I’ve spent the past year or so feeling like my world has been destroyed, that the things I love most about the United States of America were at stake.
I’ve been to so many funerals, and seen so many grieving families.
But, I’ve also been a victim of my own self-inflicted PTSD.
I’m one of the lucky ones.
When my husband & I were looking for a new home to live in, we looked to the East Coast.
The country was still recovering from the Great Recession, and I wanted to give my husband and I a place to get away from the stresses of the job market.
I wanted a place that was more like home than I ever imagined.
So, I looked to our city for that, and saw an area that was very well-off & affordable.
So we found a home in a beautiful, quaint neighborhood in Chicago.
My husband & me have a family of 6 & 6 were looking to move into this home.
Our plan was to live there until the end of my life, when I could be reunited with my family.
It was a dream come true.
But our nightmare began on August 26th, 2017, when we lost a child to COVID-19.
It has been three months since that tragic day, and it still feels like it’s been three years.
I want to share my story so you know what it feels like to be a victim, and how I know I’m never going to have a happy ending.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to hide my husband because of the fear I felt.
I was so scared.
The night I got the call that my baby had died, I had to go into hiding because I was afraid for my baby’s safety.
When I was able to finally see him, he was gone.
The next day, I went to work and I was scared for my son.
My son had been gone for almost a week, and he was missing for more than half of that time.
I went home from work to find my husband crying on the couch.
I couldn’t stop crying, because it’s the first time I had ever cried while on a plane.
The first thing I did was call 911.
I didn’t know how I would explain to the police, but they were so quick to help me.
I still remember the moment I got on the phone with the police.
I told them, “I was scared.”
I told the police that I was on my way home and was afraid that my husband would be found in the middle of nowhere, or that he might die.
I cried until the cops left the room.
The police took me to the hospital, and they told me, “We can’t take him.
He is your baby.
You need to go home.”
I asked the police why they would do this.
They said, “Because we didn’t find him.”
I was heartbroken.
They also told me they would not take my husband home.
I said, I can take care of my baby, and we could take care with my husband.
They told me that I could go home.
The last thing I heard was, “You are in a lot of pain.”
I had no idea how to respond.
I thought I would just cry, but the cops didn’t have a way to make me cry.
They didn’t give me a chance to explain what I was feeling.
I called the police and told them what happened.
The cops told me to leave.
I don’t know if they thought that my crying was going to make them believe me or if I was just trying to protect them.
But they told my husband to get out of the car.
I tried to run to get my husband but the police pulled me back into the car and they kept me in there.
I screamed for help, saying, “Help me, help me!”
The cops called for backup.
They couldn’t believe what they were seeing.
They came over to me and said, We can’t let you go.
The whole time, I was screaming and screaming for help.
They wouldn’t let me go.
They kept me on the floor.
I begged them to give me water, but no one would do that.
I started to feel that I wasn’t going to live.
I wasn, in fact, going to die.
They put me in a wheelchair & put a blanket over my head.
I kept crying and I started choking on water.
They started beating me with their batons, & they kicked me so hard in my back that I had broken my spine.
They dragged me out of there, & I was taken to the local hospital, where they put me on an oxygen machine.
I got up, and that’s when they put a plastic bag over my face.
I think I just started to