“Don’t think the same thing doesn’t happen after a successful self defense by anybody besides a liberal who feels the gawd awful guilt trips laid upon him by spineless sniveling vermin who would rather knuckle under and crawl before they’ll hurt any living thing.”
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Let me get this right. You are saying that if you were to kill someone (even justifiably and legally) you would have absolutely no problems at all? And that those of us who would feel a whole range of psychological type responses - denial, guilt, justification, remorse etc - are just a bunch of liberal wimps?
It took me quite awhile to square being a born again Christian with carrying a gun to church and nearly everywhere else until I realized that my personal status had shifted from protector of the nation (soldier) to protector of the flock (Sheepdog) and that entire philosophy is aptly expressed here: I ONLY HANG WITH SHEEPDOGS Now I fully recognize this status and embrace it without feeling either superior or judgmental of others. So no, I don't judge you in the least! Everybody will deal with a crisis in different ways.
In 1986, I was the Officer in Charge of my little detachment of FL National Guardsmen attending the US Army School of Jungle Warfare at Fort Sherman, Panama, C.A. We were sharing the school with a battalion from the 82nd Airborne. One night I was leaving the combination officers club and NCO club with a bunch of folks when we stopped to watch a friendly game of pickup basketball by the troops on the lit courts. As usual, it was hot, like AFRICA HOT. One of the kids from the 82nd followed a loose ball into the weeds and while there he cussed and reached down to slap at his leg. Then he returned to the court and took the ball in for a goal. In seconds he was flopping around on the ground in severe convulsions.
We ran over. I rolled him over on his side as he began to vomit and aspirate that vomit into his lungs. I cleared the air passage and his mouth. Then I gave him to an NCO to continue first aid as I sprinted to the commo shack where I kicked open the door and ordered a DUSTOFF (MEDEVAC mission) be sent to Sherman's parade field. Then I sprinted up to the top floor of my barracks and fished out the emergency strobe light from my rucksack. I got some of the school's permanent party folks (Instructors) and told them to put the quarter tons (jeeps M151A1) onto the field in an inverted "T" formation with their service drive lights on so I could vector in the chopper flight. Within moments I heard the heavy WHOPPA WHOPPA of UH1H blades and I shoved that strobe light up at the end of my fist blinking. The bird settled down onto my field expedient LZ and the sergeants dashed the victim over. As they were putting him aboard, I knew he was dead by the wet dishrag disposition of his body and other signs.
I went back to my bunk, put out the lights and shook and shivered for hours wondering if there had been anything else I could have done. I didn't cause his death but I wondered if there was something I could have done to prolong his life, despite the fact that everything was on automatic for me. I wasn't actually thinking and cognitively processing. I was running all on training.
The next day there was an airborne memorial service for the 18 year old paratrooper with the previously undetected heart murmur. There was an inquest and I gave a written deposition. I was commended on my actions for that night. Funny, it didn't make me feel any better.
Everybody handles that terrible moment differently, so NO I'm not judging.