The Triumvirate of Trauma
SARAH CHRISTY
I like the idea of being a person with grit. Grit is defined as a firmness of mind or spirit: unyielding courage in the face of hardship or danger. A trait one might not think of as desirable, but when one needs it one is glad to have it. God provides grit for us. Think of Mary, the young girl who is called to be the mother of our Savior. She might not have thought about grit when Gabriel spoke to her. But on the day of the crucifixion, she needed grit from God.
I did not want to ever need grit either. But when I needed it, I clung to it. Do you think Mary repeated scripture to sustain her? I certainly did. Often I repeated the scripture from Joshua 1:9: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
My husband Boyd and I grew up before the internet and information age. We are both baby boomers. While neither rebels nor hippies, both of us were confident in who we were, not easily influenced by others. Goal-setting and long-term life plans were not part of the culture. As two small town high school sweethearts our greatest aspiration was to find jobs, to marry, to have a family and to enjoy our life together. I did not envision much beyond the small town I grew up in. Other than venturing to the big city of Peoria occasionally, my life was there. Our goals were simple and straightforward. We married, had a beautiful baby boy a year later and settled into our happy life. We were ready to work hard, support one another and raise our family.
Life suddenly and tragically changed. I came home from my second shift job as a nurse, went to kiss my beautiful baby and found him dead in his crib from SIDS. The devastation of the moment will always be indescribable. God and grit showed up and we managed to weather the storm of those early days of pain and disbelief. We clung to each other and hoped for a better future. I rationalized that our life tragedy (the one and only we would ever have) showed up early in our lives so the rest of our lives would move along nicely. I believed we would have more children and build a good life. I also realized the horror and deep pain of this event would leave a scar on my heart and it would never disappear. I would never experience the pure joy I had with the arrival of our firstborn. Boyd and I clung to each other and our love.
Six weeks later a letter arrived from the Selective Service Agency. This was the era of the Vietnam war and the draft. Boyd was drafted! Since he no longer had a dependent child, his name was moved up to the top of the list. Boyd remembers, although he did not want to go, he felt it was his duty. In the middle of our devastation God showed up. Again, I repeated scripture to myself: “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13 NIV). I was heartbroken but also realized we would survive. We vowed to stay strong. Our love for each other would sustain us through this time. Boyd was quickly sent off to basic training then advanced training. Eight months after our son’s death he was on a plane bound for Vietnam. I watched the plane soar into the sky. Would I ever see him alive again?
I settled into the life of a Vietnam wartime waiting wife. I was not the only one. I worked second shift, so I didn’t have to be home in the evenings when families and friends were home. I enrolled in a couple college classes and looked forward to Boyd’s promised R&R in Hawaii.
We did not get to meet in Hawaii because on a cold January morning, I went to the post office box looking for a letter from Boyd and found an envelope with the Red Cross return address and unfamiliar handwriting. The letter said, “I am writing for Boyd: he has been shot.” Trauma three in the triumvirate had happened.
The Army should have notified me but there was a snafu. Without notification I assumed the injuries were not serious. I feared he would have to return to the jungle to fight. A second letter home told me that the bone was broken. I was thrilled! He would be sent back to the States. Six weeks later, the first anniversary of our son’s burial, Boyd landed on American soil. He was back! We could weather the storms of life—we would be together.
His injuries were worse than I imagined. His right leg was severely injured. It was suggested that he would never walk on it again. Amputation was discussed many times. I transferred my nursing license to Colorado, found a job, an apartment and moved to Denver. He ended up spending a year as a patient at Fitzsimmons Army Medical Center in Aurora, CO. He would be an inpatient then an outpatient depending on treatments and surgeries at the time. Ultimately his leg healed and he was able to walk with the use of a cane. While there were difficult moments, we mainly enjoyed a normal life.
The trajectory of our life was forever changed. We were no longer two small town kids with small dreams. We had seen and experienced some extremely hard things; we had survived. We had experienced a wider world. We had developed a renewed zest for how we wanted to live. God had captured us in a deep and unique way. We felt a calling that the gift of life and our marriage should make a difference. Eventually this led us to adopt four special needs kids and create two non-profits to help others. We have enjoyed over 50 years of marriage filled with many blessings and happy memories. To God be the glory for the gift of grit which taught us to live life well.
Sarah Christy, a retired nurse, and her husband, Boyd have had a passion for children and the less fortunate their entire lives. They have a bio daughter, and three adopted black adult children. After the death of their second son of cystic fibrosis, they created a week long summer camp for kids with cystic fibrosis and were instrumental in the creation of United Stroke Alliance, which offers weekend retreats for stroke survivors and their caregivers. They loved performing skits at camp. They enjoy traveling and are looking forward to a family trip in July to their favorite place on this planet, the Outer Banks of North Carolina.