A Phone Call with a Stranger…
I throw the truck in park and wait for my phone to ring. The parking lot is starting to fill. The warm weather has brought throngs of people to the beach this holiday weekend. Young families and groups of teenagers walk from their cars down to the rocky coast, eager to soak up the sun. It is Memorial Day Weekend, and the weather is picture-perfect. Everyone is chatting and laughing. Summer is almost here, and the air is relaxed and easy. I could not feel more the opposite. I am tense and jittery, but also excited. I would not have believed you if you had told me I would be waiting for this call today. I’ve never done this before. Suddenly, I wonder if it would be better if I was outside. The fresh air might feel nice. I grab my keys, get out of the truck, and join the happy beachgoers heading down to the water, but I stop after a minute or two.
“What if you cry?” I ask.
I picture myself down at the beach, sobbing on the phone, while groups of people gawk at me, the lady with the short hair.
“I don’t want people to see me cry,” I respond and almost mechanically turn around and start walking back up the hill to the truck. The door is heavy as I pull it open and slam it shut behind me.
“This is better.” I think, settling into the deep seat “This is simpler.” I remind myself, taking a deep breath to steady the loose thoughts ricocheting around my brain. I look out at the water and then down at my dark phone. Any moment now. I take another deep breath, but instead of a call my phone pings with another text:
“The call went straight to voicemail.”
I look closer at my cell and realize I only have two bars of reception. Shit. I type out a quick reply:
“Bad reception, please try again.”
I reverse quickly, avoiding an oncoming car, and exit the now-packed parking lot. Soon the truck is climbing our neighborhood hills and once I’m at the top my phone rings:
“Hey. Are you there?” asks an upbeat man’s voice.
“Yep. Hi. You must be Aaron. Sorry for earlier, I didn’t realize the reception was so bad.” I answer, driving through the peaceful, shady roads leading out of our neighborhood.
“No problem.” comes the response “What’s going on? How can I help?”
I choke out one sentence about the upcoming holiday and start crying. For 43 minutes I let forth everything that has been building up over the past few months: the trailer for that one movie about the soldier who tries and saves his interpreter, the brick wall that erupts between my husband and me when the subject of war arises, wondering if I am allowed to feel any of this because I didn’t service. I talk, cry, and gulp down pockets of air filled with a heaviness that feels nonexistent one day and unbearable the next. For 43 minutes I talked to a stranger while he listened and offered insight:
“As a veteran myself…” he says.
“What I have noticed…” he comments.
“Have you thought about it this way…” he suggests.
For 43 minutes this afternoon, I talked to a stranger. I cried while a stranger listened to all the heaviness and pain that has crept up and taken up residency in my life. Moving increasingly closer to the surface each day. After we finished the call I sat in the truck and breathed deep full breaths. I felt tired like I had just run a few miles uphill the whole way, but I felt better.
I feel better.
“Sometimes we feel helpless, not hopeless, but it still hurts. Call us back anytime. We’ll be here.”
A stranger told me that today.
If you’re in the Military, a Veteran, or a Military spouse and need someone to talk to this Memorial Day Weekend I urge you to visit Veteran Crisis Line, there you can talk with a counselor trained in veteran affairs and process things you are feeling in a safe space. Remember the fallen this weekend, but don’t forget about your mental health. You matter. You. Matter.
-Helen