by Elizabeth Edman the wife of a Survivor. I never watched the early evening newscasts when my children were young. I just didn't like them seeing all the bad stuff in the world on a daily basis. On that particular day I decided to make breakfast for dinner (the kids always thought that was cool). I fed them first then decided to take my plate into the family room and watch the local news. The kids followed me into the family room and there was breaking news that there was an explosion in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. My son, 6 at the time, just looked at me and said "Mom, isn't that where Dad is?" Unbelievable that the first time in eons that I watch the news with my kids and this is what comes over the screen. I felt sick but quickly and calmly said "Oh, don't worry... that was just somebody's gasoline truck that exploded"... and promptly turned off the TV. I was in a daze and simply didn't know what to do, but hiding everything from the kids was of paramount importance to me at the time. I walked outside to the driveway thinking maybe I would see a neighbor I could confide in... but no one was out. I stood in the driveway in a trance not knowing what to do. After a few moments I went in and have no idea what I did until a little while later a neighbor down the street called and asked if I saw the news. She came down to my house and somehow my kids got baths and pajamas on and stories read to them. I simply don't remember any of that but I know my neighbor must have seen to it all. If the kids thought that was strange, they didn't say anything. I didn't call anyone from the squadron asking questions because I didn't want to seem like a hysterical wife. Later a phone call from the squadron came telling me that they didn't know anything yet and just sit tight they would call when they had news. My neighbor sat with me for a while and tried to keep my mind occupied. I remember two distinct thoughts... (1) maybe he was in the air- (he was supposed to be but the plane landed early due to a malfunction) and (2) maybe he was running and was on the other side of the compound- (he was getting ready to run as the word came to evacuate the building). I tried to call my parents but they weren't home. I was afraid to call my in-laws because I didn't want to upset them when I didn't know anything. I sat on the couch and panicked every time a car drove down the street... I was afraid it was going to stop at my house and give me bad news. I told God I would be a better person... then later I said I would gladly give my soul to the devil for eternity... just let this turn out okay. Later that night I called the squadron... I hated to do it but I just couldn't help it. They said still no word... his name was not on any of the lists they were acquiring. Sit tight. They would call. I just said in a shaky voice, "Okay, but please don't forget about me." In the middle of the night I called the squadron a second time and somebody told me that someone over there thought they had seen him and take that as a good sign. At 6 the next morning a call came from the squadron saying they found him... he was in a hospital in Dhahran and somehow his name just didn't get on the list. I told my kids that morning "They found Dad-- he's in a hospital in Dhahran!" but they just looked at me with blank faces... because they hadn't a clue what was going on. The night before he came home from the hospital at Landstuhl the squadron physician paid me a visit. He made idle chit chat and asked me how old my husband was... I couldn't answer... I rambled on and on and on... but simply couldn't answer that question... he then asked me if I wanted something for my nerves and I said no. Big mistake. That night literally all night long I felt an extremely strong electrical current start at the top of my head and slowly run down the entire length of my body and out through my toes... every couple of minutes... promptly followed by a bout of diarrhea. This went on every 5 minutes or so until there were no more fluids in my body to expel and then I just had the feeling of an electrical current running through my body. Every few minutes. All night long. Once my husband was home he attended the memorial services for the friends he lost that night. He never talks much but took up long distance running and I assume that must have helped with his grief. He wrote the names of his squadron mates that died that night on his number bib when he ran the Marine Corps marathon. He made a toast in their honor when he retired from the Air Force. He confided to me last year that he thought about them every night before he went to sleep. To this day I often think about the bombing in one way or another. Seventeen years later... I still get clammy, shaky, and weepy. I cry for those who experienced so much horror and chaos in Dhahran... but mostly... I cry for the families who lost a loved one that day.