Libby Busbee’s son, William, enlisted after high school. He was Army Special Forces. When I saw his photo, he looked, or felt, familiar. Maybe I knew him. He was deployed to Afghanistan’s Pesh Valley, and I was embedded there with the Army around the same time. Or maybe he just looked like so many other young men with whom I shared food, living quarters, and a hope of returning home. William’s convoy was attacked one day on a road winding through Afghanistan. The brain injuries he sustained led to his honorable discharge.
He went back to America struggling with PTSD and TBI. He was home, but his war wasn’t over.
On March 20, 2012, William texted his mother and told her he loved her. Fearing this was a goodbye, she and his two young sisters
sped home. They found William sitting in his brand new Dodge Charger in the carport. He had a gun and was surrounded by police.
Libby stood with her daughters, powerless, and pleaded with the officers to let her approach her son. Then William pulled the trigger.