In the last
month, I lost two friends. And though the circumstances of their passing
differed, it still is a reminder that life can be so incredibly unpredictable
and short. So, I am not going to talk about my work as a writer in this blog
but an issue that is very near and dear to my heart. I'll ask if you indulge me
as I recount a bit of personal history and drag out my soapbox and talk about a
national tragedy.
I
was medically released from the army in 1998. This came after I'd endured three
separate leg operations over twelve years. Like many soldiers, I walked on
injuries, not wanting to draw attention to weakness, not wanting to be branded “sick
lame and lazy.” As a result, I compounded those injuries, and this was when our
government was using the Canadian Military as its personal whipping post. Inflicting
what I liked to call, "Death by a thousand budget cuts." When I saw
that last orthopedic surgeon, and he said to me, we operate again and more scar
tissue and blah blah, which amounted to, “Your career is over.”
In
May of 1998, just past my 12th year, I was medically released. As a
33-year-old husband and father with three kids, I was absolutely lost. Lost to
what I was going to do. I felt like a failure and robbed of who I was. And
though I’d never toured or fired a shot against the enemy I trained to fight, I
was still messed up. Having had my identity stripped from me, I was in a state
of constant flux. My transition from soldier back to civilian took a couple
years, of which I suffered deep bouts of depression. And here’s the clincher,
nobody in the civilian world understood. I’m not going to go any deeper into my
story as that was not the intent of this blog, but thanks to my wife, friends,
and family, I made it out the other side.
Many
do not.
Repetitively,
the message comes. Buzzing over social media between soldiers serving and
retired, disseminating the news, “Have you heard about?” and “They were too
young,” asking, “why?” or “how?” but in many cases, all of us know the truth.
Going
from soldier to civilian can be as hard or harder than getting out of jail. Aside
from the stark contrast of morality between criminals and soldiers, they have
one commonality. After spending time in a collective, they both run the risk of
becoming institutionalized. You adhere to all sorts of rules. Shave every day,
keep your hair well-groomed. In front of subordinates, you can’t complain, you
have to lead by example. You are under control of a collective where everyone
adheres to the same rules. Where pride and discipline walk hand in hand. Where
comradeship is akin is almost family.
The
military isn’t a robotic society where the soldiers do their duty to appease
whatever demand is laid down and lack emotion or wants. Soldiers adhere to the set
standards of military rules and regulations but live life just like their
civilian counterparts. They marry, have kids, play hockey, coach their kids in
little league. They celebrate life and cultivate deep and meaningful
relationships.
Soldiers
are a demographic of mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, and friends. Not
much different than everyone else on this planet, but they identify themselves
by their dedication to that service. Even after they have retired from it. That
stuff doesn’t go away, even when some try in vain to forget it or move on. Most
never shed their military skin completely. It becomes permanently stamped on
your identity. Four years? Twelve years? Thirty years? It doesn’t matter. Once
you have served, you find yourself in an exclusive club.
It
isn’t the soldiering; it’s the transition, and many soldiers don’t want to
admit that. For fear of perceived weakness or the scrutiny of a critical eye,
which is usually their own. It isn’t in their composition to show weakness or
admit they need help. Some suffer in silence. Some don’t have the support
around them.
Some
don’t make it.
That’s
the tragedy.
The
purpose of a soldier is to protect the nation and its people.
The
prerogative of a nation's government is to send those same soldiers to take up
arms with strangers in far off lands and engage in battle. Society does not
consider the tolls that service can take on soldiers. Some soldiers adjust
better than others, but the horror of war is an awful specter, and the mental
battle that follows can be a silent killer. As tribal as we are in this world,
mankind isn’t programmed to kill each other. That is taught or learned.
But
they do so, at the behest of Country, when the call to arms is given.
In
Canada, the nation mourns when a soldier makes that final ride along the highway
of heroes. We lower flags, stand on bridges, line up roadside, all to catch a
fleeting glimpse of our fallen, to pay tribute to them and the sacrifice. It is
what I love about this nation and its people. No matter our politics, we all
feel it when we lose one of ours, and we stand collectively in mourning. But we
are short-sighted in this communal gathering.
We
celebrate our dead, but forget the ones who came home. Some missing limbs, some
emotionally scarred from the horrors of war. Feeling alienated by a nation that
waves the flag but falls deaf and abandons its veterans to homelessness,
substance abuse, physical and mental health issues.
The
sad news is always buzzing with word that another is gone, fallen through the
cracks.
And
nothing.
And
the flags are waved, the wars resume and promises continue to be broken.
In
Canada we send our soldiers into harm's way. We ask so much of them, and they
keep stepping up, never questioning, doing their duty, standing with their
comrades, giving everything until they have given everything.
And
that is when it is our turn to take over. To give back some of what we have
taken. Making sure that they have a place in the great nation they have served
until their time is up. They are not merely soldiers, but patriots who have
kept us safe, who are only asking for our help in their time of need. Meanwhile,
our government has the stones to fight them in court over compensation claims. A
despicable act by unconscionable bureaucracy.
To
my fellow soldiers, serving and retired, we know who we have lost, we
understand some of the “why” and we need to keep those lines of communication
open. Keep an ear for the brothers and sisters who are suffering. I don’t know
about the rest of you, but I am getting pretty sick and tired of losing good people
to indifference and ignorance.
If
you’re out there and you need help, reach out, support is available.
To
my fellow brothers and sisters, watch your arcs.
Pass
the word.
And if you want to do something I offer the following link. Below, you can contact your MP and tell them that its time to do the honorable thing! https://www.ourcommons.ca/en/contact-us
