A Glimpse Into My Future
A Glimpse Into My Future
Plus, Another Dream Deferred
Howdy,
As my daddy used to say, I’m busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. A lot of bankers and lawyers fill my day. Lucky me!
I was traveling this weekend to sunny Augusta, Georgia. Dear baby Jesus, is that place hot! I don’t miss living there, no, sir, I do not. Fine people. But phew! I ran two miles at 2 p.m., and I thought I might die from a heat stroke!
I had a grand time at my friend Marvin’s retirement ceremony. It was really a beautiful ceremony drenched in meaning and sacrifice. And then there was the after party: a bunch of very drunk gentiles cutting it up on Friday night at 10 p.m. to karaoke!
Let your imagination run wild.
While I was on my way back to KCMO, I sauntered up at a bar, as one does when their flight is delayed, and asked for my usual non-alcoholic beer. Shortly after I took that first pull off that sweet nectar, “Rick” and his lovely wife arrived at my little oasis at the Atlanta-Hartland Airport.
Rick looked like he was having a tough time. He was shaking rather uncontrollably on his right side, which caught my eye. But then he pulled out his wallet, which had the greatest bit of marketing ever designed in America: the United States Marine Corps logo.
He apologized profusely for his shaking and seemed somewhat embarrassed.
“Listen here, Devil Dog, you’re a dangerous man,” I said quickly. “You don’t have to be embarrassed around me.”
He quickly surmised that I served. He was a USMC infantryman for ten years, serving in multiple operations overseas. Following his separation, he built a successful business and raised a beautiful family.
Then, three years ago, the shakes began. He didn’t understand what was going on. Finally, his doctors surmised that it was his exposure to Camp Lejeune’s water in the early 80s that, in essence, poisoned him. He had enough information to receive a 100% VA disability rating.
“Some guys are saying,” he said hesitantly. “We should join the lawsuit.”
To which I immediately exclaimed, “Fuck yes, brother. Milk them for every fucking thing they have.”
He shook his fist, “Exactly my feeling!”
“Fuck these guys,” he said. “I gave my life for my country, and they poisoned me in return.”
Did the Department of Defense set out to poison Rick and his crayon-eating leathernecks (I say that in jest!)? Does that matter at all?
Hell no, it doesn’t.
Rick and his men deserve compensation for what the government did to them. He’s not alone. The government owes Iraq and Afghan combat veterans far more than what they’re providing so far. The DoD is woefully behind in its care for veterans, especially on issues surrounding Moral Injury.
But what saddened me about Rick was that it felt like a glimpse into my future. I spent 4 1/2 years in Iraq and Afghanistan, living in the far distant corners of the empire. Sooner or later, the war will kill me, but it won’t be with a bullet; it will be with an illness.
It will be something nobody knew about at the time. It’ll probably be a slow killer, like cancer or some tumor. I think about these things because they motivate me to pour my energy into building something for my daughter and something for the next generation of veterans.
The Vietnam veterans paved the way for Iraq and Afghan combat veterans. We owe it to the next generation of forgotten war veterans to try and make it better for them. Because, mark my words, in a few decades another generation of lost war veterans will come home too—that’s unlesss we start changing things from the ground up.
And that’s what we’re trying to do around here: make war accessible to everyone. Because we’re all responsible for the war fought in our names. At the end of the day, all the benefits are great, but what Iraq and Afghan combat veterans and their allies deserve is your most precious commodity: your time.
So, come join us. We’re building an Andiwalaan at GCV. Andiwalaan is a Pashto term that means tribe, more specifically, “my people.” Join our andiwalaan.
A Dream Deferred
We welcomed an Afghan voice to GCV today. Our friend Tasal wrote a beautiful lamentation of his dream and the reality of becoming a refugee again.
It's been almost three years since the regime change, and the country has stabilized, but it is not at peace. It is struggling with unemployment and a stagnant economy, and educated young Afghans like myself struggle to find employment.
Many of us who are educated and have tried to bring positive change to our country feel we have only one option: to leave. Whether today, tomorrow, or a year from now, everyone I know who is educated wants to go as they have no future for themselves or their families in Afghanistan.
As someone who once aspired to contribute to our nation's development, I now find myself grappling with despair and contemplating becoming a refugee once again.
A Minister’s Path to Moral Injury
My BFF,
, had a tremendous solo episode with Rev. Dr. Michael Yandell. Michael went from Explosive Ordnance Disposal to a Senior Minister, writing deeply on war.Shoulder to Shoulder covers some tough ground. But we’re doing it for a reason. Moral Injury is a plague eating away at America’s Iraq and Afghanistan combat veterans. We’re doing everything to help our brothers and sisters who feel lost in a sea of disillusionment.
That’s why we’re working with Give an Hour to create a Moral Injury Support Group. It’s free for anyone. But here’s the thing: we don’t have many more slots.
So, please do me a favor.
Forward this to someone who might need help.
Will. You did a great job for that poor suffering Marine. Carry on!
Excellent reflections on the Marine. I'm not going where you went because it is too painful but I will instead point out that you have been extremely good about self care in many forms for a long time now not just starting with transition.