Lessons of Love

A teacher learns from her students and from TAPS

I am a 25 year old 7th grade Language Arts teacher and a wife whose husband died by suicide on March 30th, 2009. For a long time, I was angry with myself, because I felt like I failed him. Maybe I did not call him a hero enough, maybe I did not give him enough space, and maybe I became impatient and too short with him when he had his flashbacks and nightmares.  

Larry worked with a highly classified Special Forces unit— so classified, that I never knew the other men in his unit or their respective wives. I never knew when he and those men would deploy or the extent of their deployment. The missions that my husband and his men engaged in were extremely dangerous…

After his first traumatic deployment, in which he lost a lot of men and experienced things that could not be conveyed in human words, Larry came home to me quieter than he had ever been. He was constantly nervous and on guard, and reacted in quick response as if he were once again on a sandy battlefield.

As much as I assured Larry that everything would be okay, I could not save my husband from his shadows and memories of war. Even with all of my heart-felt words, my beautiful husband thought of himself as a monster. Eventually, these haunting thoughts overwhelmed Larry and he took his own life.

As the first year of dealing with my husband’s death progressed, I was blessed with support and compassion from an unexpected source—my 7th grade students!

When the new school year started in 2009, I told my students about my husband the first week of school. The days that followed filled my heart with love and unyielding comfort. My students would take the time to draw me little pictures of Larry in the desert, or give me posters of soldiers to hang in my classroom. They would write poems or stories about Larry’s heroism. They would take time to color pictures and write letters to soldiers overseas. They would help me raise money to purchase care packages for needy soldiers. They would even take time to try and learn who Larry was—from what size shoe he wore to what his favorite candy was. They helped keep the life that he lived alive in my heart and mind. Everything they did was to help me remember my husband’s heroism and the heroism of so many other soldiers who continue to serve our country.

When the new school year started in 2009, I told my students about my husband the first week of school. The days that followed filled my heart with love and unyielding comfort. My students would take the time to draw me little pictures of Larry in the desert, or give me posters of soldiers to hang in my classroom. They would write poems or stories about Larry’s heroism. They would take time to color pictures and write letters to soldiers overseas. They would help me raise money to purchase care packages for needy soldiers. They would even take time to try and learn who Larry was—from what size shoe he wore to what his favorite candy was. They helped keep the life that he lived alive in my heart and mind. Everything they did was to help me remember my husband’s heroism and the heroism of so many other soldiers who continue to serve our country.

On the one-year anniversary of my husband’s death, my students demonstrated extreme compassion and empathy. I had taken the day off to spend time with Larry at the cemetery. When I returned to school the following day, there was a camouflage-dressed Build-A-Bear on my desk; a red, white, and blue heart-shaped jewelry box; and red, white, and blue roses. The endless concern my students exemplified brought me to tears and humbled my grieving heart. I could not believe that 12 and 13 year old adolescents could be so considerate to their teacher. It is because of my students that I was able to rise each day despite my husband not being there to wake up and to come home to each night. I will forever remember the students of the 2009-2010 school year. I am certain that Larry watched my class each day from heaven and laughed at how silly we were when we would imitate him playing Call-Of-Duty and have our classroom discussions about him.

Because I was nearing the end of this school year, I was becoming quite worried and uneasy. Where was I supposed to talk about Larry, laugh about his silly mannerisms, and remember his sacrifice and heroism? If I didn’t have my classroom and my compassionate students, I would not be able to do so. This was becoming a thunderous and dark reminder that I am one of a few and very alone in this world. I am brushed past by misunderstanding civilians who are either unwilling or too scared to listen to my story and hear and feel my pain. I am a 25 year old military widow. No one wants to place their hands on such a situation for fear of the intense icy pain that will trickle down from my heart and soul onto theirs. Oh, what was I going to do? I wept over and over again…  

As May arrived I wondered what the TAPS National Military Survivor Seminar might do for me. Would it heal me? Would it give me footing on such unstable ground? I did not know how it would help, but it was my only hope. With each passing day of my students coming closer to their summer vacation, I had hopes that TAPS would dive into my ocean of grief and be the life jacket to my drowning heart.

TAPS did just that. It saved me and pulled me into its lifeboat. I know that it is up to me to paddle to shore, but it is TAPS and the TAPS family that will replenish my weary heart and soul, provide me with a sturdy craft, and shelter against life’s stormy weather and insensitive people. While at the seminar, I learned so many things from TAPS:

1. I learned that my grieving is very personal and because it is personal, it cannot be compared to someone else’s. 
2. I learned that my grieving will be inconsistent. I will have days where the sun shines brightly on my face and days where fog engulfs my very being. 
3. I learned that my husband’s PTSD caused him to take his life, but that does NOT make him any less of a hero. It also does not mean that he could not feel my never-ending love for him. 
4. I learned that I am not alone because I share a unique and sacred bond with other military families. The love, respect, and appreciation we have for each others’ situations is extraordinary and precious. We are united for all of eternity and I’d like to think that as we comfort and love each other on earth, so do our fallen heroes in heaven. 
5. I learned that my need to talk about Larry is healthy because it is giving voice to the life he LIVED and the LOVE we shared each day on earth. It is a gentle reminder of the life and love he and I will have again when we are reunited.

So TAPS, I want to thank you for welcoming me into your life, for wrapping my weary body into your blanket of comfort and love, and for allowing me to connect with others who say so much without having to say anything at all. A simple look, glance, or touch of a hand from a mother who lost her son, sister who lost her brother, father who lost his daughter, or widow who lost her husband is the face of God to my exhausted heart. I am proud of the family I have received to help with this life that I was afraid I would not be able to handle. Each time this life gets too heavy for my fragile hands, it is the TAPS family who surrounds me, and places the palms of their hands upon my arms. Together, we raise our pain and lift it towards the heavens. It floats away, far, far away…  

TAPS, thank you for allowing so many of us to tell our stories, for allowing us to remember the lives our heroes lived, for allowing us to fill our insides with red, white, and blue. And thank you for allowing us to feel as though in a world of people who don’t understand, we are understood. Last but not least, thank you to my husband, Captain Lawrence William Gott, Jr., who gave his life for freedom. Larry, I am so proud of you and am so honored to be yours.  

By Priscilla Gott, surviving wife of Captain Lawrence William Gott, Jr.