Veterans Day
For some, it’s a day off from work or a good sale at the mall. For others it’s standing in a sea of white markers that stand small and bleak compared to the vibrancy of the mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters that they represent. It is a day where people who have lost a loved one pause and cry for what was and what might have been.
Veterans day is not only about recognizing the dead or reflecting on the folly of wars started and ended by people with no “skin in the game.” Veterans are all around you. They are teachers, bakers, and ambulance drivers who pay their bills and love their families. No longer are they in the uniforms of their country or fighting in far away lands. They are right next to you, and they feel the same exhilaration and pain that you do. The only difference is you will never feel or carry the pain that they do because thankfully you have never had to walk in their shoes.
The Two Types Of Veterans
War either makes or breaks a person. For those that survive their youth has gone and in some instances their faith in human nature. They are the original Walking Dead, who cannot despite the noblest of efforts be the people they were before going in harms way. Each day in civilian life they lose a little more self as they are behind their peers who were not in any conflict and who instead got the training and the civilian jobs that were available. The veteran stays in the fight, but the enemy is within, and it eats away at their insides until they quash the pain with alcohol, drugs or cigarettes. Some are lost forever, but some could be pulled back from their personal abyss. They are the broken battalion.
Others dress their wounds so only the most astute observer can see the impact points. I was lucky. My family was in the Army, Air Force and Royal Marines were in the latter group. My mum never talked about the war apart from saving a girl from choking on her tongue, the darkness of London during an air raid and losing her fiancé who was a French Canadian squadron leader after he was machine-gunned to death while parachuting from his stricken plane. My mum was a hard worker, but no matter how hard she worked she could never sleep a full night after the war.
My uncle who was my second dad if you will lived life to the fullest that his legs would allow him to do. He had been shot at point-blank range with a rifle and so I saw the damage that guns can do on a daily basis. When shot he was put in a hospital ward to die and was the only survivor from the entire ward. My dad was a Royal Marine Commando. He never talked about the war. The people who “make it” through a war focus on some enjoyment in each day and they love their people. They have seen both the good and the bad in the world and so devote their time to the beauty of life. A job well done, being good friends and loving their families. It is the only way to honor the dead and give value to life.
As some of you know I’ve been looking after my friend David, so I’ve been a frequent visitor to the Veterans Hospital in Westwood, California. It is a city within a city and patients are bused in from all over the state for treatment. As in any city, there are good people and frankly people who are letting the team down. I’ve seen them all in my time at the Veterans Hospital because as I’ve wheeled David from treatment to treatment there is always a lot of waiting before he is seen by a doctor or therapist.
I’ve spent hours waiting near the entrance to the hospital. I’ve seen people with purple skin and calves the size of my thigh. I’ve seen orange skin and green skin and angry young men with steel for legs. I’ve seen men with breasts that would be the envy of porn stars. David explained that it was one of the after effects of “Agent Orange”. It has got to the stage where I imagine the people in their youth rather than see any more distorted figures pass by me.
I have witnessed people look after their tribes rather than treat the patients equally, people who steal a living rather than do the job they were entrusted to do and blood still on the floor two hours after it first appeared in the emergency room. I’ve observed a young man try to feign sleep after cutting himself rather than be discharged from the hospital because he had no place to sleep or food to eat on a cold night.
I’ve watched veterans pull together with undimmed camaraderie and help each other out. I’ve seen empathy from doctors, nurses and support staff going the extra mile and assisting people.
We’re all in this world together; we don’t know for how long, and there are no refunds on the days we screw up. The best we can do is learn the lesson, move on and try again. That is the true luxury that life gives to all of us. Don’t just tell a veteran “Thank you for your service” extend a hand and share your blessings whatever they may be.
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For more information on Michael Savage
If you’re wondering who the heck is David, now you know.
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/20140729150633-122075739-you-know-dave?trk=mp-reader-card
The Young Man in the photograph is my dad aged 18 years old. My Grandad was only 14 when he served in World War I
#Veterans Day, #Veterans
