Living With PTSD

This is what it's like to have a flashback, if it even does it any justice:
I'm sitting on the couch watching a cartoon with my son and I happen to look at the light coming in through the window. I notice the time on the clock. It's 6:35 pm, just about the time I got home with my son, just before we found R hanging in the garage. I haven't had a flashback in a month or so, and that is an improvement. I remember. I have visuals. Opening the door to the darkness and seeing him there. My stomach fills with butterflies and panic squeezes my chest. All of the panic I felt that day comes back. The not knowing. The confusion. The damned cell phone battery that had 10% left in it when this began right when I needed to make about a million phone calls. The feeling of isolation. I was there by myself with my young child. And until I called my parents, no one knew what was going on. Everyone was just going on about their daily lives, meanwhile mine was being turned upside down and inside out. Changed forever. I close my eyes in the hopes of making it go away. However, my therapist says I should let it come, and then let it go. So I do. I let the visuals come and then leave; I let the connected feelings come and then go. And then I have to get up and do something else to take my mind away from this horrible place. So I sit here and tell you about it, in the hopes that it may strike a chord with someone else, help in some way.