Mysterious Ways|October/November 2020
I’ve got to remember to call Tyler today.… The thought came to me while I was waking up, still hazy from sleep. Then I remembered— our son was gone.
Julia Wilson

It had been just more than two years since Tyler, a former Marine, had lost his battle with PTSD and taken his own life. Some days, like today, I’d still wake up thinking that it had all just been a terrible dream.

I got up and walked to the bookshelf we’d made into a small memorial for Tyler. It held items we displayed at his funeral—Marine Corps mementos, medals, and a blue Bible. We’d moved to a new town and joined a different church when Tyler was 12 years old. Folks there had given him that Bible. He’d cherished it as a kid. Now I picked it up and held it to my chest.

When Tyler came home from his third tour in Afghanistan, I believed things would go back to normal. He moved in with my husband, David, and me and worked on building a life for himself. But he had trouble readjusting to civilian life. He struggled to find a meaningful job and felt as if his friends had all moved on without him. While he was away serving, they had gone to college and gotten married.


You can read up to 3 premium stories before you subscribe to Magzter GOLD

Log in, if you are already a subscriber


Get unlimited access to thousands of curated premium stories, newspapers and 5,000+ magazines


October/November 2020