa; every tornado siren was a precautious warning and nothing ever came out of it. “C’mon, we better get to the basement.”
I picked the chubby English bulldog up off my lap and set him down, calling him after me while I grabbed my tennis shoes from the shoe rack. When I returned to the living room, I saw the TV still on and Ryan not moved from his seat.
“Ryan?”
No response. He had turned a ghostly pale color. His was staring straight ahead of him with his jaw locked in a vice grip. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead in the short ten seconds it took for me to grab my shoes and return. Rommel even looked distressed. The pure-bred German Sheppard jumped off his owners lap and padded over to join Churchill instead. This movement still did not move Ryan from his spot.
The sirens, however, did not stop for anyone.
“Ryan,” I said gently. There was no acknowledgement. “Ryan, please, we need to go. I’ll grab your shoes, turn off the TV, and let’s get to the basement, okay?”
Nothing.
Inside I could feel the air rush from my head and cause my limbs to shake, as if no part of my body was getting enough oxygen. Ryan was stuck in a past reality I could not possibly imagine. Which meant I could not possibly relate to it either. I knew something like this was bound to happen eventually, but that did not mean I was prepared for it. 
Forcing my legs to move, I crossed the distance to Ryan and knelt down in front of him. His calm, white-blue eyes did not move from their spot in Iraq. That lack of oxygen caved my stomach out from beneath me and forced me to hold onto something. I chose Ryan’s leg; perhaps physical contact could bring him back.
“Ryan?” I asked again as I tried to keep my voice steady. “Ryan, please, we need to go.”
No response. The sting of fear and helplessness was behind my eyes as the sirens and the thunder raged on around us.
“Ryan, hey, Ryan,” I said a bit more forcefully and grabbed his face. My voice was beginning to waver. “Ryan, please. You’re home, safe, with me.”
Finally some recognition. Ryan stopped looking at the horrors of Iraq and finally recognized there was someone in front of him. His once innocent eyes though were tarnished with the ghosts of the past. They were withered and tired, like an old man who has seen too much.
“You’re home, safe, see?” I said after regaining some composure. “Nothing has happened.”
Ryan just nodded. He looked around and remembered where he was again. Rommel started barking as the lightning strikes and thunder cracks intensified.  All the familiar noises of home brought Ryan back to the present. Wordlessly he stood up and turned off the TV, grabbed his shoes, and started downstairs.
I knew part of me should have felt a sense of relief, but that gnawing feeling of the world tipping out of balance was still lingering in my bones. We never talked about what happened because he never brought it up and whenever I did he would change the subject. He was too proud to admit weakness, just as any stubborn soldier would.
Turning off the TV, I put my shoes on and walked downstairs where my soldiers were waiting out the storm. Ryan had his head in my hands, but looked up when I walked down.
“I don’t think anything will come of this,” I said flippantly to avoid the subject.
Ryan knew exactly what I was doing. He looked down to avoid looking at me. All I could think to myself was if people could be healed just by receiving a human touch from someone they loved, then there would be no more pain in the world. No one would feel helpless to see someone they love suffer, and people would not have to suffer to begin with. But the world is not a simple fairy tale. It’s reality with death and illness and incomprehensible situations that cause the ones we love to suffer, and we are just left with the emptiness of knowing we could have tried harder to help.
“I’m sorry, about up there,” Ryan said hesitantly.
I said nothing, waiting with the stupid hope that he would go on.
“It’s just… The sirens sound like the bomb raid sirens.”
The statement held in the air as if an actual bomb had dropped. I had absolutely no idea what to say to help him through this. Empathy was out of the question, and the only thing that could help him would be the slow passage of time.
So what were we supposed to do until then?
The ever incessant crash of thunder jumped me back to reality. It seemed to do the same for Ryan, who had sat down and closed his eyes to everything. The iron strong, defiant man who I had agreed to marry was now struggling to stand on his own two feet. And it broke my heart.
Slowly, I walked over to Ryan and sat down beside him on the cold stone floor. He looked up with those tired, weathered eyes and looked away again, as if ashamed of what he was.
Something had to be said. “You know, it’s okay not to be strong all the time.” I said softly. “Soldiers are human too, no matter what anyone says.”
Ryan looked at me for a long time. After minutes of agonizing silence he simply nodded. But he still didn’t believe me.
“You can talk to me about it, if you want,” I said hesitantly. I was on very fragile ground and I knew it.
But Ryan didn’t push me away this time. He looked down on a spot on the concrete gray floor, but his breathing sped up. Tears welled up in his tired eyes as his jaw and hands clenched, like he could force the tears back into his eyes.
“I can still see them,” Ryan whispered so softly I had to lean in to hear him. “My friends, my enemies… and I couldn’t help them. Dear God, I couldn’t - I couldn’t help them!”
Ryan’s hands raked through his earthy-brown hair as the tears streamed down his face like a dam had finally broken. I got in front of him and pulled his hands away and held them.
“Ryan,” I said sternly. “Ryan, listen to me.”
He still didn’t look at me. 
“It’s not your fault. Bad things happen; horrific, inhumane things completely out of your control happen. But you are not to blame. God, Death, whoever created this screwed up world, is responsible. But not you. Never you.”
Ryan was fervently shaking his head no as the tears still cascaded down his cheeks. I knew not to expect him to believe me immediately, but if I told him every day that he was not responsible, then someday he might just believe it.
Instead of pushing him anymore, I pulled him into my arms and just held him as he cried away the past. He grasped onto me so tightly it hurt, but I absolutely refused to pull away. Over and over I whispered in his ear that it wasn’t his fault, and that he was home. Silently, I cursed the Bush administration and God and Death for getting us into this stupid war and for putting good people through inhuman catastrophes. No war was worth sanity.
Distantly I registered the sirens had stopped and the storm had reduced to a drizzle, but Ryan and I stayed in that basement until the storm had passed completely. When he was ready, and only then, Ryan and I stood up and with our dogs and turned to face the everyday, which was a battle all by itself.
As a great leader by the name of Winston Churchill once said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
And that is exactly what we were planning to do.