The Unseen Casualties of War: Grieving a Spouse and Supporting Our Autistic Sons
As a member of the Special Forces, I was trained to face the toughest battles. Yet, nothing prepared me for the day my wife took her own life in a gruesome manner. Her suicide not only shattered my world but also profoundly impacted our two sons (8 and 4yo), both of whom are on the autism spectrum. What I once thought was the toughest fight of my life became a heartbreaking struggle against the silent aftermath of grief.
When I first joined the military, I thought I understood the risks involved—to myself and my comrades. The physical and emotional toll of service can be immense, and while I was trained to handle the chaos of war, I was unprepared for the chaos that would unfold within my own home. My wife’s mental health struggles were hidden beneath the surface, masked by the strength she exhibited every day. I had no idea the emotional scars from a decade of Special Forces’ breakneck op-tempo would leave on my spouse. While I was enforcing US foreign policies and volunteering for every mission and school I could get my hands on, I was perhaps missing key indicators of the downward spiral of the person I loved most in the world.
Her death created a void that echoed throughout our lives, affecting our sons in ways I had never imagined. For children with autism, the world can already be a complex and overwhelming place. Losing their mother turned that complexity into confusion and pain. They grappled with questions that I, too, struggled to answer: “Why did Mom leave us?” “Will we ever be okay?” “Am I going to kill myself too?” Their anguish manifested (and continues to manifest) in behaviors that were both heartbreaking and challenging—regressive actions, heightened anxiety, and an inability to process the loss in a way that felt manageable.
As a father, I found myself in a dual role: mourning the love of my life while trying to be a stable anchor for our children. My military training taught me how to lead, strategize, and adapt in difficult situations, yet these skills felt inadequate in the face of raw grief. I soon realized that I needed to be vulnerable, to allow my sons to see my pain so that they could express theirs in their own unique (and ever changing) ways.
Finding resources to help our family navigate this journey proved daunting. The support available for military families often overlooks the unique challenges faced by those dealing with the intersection of autism and profound loss. It’s crucial that we develop tailored resources that address these specific needs—counseling that speaks to the experiences of children with autism, support groups for fathers who are grieving while parenting, and comprehensive mental health resources that extend beyond active duty.
Honoring my wife’s memory initially became a cornerstone of our healing process. We created little rituals that allowed us to celebrate her life rather than solely focus on her death. Sharing stories about her, revisiting places she loved, and keeping her spirit alive in our daily routines helped provide some semblance of continuity in an otherwise disrupted world. But I knew that this was sadly unsustainable considering the method of her exit from this Earth, and how hard it is to explain to your own children why mom decided to shoot herself in the garage. Instead of trying to justify to a child what happened in the past, I decided to focus on the future.
For my own healing process, I did not dwell in the past: our 13 years of coexistence and 10 years of marriage. For me, that burden of looking backwards was more than I could bear as it only produced more sorrow and sadness at the abruptness of suicide and becoming alone. Instead I did what I learned growing up without a father, those endless miles rucking through the moonless woods of North Carolina, those dusty nights filled with lasers on the 2-way gun range in Baghdad, and those climbs up ancient goat trails in Afghanistan: I pushed forward, bearing the overwhelming weight of the situation. My resilience in the face of adversity is the main bulwark against collapsing into self-pitying misery.
Community and comrades have been invaluable. There’s nothing quite as effective as war buddies. These connections remind me that while our paths may be different, the struggles we share bind us together. The conversations often turn to resilience—how we can support one another and navigate our grief while prioritizing our children’s needs.
As I move forward, I am committed to advocating for better mental health support for military families, particularly those dealing with loss and neurodiversity. Our experiences must inform policies and resources designed to help families heal. By bringing these issues to the forefront, we can foster an environment where no one has to face these challenges alone.
The journey of healing is ongoing. Almost 3 years on, my sons and I continue to learn how to navigate life without their birth mother, finding strength in one another and in our shared experiences. I have since found the love of a good woman and her two kiddos, who are still collecting broken pieces of their souls after leaving an abusive marriage to a veteran narcissist. Our blended family is arguably stronger in some ways than my original nuclear family, because we are all coming to the table with some form of realization that life can be fairly deflating if we let it be. Together, we strive to honor our pasts while building a future filled with love, understanding, and resilience.
Task Force Dagger, Special Forces Foundation, Green Beret Foundation, Heroic Hearts Project and V.E.T.S have been instrumental in my healing journey. I am forever grateful for the donations of time and resources from these non-profits, and more importantly from the oft overlooked added benefit of not ‘feeling alone’ in my struggles. I have now found joy and purpose in helping others battle their demons. Everyday in my house we discuss comrades in need and how we can best help them find relief for their souls. Too many great Americans are looking for the answer in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels, or taking their pain out on their spouses and kids. I truly enjoy seeing a friend mired in darkness take those first steps towards healing and finally realize how intrinsically broken their existence was before treatment. I have escorted grown men and women into in-patient clinics, as well as guided their deep-dive experiences while scraping out challenging memories of abuse and terror. I am a firm believer in the positive healing power of psychedelics, exposure to nature, fitness, diet, having a purpose, and the love of a good partner. These actions have saved my life from crumbling into an irreversible puddle of a has-been former action guy.
In the shadows of our grief, I am reminded that even the strongest warriors can face unseen battles. It is our duty, as a community, to ensure that families like ours receive the support they need—because in the end, we all deserve to heal.
My ask is that anyone who reads this truly stops to reflect on those cracks and wrinkles that are forming behind the scenes for your battle buddy or special someone. Look deeper into their soul, and perhaps your own. Life isn’t perfect, but it sure beats creating a final solution for that temporary problem.
September 2024
