?A true child of trauma??Sarah Haley: 1939?1989
1990; Wiley; Volume: 3; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1007/bf00974786
ISSN1573-6598
Autores Tópico(s)Health Sciences Research and Education
ResumoAt the Tufts University memorial for Haley (October 7, 1989), all types of people whose lives she had touched were present: her brothers, sisters-in-law, niece, and nephew; friends; V.A. clinicians; her psychiatrist; comrades from the Vietnam veterans movement; colleagues from the Society for Traumatic Stress Studies. Most poignant was the presence of veterans from three wars which spanned her lifetime. A black Vietnam veteran spoke about the difference she had made in his life by never giving up on h i m even though, for her, there was no financial gain. A veteran of the Korean and Vietnam wars told us how she had saved his life when the memory of his atrocities made him suicidal. He said that she gave up on no one, and that her dedication was much deeper than just doing a job. He added that he would go anywhere and promote any cause that furthered the work set in motion by Haley. A veteran, badly scarred by burns suffered in World War II, moved us by his quiet yet intense account of her profound grasp of his suffering. We are her living memorial, he concluded. Her brother Tom spoke about those aspects of her life that were most personal, rendering meaningful her passage from the beginning of her life to the Haley we knew, respected, and loved. After hearing Tom talk, Erwin Parson said: Sarah was a true child of trauma. Fifteen years earlier, Nick Egleson reporter for the Village Voice of New York) called me and asked if I'd ever heard of Haley. I said that I hadn't. He said: You ought to read her paper 'When the Patient Reports Atrocities.' She's been working with Vietnam veterans since 1969 and I just spent an hour and a half on the phone with her. I got her paper from the New York Academy of Medicine. It let loose in me an instinctive flood of startled recognition. I contacted her at once because I felt grateful and nourished by its rich draught of life. Her work seemed absolutely natural and inevitable. Here was someone else, sort of like you, saying things about pain and sorrow; about death, fear, and darkness; about helpfulness and hope, that meant something. I invited her to take 477
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