My Dad Smoked Weed and That Makes Me Happy

My dad recently passed away unexpectedly. While going through his belongings, we found a pipe. It was made of wood and had been sanded and polished…it was SO him! So I smiled. At the thought of my dad high, with the giggles or devouring a pizza because of munchies.

Let me be clear, we do not live in a state where marijuana is legal. Nor do I or my husband smoke weed. However, being in healthcare I cannot deny the medical benefits of weed. One of those being treatment for PTSD. While it is sometimes consider an antidotal symptom relief, I’m ok with that. Because my dad suffered from PTSD related to the Vietnam war and he felt relief from weed….at least I assume that’s why he was a pothead. 

He suffered. From the day he stepped on American soil again, my dad suffered daily. He remembered being in a vehicle that backed over a little boy who was shooting at them. He remembered the man next to him loosing both legs (and likely his life) to an attack. He remembered a pallet of live ammunition being dropped on his hand and everyone thinking it would explode before they could get it off of him…with a crane. He remembered being flown to a hospital after that and staying there for a week and then being sent…..right back to war. For 3 days shy of one year, my dad spent every day and night of his life, under fire. He once told my brother, “they were shooting at us as we were landing and getting off the plane.” 

And it never stopped.

My dad didn’t leave Vietnam the same. None of them did. It should be assumed they all have PTSD. People coming home from war should just be seperated into two groups: those with PTSD and those who are “in denial about having PTSD and will be diagnosed at a later date.”

So light one up for me, up there daddy! I’m so glad your pain is gone!

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