Sheepdog Tip of the Day, After Combat tip 61
Letter from Officer Jim Holder: ...As I turned onto the street, I saw Howard on the ground in front of his unit with a small crowd of citizens nearby. I tried to comfort him, but I was unsure what to do for him. He had wounds to his face and below his vest in back. He gave me a description of the shooter as the paramedics arrived. I helped load him into the ambulance, rode with him to the hospital and was with him in the operating room. When they wheeled him out, I thought he was going to be okay, but when I went into the recovery room, I was told he was dead. I broke down and cried as I stood there in operating scrubs. Detectives ushered me out before they brought in his wife. I was driven back to the police department still wearing the scrubs, which I objected to. I wanted to walk in the same way I walked out: as a police officer in uniform not a crying lump in scrubs with all my peers looking. They called in our department psychologist, who I had not seen since he made the decision whether I was to be hired as a police officer. In my mind, I thought if I showed weakness they would fire me, so I said I was okay, and essentially refused to talk to him. Over the next few months I changed drastically. My work performance came almost to a halt as I spent most of my time drinking coffee and bullshitting. I was short tempered and moody and I began to slowly withdraw from my wife. Then I decided I didn't love her anymore and wanted a divorce. I drank heavily and experienced flashbacks to the night of the shooting. Once, I drove by the scene of Howard's shooting and I saw a police unit with its lights on in the same position as Howard's had been. But when I turned down the street, it was dark and empty. Several times I saw Howard sitting in the briefing room and I also passed him driving another police car. I went to see the psychiatrist again and he did help me a little, though I wasn't completely up front with him. A while later, I moved out from my wife and in with a single officer. I drank and chased women and drove myself in debt. Several times, as I sat alone in my room, I put my gun barrel against my head. I'm still amazed I didn't pull the trigger. After a few months of this, I realized I was killing myself. My wife, wonderful woman that she is, held on through all of this and kept in touch through mutual friends, since I rarely returned her calls. I called her one day and told her I would go to marriage counseling with her; we eventually got back together. Today, I take my job much less seriously. I still do it to the best of my ability, and take survival seriously, but the job no longer consumes my life. My wife and I have a 10-month-old son now who I love. It scares me to think how close I came to losing my wife and never knowing my son.
Lt. Col. Dave Grossman, On Combat
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Additional Resources
For PTSD, Shepherd Resource Group.