Another hero has gone home

When he smiled, you couldn’t help but smile, when the mood was grim, he cast a warm glow upon it. He was a boy, a brother, a friend and a son to us all. He carried himself with pride always, was a devout friend and family member and was a positive influence on everyone whose presence he blessed. He was also a Marine, and will always be a Marine. Caleb served his country with dignity and honor, remember today, for like his namesake, another Hero has gone home to rest. We salute you. Thank you for your sacrifice.

Semper Fi!

In loving memory of Cpl Caleb Erickson

From the front lines to the shadows.

On a recent weekend morning I found myself interviewing some apparent homeless people in St Paul. This is their story.

Walking near the railroad tracks along the river below St Paul there are a few men and one woman, there is a dog, mangy, dirty, and vigilant in its watch over the people he follows. This group looks disheveled, grungy, dressed in multiple levels of clothing, two or three coats, mismatched mittens, worn out boots and each one of them carries a bundle or a backpack with various implements attached below it and a bed roll strapped atop the bundle. The air is bitter cold, its 7am, the sun is just coming up and the temperature hovers around freezing, that’s not including the wind-chill from the breeze coming off of the river. Each exhale from their lips seems to crystallize and fall to the ground as they walk. They have to walk at this hour, it’s always coldest as the sun rises and if they were to remain sleeping at this hour they might freeze to death where they lay. They’ll sleep in the afternoon when the temperature is at its warmest.

We all see these folks once in a while and wonder where they are going, why are they here and why don’t they just get a job. They may tell you that it’s difficult to get a job when you don’t have a place to live, a place to shower and sleep each day, a place in which to prepare for a day’s work. Would you hire someone that looks like this, would you trust them with a job? Jason is the youngest of this group, he is 29, he has long scraggy hair, his hands are strong, he has wide shoulders and deep concerning eyes that spend a lot of time scanning the horizon, he appears suspicious and rarely says a word. He also walks with a serious limp; it looks like his left foot canters out to the side just a bit allowing his ankle to roll forward each time he steps. I asked Kevin about Jason’s leg, Kevin is a big man, he stands over six feet and might weigh in at 230lbs, but it’s not in his stomach, he looks like a wrestler, and he is very soft spoken, smiles a lot too and likes to crack jokes about lawyers. He told me that Jason tripped when he tried to jump onto one of the rail cars last year and broke his ankle, he went to the free clinic but they said he needed surgery and he couldn’t afford it. Kevin said it is ironic since Jason served three tours in South West Asia, he was in Pakistan and Afghanistan, he was in the Marines, he was a squad leader and lost a few men in a couple of his teams during his time over there. He never sustained any injuries when he was in, but when he came home he couldn’t hold a job anymore, he’d lost his patience and his ability to navigate daily life without the parameters of fear and threat to respond to. Kevin is a veteran, he served his country, Jason says he speaks of it with pride and doesn’t hold anyone to blame over his misfortune, he just can’t handle regular life anymore. Says nobody showed him how when he came home.

Kevin’s story is not uncommon, in fact with as many young men and women as we have coming home now from overseas as we do, we have even less jobs to offer them. These men and woman have learned skills most of us never will, they served our country and the country of those less fortunate, providing a safe environment for children to go to school, making certain our way of life remains free from tyranny, religious persecution and terrorism. They stood in the street of Fallujah fighting terrorists from all over the world; they watched their brothers and sister fall beside them, watched as their counterparts fell before them in the name of some misguided religious zealot. And now they walk on the outskirts of downtown, and along the trails in the suburbs trying to survive within the shadows, battling scrutiny from society and ghosts of their experiences overseas.

It isn’t only the young and uneducated vets that end up in this place, it also happens to more distinguished vets like AF Colonel Robert Freniere; ( http://www.military.com/daily-news/2014/01/06/air-force-colonel-goes-from-pentagon-to-homelessness.html?ESRC=army.nl) with three graduate degrees he served as an aide to pentagon brass before retiring. Now Colonel Freniere is homeless too, he has no obvious injury or major battle scars, but he has fallen into a place that seems to be flooded by educated and uneducated vets alike, who despite trying just can’t seem to get hired, even with all that they have to offer. The Obama administration has said it’s a focus of theirs to place these vets back into the workforce, but they aren’t the ones hiring them, a politician’s promise doesn’t put food in their bellies or a roof over their heads. It comes down to the responsibility of the business that fly the American flag outside their doors to seek out and open their doors to these men and woman, to welcome them back into the world they fought so bravely to secure. It is also the responsibility of the educational institutions’, and to each and every one of us to recognize these folks, whether or not you agree with their sacrifice, it is still a sacrifice; these men and woman did not serve us, to protect our freedoms and our rights to practice the religions of our choice, for a profit, they didn’t do it for the fame, they did it because they believe someone must make those sacrifices, they did it because they were able to stand up, look into the face of danger and apply a value on freedom, that value is and was their very own lives.

Kevin made that sacrifice, and continues to do so. He isn’t bitter, but takes pride in that he helped protect the belief that we all are entitled to the opportunities’ to make something of ourselves, so that his little sister back in Fargo and his boyhood buddies can go to school and study whatever they want to, he sacrificed himself so that they, and many of the rest of us wouldn’t have to.

v  The names I used in this post, Jason and Kevin, are not the real names of those individuals, but they and their stories are as they reported them to me. The one I named Kevin showed me his dog tags without hesitation.

v  According to the National Coalition for the Homeless

Ø   One fourth of all homeless are veterans.

Ø  40% of all homeless men are Veterans.

Ø  3% of homeless veterans are female.

v  According to the Department of Veterans Affairs

Ø  85% of homeless veterans completed high school, compared to 56% of non-veterans.

Ø  There are approximately 131,000 veterans whom are homeless on any given night.

Comparing Scars

                        So I visited the VA medical center the other day, it was early morning; I was in the basement blood draw waiting room. Even at this early hour the room was full, most of the vets there that day were older, but there was quite a few younger vets present as well. This seems to be a growing change in this scene, the vets are getting younger and this can cause some distress among those waiting in the same room, I have to mention that it is my belief that most vets are pretty careful; they are respectful of each other’s service whether they are a retired Marine or an Army reservist.

That being said, there still seems to be an underlying belief by some that anyone who’d served in a conflict other than theirs, didn’t have it as bad.  “When you walk for a week through swamps in bug infested jungle in the same grundies while dysentery creeps through your ranks, then come talk to me about having it rough” the older vet in the corner would grumble to the two younger vets talking next to him about their tours in Afghanistan and Iraq.  The corners of the older vet’s mouth were turned down, his face shaded in a week’s growth, he wore gray sweat pants tucked into his snow boots and had on an old Carhart jacket. His arms were crossed, he was guarded, waiting like everyone else; he had the stare, and looked like many older vets in the room. The two he spoke to chuckled a bit without looking at him, then continued their conversation albeit a little quieter. The older of these two looked to be in his fifties, the other was late in his twenties. The older one talked about being stuck in the desert in Iraq without bottled water, half of their equipment; water buffalos and transport trucks having gone missing on the docks before their company arrived to claim it and having to use old Fargo school buses to transport POWs back to camps in Saudi Arabia. He spoke about how they’d have to drive for hours on end and share the task with only one other soldier to guard the bus packed with Iraqi soldiers that didn’t really like the idea of going anywhere with these guys, constantly trying to rock the bus in order to turn it over in hopes of escaping.  He talked about them always being undermanned and undersupplied.

The younger of the two wore jeans with elaborate patterns on the back pockets, his pants hung low on his hips as he sauntered in and found a seat. He talked about being caught in cross fire between two tribes in the mountains of Afghanistan. He spoke about daily bombardments at sundown around his small encampment far from any civilized area. He talked about the batteries in his MP3 player dying soon after being in country and not having his cel phone “in like forever”. These two soldiers traded jabs back and forth for a while, they’d laugh and then one would mention there not being cel phones back in 1990 and 91, and the other would say well at least in Iraq back then not everybody was shooting at them like they were in Afghanistan.  They both had good points and they both were adamant about conveying their individual hardship. Then suddenly another soldier sitting across the room stated “well at least we are all safe now sitting here today” as a nurse called out his name to have his blood drawn and the room filled with laughter.

One of the things I have always liked about the VA is that when I am standing there inside that building I know that the vast majority of people around me understand to a degree what I have been through, that when it all comes down to the end result, we all share some of the same experiences, even if they are in different parts of the world, or in the snow, or the mountains or somewhere in the desert far from our friends and family. We all know what it’s like to spend Christmas in a fox hole or a personnel carrier with eight other soldiers that haven’t showered in weeks. We all know what it’s like to listen to gunfire at night and wish we could hold our loved ones hands; feel their soft skin in the desperate grip of ours. We all know the pain, and the anguish, the long sleepless nights staring off into the darkness watching shadows for any sign of movement. I know that when I leave the VA, when I go back out there into the world again, that I can look into the eyes of those around me and know they don’t get it, they don’t understand the sacrifices I have made, why I stand there in front of the cereal aisle looking lost because I can’t figure out how to decide between Captain fucking Crunch and Count Chocolate, that such a simple task is difficult for me to make, when I have spent every waking hour on deployment making decisions’ that determine whether or not I will come home on my feet or in a bag.

I sat there in that waiting room looking around at the faces of men and women, who’ve all lived those experiences, some seem to be getting by, others appear to be having a more difficult time with it. We can’t do it alone; we couldn’t do it alone when we were in the thick of it so why should we think we have to do it alone now. We need to learn to reach out and lean on each other a bit, find comfort in knowing that we aren’t alone, that there are others out there that need our help that need someone to lean on.  

When the nurse came back out and called the name of the soldier with the fancy pants, he got up slowly, and as he stumbled to the blood draw room I noticed one of his pant legs had gotten caught on and was exposing his prosthetic. The older vet in the corner looked at him and his face relaxed just a little. Our experiences are our own and they are relative in their severity. Often times those experiences find their way back home with us, they hitch rides on our perspectives and poke at us when we try and re-acclimate into society. Whether it’s a loss of a battle buddy, or a leg, or a loved one long after returning home, because the relationship just isn’t the same as it was before you left; we all share those hurts, those emotional distresses. We can compare scars all day long, but it’s the ones we can’t see that we need to address, that we need to know we share with our brothers and sisters, reach out and say thank you next time, shake hands with the vet next to you and look into his or her eyes and know, know that you are not alone.

Blessed are those ...

Blessed are those who’ll stand before the enemy, to protect their friends and family.

Sgt P.J. Peterson and other members of the Red Bull DVN, US Army, WW2

 

His ears numb, awkward silence rings loudly as he and his brothers run through the unforgiving sand, out in the open with rounds striking the ground around them they crawl slowly, methodically through barbed wire, the air was thick with the smell of blood, fear and vomit. It was also filled with uncommon valor, as young men, some not yet shaving cover their buddies wounded bodies with their own, it’s an odd sound when a bullet hits a soldier, tearing deep into flesh, and there is a certain soft thud on impact. He continues on, dragging his fellow soldier along behind him as he makes his way to cover, somewhere he realizes when he looks back, that he is no longer dragging much. Just then all the noise hits him like a brick wall, rapid gun fire, mortar rounds exploding, screams of men yelling for a medic and the others calling out orders to move on, to charge on, and to survive. He makes his way and joins those remaining. They are wet, dirty, sweaty, hungry and battered, these young men will continue on, they will fight; they will give of themselves more than any of them knew they had to give, and some will give everything. For those whom return, for those who will again set foot upon their mother’s porch, the innocence will be gone. They will return something different; they will have faced the devil himself. They will have sacrificed young boys and become grown men.

These men, and the women who served during World War II to protect everything we have and enjoy freely, are leaving us again, only they are going to a better place to join their brothers and sisters, please, don’t let them leave us without saying thank you, they deserve it, it’s the very least they have earned and we all owe them.

Supporting a soldier; a partner’s sacrifice

Just as I was carefully negotiating a trade with a German soldier for one of his field ready meals, word was getting around that there was a group of soldiers manning a satellite phone station about a mile outside our camp. I had been overseas for about three months, this was early in the Southwest Asia campaign, we were positioned somewhere in North Eastern Saudi Arabia along the rail line North of the Kuwaiti border, we had a pallet of mango juice boxes, little water, and more sand than many of us had ever seen, not exactly the way I thought I’d be spending Saturday nights before being deployed. I thought I’d be hanging out with my girlfriend, maybe cruising in my old Mercury and making out in the park near her home.

Instead she’s at home wondering where I am. It would be appropriate here to note that back then we didn’t have cellular phones, the media was not embedded and we as soldiers at times had even less information as to what was happening in country than the rest of the nation. We didn’t get to watch the news updates, read any newspapers and didn’t even know that the North Stars were leaving Minnesota. So when I had heard of this little satellite phone operation, I was in. Me and few others snuck out and made our way, and there tucked in between a couple large sand dunes was the camo netting covered satellite station. Darkness as far as you can see, a deep cobalt blue sky above us with no light filtration other than from the stars’ themselves, sometimes at night I would lie back atop my Humvee and stare into the night sky, it seemed as though I could almost stand up and immerse myself in millions of tiny little specs of bright light. Eventually the line of other soldiers’ waned and I had my turn. When I heard her voice on the other end I had realized then how much I missed my girlfriend, her sweet voice echoing in my ear. It meant the world to me that I could talk with her, even just to listen and tell her I was ok. And just as we figured out the timing of the delay so we weren’t talking over each other the line went dead and there was only silence except for the whining of the Scud missile alarms. I quickly closed my eyes tightly trying to lock in the sound of her voice before it was gone, and then it was gone. And as much as it pained me to be cut off like that, I have to think that it must have been even more difficult for her, I would drop back into survival mode, my training taking over and while everything else is shelved for the time being. But back home, in her living room, my girl, Angie still holds that phone against her ear, hoping my voice will return, praying that I will be all right, as tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

This isn’t an uncommon event, this happens all the time wherever our soldiers are deployed, leaving their families behind to wait and wonder. To pray and hope. Even with all of the media at our disposal today and the cel phones and such, there is still the pain that finds itself imbedded in the pit of your stomach as you deploy knowing that back home your wife, husband, son or daughter has that same pain in their stomach as well. I think that the families/military families of soldiers do not get enough credit for the success of their soldier, nor do they get recognized enough for the support they provide. The military family has a tough life, much like their soldier, the spouses/partners and their children are often having to leave friendships they’ve built because they’ve been relocated, moved on to another station. And then they are left to begin again, find and build new friendships, not easy to do.

The spouse/partner of their soldier is often the one to take care of their home, their children, correspondence with kid’s schools and health care providers, any extra-curricular activities, and that’s on top of emotional and physical support of their soldier. And that’s just an average day, not to mention what they are left to take care when their soldier has been deployed on a mission, especially and extended one. And sometimes upon completion of a deployment, especially after an active conflict over seas, the soldier comes home and has to re-acclimate to their family and the down time, this can be especially nerve racking and difficult for family members as well as the soldier to work through, but there is no opting out just then, and to be a successful partnership both parties have to come together and work through it; adapt and overcome. This is where the soldier’s family members and spouse/partner’s shine, and once all is said and done at the end of the day, who will support them, the spouse and partner? After the sun has gone down, the kids are tucked away, their soldier has come home safe, it’s time for that spouse and/or partner to take stock and take care of themselves.

In the end, I knew my girlfriend would be there when I returned, but I would not return the same person as when I had left, however she would stand behind me, she would be there for me and would learn what it meant to be the partner of a soldier. Then she would realize the dedication and the sacrifices she would have to make. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would prevail, she would successfully navigate those waters and form a relationship that only a soldier’s partner would know, one to be proud of, one that would change her life forever.

When we say thank you to a soldier, let us not forget that soldier’s partner, their family and spouse, and remember that behind every great soldier there exists a logistically complex support system; they deserve an earnest thank you as well, our respect and gratitude for their sacrifices’.

Thank you.

Veterans Day...Thank you.

Ever since we as a people claimed what is now the United States of America as a safe haven for those down trodden, and those looking for a place of protection against persecution for their beliefs, ever since we uprooted our families and lives in search of a new home where we could enjoy the fruition of our dreams and hopes for the future of our children, there have been examples of “Uncommon valor” by those willing to step up to the line and defend those hopes and dreams for their selves, and the rest of us whom cannot do so.

Today is for you, today is for those that have sacrificed some and those many who’ve have sacrificed all. Today we say thank you to our fellow vets, to the wives who’ve stood next to their husbands and supported them every step of the way, and to those husbands who’ve stood behind their wives who’ve served or are serving our country today and proudly supported them. And to everyone else who have and are today supporting their loved ones, their brothers and sisters, their children and their parents.

Today is the day we as a society must step forward and say thank you, thank you for putting everyone else first by sacrificing yourself. Thank you for working to preserve the freedoms we cherish in America and to all those soldiers overseas, far away from their families, far away from their loved ones, especially during the upcoming holiday season, when we sit down to a Thanksgiving dinner, or gather with our families over Christmas and Hanukah and set a place for those that won’t be there to share in our revelry. To those that sit alone, struggling to find their place in the world again after having given so much, we say thank you. Thank you for your selfless acts of kindness and undeniable virtue.

In your names, today on Veterans Day, thank you.

My Grandfathers Land

 

I visit my grandfathers land once a year or so. I like it there, it’s so peaceful, quiet, and I will sit under an old Oak tree near his property line and gaze out over the rolling hills, the tall waving grasses near the edge of the wood and the big blue sky above it all, the clouds seem to slow down as they pass over this place, as if to respectfully splash a little shade upon my grandfather and all of his friends here, a little respite from the hot summer sun.

We talk him and me, about my little girls, the state of things today and sometimes I will just sit and listen, I’ll lay beside him in the cool, neatly trimmed grass there and close my eyes and remember when he used to push me and my cousin on the swings when we were just little.

Sometimes I will walk across the field to visit with my grandmother from my dad’s side, she just moved in this month. Her voice still echoes in my ears on Sunday afternoons.  I give her some freshly cut flowers, tied with a ribbon, tell her I miss her.

As the sun begins it’s decent on another day, and casts an amber glow over everything, highlighting the sea of white stones that blanket these hills, I pay respect to everyone I wander by. Then, as I pass the flag pole and continue on through the iron gates, I pause, giving thanks for the tremendous and inspiring sacrifices of all of the residents there.

One day I will go back to visit my grandfather, but I won’t leave, and my family will go to visit me there. And though I’ll be sad to see them go, I will be in a good place; I will be in the company heroes.