SSG Victoria Ryan, U.S. Army (1973-1988)

I’d been assigned to West Point for over a year when I met my future husband, SP4 Rodney Helmers, in early 1978. That summer, Rod had a vehicle accident determined to have been caused by a seizure while driving. It seemed like a one-off, and I was not overly concerned.

We married at West Point in December 1978 and were awarded government quarters on-post shortly thereafter. In April 1979, we were joyous to learn I was pregnant.

In June 1979, I was granted a pregnancy discharge, becoming a dependent wife. Rod experienced additional seizures and was prescribed medication which did not assuage the situation. He was subsequently admitted to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, DC, for testing and partial removal of his thyroid gland. During his hospitalization that August, no medical professional ever witnessed a seizure.

Rod’s primary duty was wrecker operator at the Transportation Motor Pool at West Point. His medical condition disqualified him from continuing to operate military vehicles, and he was recommended for a medical discharge and awarded a 20% disability rating. However, due to my pregnancy, his discharge was delayed until our son was born in early January 1980.

We relocated to North Dakota, where Rod’s family lived. We stayed there for less than a year and returned to New York, where my family lived. Financial challenges and my own continuing desire to do and be more than a homemaker prompted us to decide I would return to active duty in February 1981. Rod was now classified as a dependent, and he took his husbandly and fatherly duties very seriously.

All of his life, Rod was a hard worker and loved it. He always took immense pride in his accomplishments, both in and out of the military. Taking care of his family was always his priority and when his military separation and seizure-induced limitations impacted him, it was a crushing blow. But it did not deter him from contributing to our small family in any and every way he could.

He gained on-post employment in an equipment maintenance role while we were stationed at Fort Belvoir and our son, Tommy, was in daycare. During our assignment to Holland, he even served as a bagger in the commissary and came home with his pockets literally dragging on the ground with an abundance of change from the tips he received.

Rod was the definition of integrity and honor. He served in the Army with dignity and was a conscientious and diligent worker. Even during post-military employment, his ethics remained steadfast in all he did. As a soldier, an employee, husband and father, his ideals were above reproach. He was generous and kind. I don’t recall a single instance when he ever used profanity to make a point of casting criticism against another.

Rod was brought up on a farm in North Dakota. He was a country boy to his soul, epitomizing those ideals in his words and actions.

But his seizure disorder plagued us intermittently over the years. One day, after we returned stateside, and I was at my assignment in Alexandria, VA, I received a phone call from my five-year-old son saying, Daddy fell down the basement stairs, and he won’t wake up. I panicked and told Tommy to go next door and tell our neighbor to call 911. Although Rod recovered, it was determined that a seizure caused the fall.

Even in the face of Rod’s medical situation and the fact that he always treated Tommy and me with so much love, respect, kindness and consideration, Rod returned to North Dakota at the end of October 1985, and we divorced in August 1986.

One day in early February 1987, Rod’s mother called me to report Rod had died. He was found at his residence by a co-worker when he did not report for work that morning. He’d suffered a fatal seizure, which was ruled the cause of death. Rod had his 30^th birthday the previous August – much too young to have left this world.

Over the ensuing years, I have thought of Rod on so many occasions. Of all the men I’ve known since that time, absolutely no one has compared to the man that Rodney Dean Helmers was. But, all I have to do is look at my son, 38 years since the loss of his father, and I can see so much of Rod in him. That, at least, gives me great peace, although the memories of my husband will always be heart-rending.

Read the Military Memories of our Runner-Ups.