Gratitude for Those Who Serve...

I spent yesterday, Veteran’s Day, thinking about all of the men and women who serve in our Armed Forces.   All the nurses, doctors, lawyers, airmen and women, soldiers, sailors, marines, coast guard, national guard.  So many ways to serve, all of those who take on a commitment that is always life altering.

I come from a service family.  My grandfather served in WWII.  My dad served in Vietnam.  My ex-husband served in the US Navy for 23 years and my son is currently serving the US Navy in Pensacola.  I grew up in up in the Army and spent my 30s and half my 40s being the Wife of a Navy officer.  My life has been profoundly and permanently affected by the military and service.

I thought about it when I was in college and disenchanted.  Mostly I was drunk all the time and couldn’t get out of my own way.  So one very hungover day I went to see a recruiter thinking that perhaps that life was what was meant for me.  It became very clear that it was not a life for me.  In fact, the recruiter said as much.

I thought about it again in law school. To become a JAG officer.  But again way too drunk to make that shit happen.

I love order and routine but I do not do well in hierarchies.    Chain of command would have been a problem for me.  I am also not great at following orders.  All the closeness of others and the mass assemblies would have put me over the edge.  In the end, I have no regrets.  I am glad I chose a different life that suited me better.  I am very grateful that recruiter saw a problem and not a dollar sign.  My life would have gone very differently.

But my generation was the first generation of choice.  My grandfather served in WWII because that is what you did.  There wasn’t a lot of choice involved.  We were at war and so you signed up.  My dad was in a similar position.  His draft number got called and the only choice he had was whether he was going to get drafted as enlisted or as an officer.  Given the timing of it all, he decided to defer and enter as an officer and that fact in and of itself likely saved his life.

So I was the first one with a choice.  My son also had a choice.  So I began the first generation that could choose to serve or not, there was no mandate.  There was no draft.  There was no war.  I was born in war time, but I have not really ever seen war like Vietnam, Korea, or the world wars.  I do not know what that is like.  I was too young to know the hardships of war.

And though we have fought in Iraq and  Afghanistan, and lots of our service members gave the ultimate sacrifice, it was not like the wars of decades past.  No less horrible, perhaps only less pervasive or better hid.  Or more transparent?  I don’t know, it seems when it comes to war, the public is fed a different story altogether.  There is what happens.  And then there is what we are told.

My dad left for Vietnam when I was 6 weeks old.  He came back a year and half later.  The young man, a newly married father, left as one person and returned as another.  I can only imagine the horrors he saw.  The friends he lost.  The men and women he saw die. He came home to a country that didn’t welcome him.  There were no parades or commendations for his service.  Just a country that was sick of it all and blamed those that served for the poor decisions of those who called the shots. No one wanted to go to Vietnam.  No one wants to go to war. Not really.  And Vietnam was perhaps the first war that this idea of loyalty and duty fell away, and personal integrity and conviction refused to sit in the back seat any longer.

My dad came back physically ok, but mentally he suffered.  And he, like the good soldier he was, soldiered on once he returned.  He assimilated back into his life, already in progress, and attempted to get on with it all.  And he did.  And we will never know how much that cost him.

He received no treatment for his PTSD.  He got no counseling, no services related to all the shit he saw go down.  He went to war on some random day, came home on another random day and then he got on with the business of living.  And he did a great job of it for the most part.   The PTSD and the drinking, symptoms of his service that were unaddressed, until they became so problematic that he either faced them or ruined his life.

He got sober in 2002.  And for a little while there he sought some treatment for his PTSD.  He joined a Vietnam Vets group and attended a little counseling.  The staying sober thing stuck, but the resolution of all his war time scars, proved too much to tackle and so it remained.

My dad didn’t talk of Vietnam, ever.  When asked why, he would say the following, “I swore if I made it back, I would not let it affect my life, and so I don’t talk about it because what is the point?  I made it back, time to move on with it.”

But it did affect his life.  And we all knew it.  I am not sure he did though, the denial so great about how he suffered.  Night terrors and sleep issues.  Anger and rage that came out of nowhere.  Unpredictability and inability to maintain lasting close relationships.  Oh, he was affected.  And so were my mom and I.  We all suffered because he suffered.

My familial experience only proves that war is hell.  It is hell in the present, the past and the future.  Those that are lucky enough to make it home, are forever changed and altered by the experience.  Their lives and the lives of their families are deeply and sometimes grievously affected and afflicted by the experiences of war that happened long before they were even born, or at least, in my case, too young to know.

I am grateful for my dad’s service.  And I am grateful he got to come home.  I am grateful consciousness has been raised and we are doing a better job (still not enough, but better) at attending to the physical and mental health of those who serve.  I am not sure how one ever thought that one could experience war and then just return to their previously scheduled life.  That seems so fucking crazy, but it was what was expected, and to some degree, still is.

I chose not to serve, and so I am incredibly grateful to those who make a different choice.  And for all those that came before me, and after me, that didn’t have a choice.  Or they made a choice to serve.  That seems the most crazy of all to me.  To select that as your life.  To walk towards death like that.  I mean, I know there is no safety in this world, not really, we are all in peril all the time, the only cure to living is death.  But to knowingly have a choice and choose to serve, knowing it will absolutely at some point in time, very likely put you in harm’s way, that seems like both the bravest thing to do while also being the most ridiculous.

I am grateful to all those that served so I didn’t have to.  I am humbled by the actions and service of my grandfather, my dad, my ex-husband and my son.  Thank you all for your service.  And to all of those who served, who died, who came back shattered people, barely recognizable to those they love, to those who are currently serving, thank you for your sacrifice, for your call to duty, for your honor.  Thank you for, well, everything you gave and all you gave up.

Again, still...

I am grateful for

My dad’s service

He got to come home and have a good life

Laughter

Seeing my parents together and happy

All those that serve(d)

Valor

Getting to spend time with my dad on veteran’s day

A day off

Making good progress on the HVAC system

The cats doing ok with all the commotion

Waking up early today

Being able to easily tell the stuff that weighs on my heart and mind because it wakes me up before my alarm whether I want it to or not