While much of this blog, even as intermittently as I post, is about supporting others seeking to find, maintain, and strengthen their path of recovery; sometimes, I feel it necessary to interject my own experience. The true power in recovery is that we aren’t alone and that there’s hope. The best expression of that is through shared experiences, and I guess, today at least, that’ll be the approach I take.
You see, growing up, the most influential men in my life were combat veterans. Two from World War II and another from Vietnam. Their experiences varied drastically. One participated in the Island Hopping Campaign in the Pacific. Each engagement revealing another entrenched enemy stronghold where they fought and bled for every grain of sand. One who landed on the Normandy shores who had to put down his wrenches and pick up a fallen machine gun merely to survive the moment the ramp on the boat dropped, exposing the inhabitants to a barrage of machine gun fire. Yet another, who fought an often times invisible enemy in the jungles of a country most of our citizens didn’t want them in. Adding insult to injury, upon his arrival home, carrying keepsakes of his friends who didn’t make it for their families and loved ones, he was spit on and shamed for his participation in a conflict he was drafted for. While my Grandfathers were celebrated, my Uncle was shunned and disgraced.
They all went on to live somewhat normal lives. On the surface, it always appeared like they had successfully put the horrid past behind them. On the surface… there is so much to say here that I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older and have survived and reconciled some of my own experiences.
As I ran today, I had a bit of an epiphany. The temperature was an unseasonably warm 63 degrees with a steady rain soaking through me. I thought about those men. I thought about how different they were, from themselves, and from me. Then I thought about this strange commonality. In this case it involved sitting outside with a glass of whiskey, or scotch, or top shelf vodka, and a look…..
It’s hard to explain that look when you don’t recognize it. Some have called it a “1,000 yard stare”, but I think it may be more than that. It’s definitely deeper. I remember seeing it on some nights, or weekend afternoons, or on those warm rainy days, and I always wondered what they were thinking, what they were seeing, why, for just a moment; they would completely disconnect from where they were. When they finally tune back in, there’s often a strange series of blinks and this memory burning in their eyes; and then the pupils adjust, the veins sink back below the surface, and their breathing would return to normal.
Today, I understood. I understood the stare. I understood looking into the past and seeing it like the present. I understood that unresolved bundle of emotion that’s carried throughout your life. I understand that my family and friends see that same look from me sometimes.
It’s a strange feeling to come to terms with that realization…
As my phone continued to buzz with messages thanking me for my service, something I personally loathe, I had to stop myself from feeding the rage and replying. This is one of those things I’ve struggled with over the years. There’s always this thought, “If you knew what went on you wouldn’t thank us”, or “They only thank us to vanquish themselves for sending us to do that work”, or a cascade of different variations of those two themes. Some of us, myself included, avoid it and only tolerate it from certain people as we know it’s well intentioned. Others drink it up. They soak up the discounts, freebies, thanks, and adoration. While I’m sure some of it may be about meeting an ego need, some is about reinforcing a survival of “If they’re thanking me, what happened over there is okay…. I’m okay…. I did what I was supposed to do, I did what I was told, I did what my country wanted me to do, what they needed me to do… I’m okay.”
The “Thank you for your service” is a discussion I’ve had at length with multiple people and will probably continue to have. For some, it’s an annoyance or induces anger. Yet for others, it may be the one thing that keeps them holding on so they don’t succumb to what they’re carrying from the past.
So here I sit. Another Veteran’s Day. Pondering my time in the Corps, my time in combat, my time laying on a flight deck on 30 minute strip alert waiting for something to happen and cursing the boredom. Pondering the anniversaries surrounding this day and those we lost in and after combat. Thinking about it all.
Then realizing I’m staring out the window not seeing the trees in the back yard…
Take care of yourselves. Recovery takes place in the moments when you need it most.
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