Jericho

There seemed to be a void in his life, a hollow space that caused physical pain felt physical but also haunted like a vengeful specter. The hollow would sometimes threaten; other times beckon, but always hung in and around his consciousness wanting to devour his spirit as it had done for millions of others. For Jacob Briggs, formerly Lance Corporal Jacob Briggs, USMC, the diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder merely gave a name to his degree of suffering. The initial counseling did nothing for Jacob but threaten him further. Doctors had always made him uncomfortable for their air of superiority over their patients, the way he thought politicians considered themselves among the elite and therefore the problems of the little people need not concern them. The untouchable quality of the elite seemed to add another layer of weight to Jacob’s pain. With no one to relate and no true ability to put his affliction into words, the pain continued to compound on itself.

As a former Marine, Jacob took immense pride in his service to his country and in the camaraderie he shared with his fellow Marines. However, he was now so horribly isolated from fellowship. It seemed also that without his brotherhood there was no grace or mercy available to him. Jacob was wounded by an IED blast in Afghanistan three years ago. His extensive injuries healed after numerous surgeries followed by an extensive rehabilitation program at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. It was there that Jacob’s most vivid symptoms of PTSD began to manifest. A vicious and counter-intuitive cycle turned. While Jacob healed in the physical sense, his mental, emotional, and spiritual health fell under relentless attack. The nightmares, the crippling panic, the visions. All had the potential to consume him totally. The symptoms were demons bent on devouring his soul so that he would be tormented by the things he had seen in Afghanistan forever.

It was Jacob’s greatest fortune that one of his therapists recognized a pattern in his disrupted behavior and interactions. He had become distant, the pallor of his skin was turning grayer each day, and his eyes had grown sullen from the lack of sleep and the mounting terror. At first, the suggestion of a service dog was utterly meaningless to Jacob.

“How could a dog help me?” he all but screamed with an exasperated gasp. “I am in Hell!”

At this, Jacob buried his head in his hands and sobbed in burning despair. He longed to be back in the Marines, back with his brothers. They were the only ones who could ever understand the depth of his torment. Was he not a good man at heart? Did he not fight for a just cause? Why? Why then was he here now, with his own mind and body being chewed upon by demons?

Jacob’s therapist was patient. He saw the man seated across from him in his office; he knew not to pity him. No Marine seeks pity. Marines merely want support to accomplish their mission, and at the present, he knew Jacob’s mission was to come back from this cruel existence. This was the mission Jacob would have to accept for the rest of his life.

When Jacob’s sobbing had reached a break, he gently continued his pitch.

“I’ve already got one assigned to you”, he said evenly. “Will you give him a chance?”

Weakened by the bout, Jacob simply gave a barely perceptible nod. He resigned to his fate. He would see the dog, the doctor would see nothing would truly help him, and they would both move on.

Let’s get this over with, Jacob thought in an exhausting anger.

The therapist stood to open the door. Outside in the hallway, a handler held the leash to a German shepherd. The therapist took the leash with a courteous nod and unbuckled the leash from the dog’s harness. At nearly two years of age, this dog was not yet finished growing but had completed its training.

Opening the office door open wider, the therapist let the German shepherd see Lance Corporal Jacob Briggs sitting there with his head in his hands. For a moment, the dog stood staring at Jacob, assessing the man in distress. Slowly, the dog approached Jacob and finally sat directly in front of him. Jacob did not hear the dog’s approach and did not acknowledge his presence until he heard the even breathing from the dog. There was no excitable panting, nothing to suggest a hurried or rushed manner, nothing to suggest panic in any way. The German shepherd exuded calm in his demeanor, and his eyes, fixed on Jacob’s, suggested nothing but his even focus. The stare was not piercing or accusing, but full and accepting.

I see you, and you have value.

A long moment passed between dog and Marine. Jacob’s own breathing had settled, his eyes cleared, the trembling had ceased.

The German shepherd then took its next step, which was to take its left paw and set it gently on Jacob’s knee. The touch was cooling, and at once Jacob felt something in his chest. It was a sense of fulfillment, of validation, that everything was okay once, and could be again. The dog opened its mouth; the edge of its tongue became visible, accompanied by gleaming white teeth. He still kept from panting, still breathed in total control.

Jacob exhaled and involuntarily opened his arms, accepting the dog’s recognition of the man in front of him. The German shepherd stepped into the Marine’s embrace, still not excitable, still in control. Jacob held the dog, and looked up at his therapist in disbelief. He did not thing he could feel anything like this again. At that moment, the hollow was not totally void. He wanted to go on living. He wanted to live his life, to be free. Tears of hope replaced tears of pain. He began to feel joy at the sight and feel of this dog he now held.

Peace.

“Can I keep him?” he asked, sounding just like a little boy with a puppy in a storefront.

The therapist could only smile. A long road lay ahead of Jacob, but the dog had already provided something Jacob had been missing for a long time.

“His name’s Jericho,” was the reply.