Story by guest blogger Amanda Gilliam. On August 13, 2014 my husband became a statistic. He was one of the 22 a day who lost his fight with the invisible wounds of war. Rapidly shuffled out of the home we shared on base, I looked back to see eerie caution tape surrounding this once vibrant house. After being rushed to the hospital with his commanding officer and fellow soldiers, we waited and prayed. Unfortunately, it was time to say good-bye. His family was on their way from Tennessee and were about 2 hours out. My life had stopped but the world blurred around me. I had the outfit I wore (pajamas), no toiletries, no medications, not even my ID card. Army protocol and regulation stated I couldn’t enter my home until the investigation was complete. I didn’t have anywhere to go and just the shirt on my back. On top of loosing my husband, my life, I couldn’t even go home nor did I ever want to face that house. The Fisher House took me and my family in without hesitation. The moment I entered I felt welcomed and safe. It’s not made like a hotel to be simple […]