Excellent poem, Lynsey….
While I understand the tragedy of the lost lives, I find that I’m more sensitive to the ones that suffer mental damage. Those that return home, trapped in their PTSD prison with no hope of ever getting out. Dead’s dead – you’re out of pain; sometimes living can be more painful. You nailed in in that we talk about the casualties of war in a very binary sense: Alive or dead. But it’s not binary, really – it’s analog; there are points between zero and one. This is where the PTSD sufferers fall. In addition to these, there is another group of those that were mentally disabled due to war injuries: Their bodies are fine, but their brains have been damaged.
I met one of these folks on an REI backpacking trip last year. Physically, he was in good shape (and sporting a Marines t-shirt) but it seemed that his wife (or girlfriend – I never clarified) was…well…doing everything for him. Without knowing the condition he was suffering from, my thoughts were roughly “WTF?” Later we got to talking and I learned:
- He was an intelligence officer for the Marines
- He was injured by an IED
- The IED led to brain damage that affected his vision, speech center and equilibrium.
- He has an MBA from The London School of Economics
It was that last point that took my head clean off. Unfortunately, too many folks are injured or killed by IED’s – I hate to say it’s common, but we’re well aware of it. Further, we hear of soldiers returning home less one or more limbs or with varying degrees of brain damage. The thing that I had never considered up to that point was the loss of intellect that comes with war. An MBA from The London School of Economics…they just don’t give those away; you have to be a sharp cat in order to get in to LSE and then walk away with a masters degree. Now that brilliant mind has been irreparably damaged.
Knowing this, I tried to help him when he needed it, while allowing him to maintain some dignity. That meant sometimes leading him to the vault toilet and back to camp, or lending him one of my walking sticks for stability. On a technical section of trail, I and one other carried his pack for him until we got back to a groomed section where he could carry it himself.
When we reached the trailcamp, we were supposed to group 3 or 4 tents to a site. He pointed me out to his wife/girlfriend and said “Let’s stick with him. He know’s what he’s doing.” I was now terrified as I knew that a Marine knows good and well how to set up camp and as such, I now had some large boots to fill. Simultaneously, I was honored – he was confident that I could fill those boots adequately.
Meeting him taught me yet another lesson in that it's important to not solely rely on what meets the eye - there's a backstory somewhere that can change your opinion.
So when I see flags and stories and pictures and facebook blurbs and whatever about Memorial day, he’s the one I think about.
