Canada's invisible casualties.

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 12^th 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