Recently I happened to find myself at a gathering where the mother of an Iraqi War combat veteran spoke. This woman’s son had participated in combat and also suffered a bomb injury and so in addition to PTSD he also apparently has continuing neurological problems. She was an impassioned speaker. Because of her experience with the military and the VA and with her son’s difficulty in ‘transitioning’ to civilian life, she has been a force in forming a local organization to help other combat veterans. The organization helps not only with a peer support network, but also with practical support issues such as housing, cell phones, laptops and internet, and food. I agreed with much of what she had to say. Too many combat veterans remain isolated, forgotten, left on their own to deal with the after-effects of witnessing and participating in the organized violence of war.
There was a point in her talk, however, when she lost me. Thinking back on it I am almost reluctant to tell the story for fear of it being misinterpreted or somehow manipulated. But because it is Memorial Day, a day this country has set aside to honor our soldiers and their sacrifices, I will try to explain how my thoughts became conflicted as I sat and listened.