warI seem to spend a lot of time thinking about war, even when I don’t want to. The reality of war. The horror of war. What does winning a war really look like? Are war and terrorism even related or is one a symptom of the other?

Following is an article in today’s Denver Post which provides a perspective…

-Tony Seahorn

Fool’s game: A soldier’s lament

By Megan Nix

Posted: 01/03/2010

My friend from Denver, a thirtysomething with a full red beard, a plaid shirt, and a loud, choppy laugh, looks like any guy you might have a drink with to talk about girls or music or the work week.

The last time I hung out with him, we shared a beer stein on Larimer Street during Oktoberfest and talked about Halloween costumes. During a more recent happy hour, we talked about the summons he received to deploy to Afghanistan.

Because of the Army’s Uniform Code, I can’t name him. Suffice it to say he’s the one person in the 30,000 who got that call to whom I can give a voice.

It was Nov. 11, 2009, Veterans Day, when my friend was called back to war. His friends had taken him out to shoot clay pigeons in honor of his being a veteran in Iraq, and when he went to his parents’ house for Sunday dinner, a big envelope was waiting for him. He went down into the basement where his father, a potter, was shaping clay. “I just walked up to him and gave him a hug,” he says, smiling from above the amber glow of his draft beer. Hugs are not something he regularly does. “Then I stepped back, and I said, ‘Dad, I’m going to Afghanistan.’ ”

Like most soldiers, he’s dealing with some of the same symptoms as one of his heroes, Audie Murphy, a World War II vet who publicized the unseen wounds of war. Fear, insomnia, depression, a loss of faith in our country’s leaders, and a nightmarish reluctance to re-enter the world “outside the wire.” Like any young man who’s already been to war once, my friend is doing everything he can in order to not be deployed twice.

When he served in Baghdad, there were four to five American deaths a day, the city was a “cesspool,” and “generals were being moved around like playing cards. People don’t realize how much worse it is than what you see on TV. In a city that goes to war, services stop – sewage, water – there’s very limited law and order. You can’t even imagine how awful the world is when a war is happening there.”

Despite his hearty laugh and recurring shrugs, he exudes disillusionment. We’re nestled in a leather booth, and at the bar, two toothless men start to shove each other against the stools and shout obscenities.

“I bet you,” my war-bound buddy says, “at least one of them is a vet.” It doesn’t matter if they’re vets or not, at least one person here is, and those unseen wounds of war? I can see them in this bar.

“My job in Iraq as a public affairs specialist was to prove, ‘What’s the good here? What’s the silver lining? How can I slant this to look good?’” my friend explains. “If you’re very honest,” he says, with signature honesty and one hack of a laugh, “you could never do it.”

One of the reasons he has agreed to talk to me is so that he can be honest, albeit anonymously. The namelessness seems to fit: Both Iraq and Afghanistan are wars largely stocked with low- to mid-level soldiers on repeated deployment. Soldiers from Nowhereville, U.S.A., young men and women who will die largely unrecognized for being, as my friend says, “some sort of hero.”

He’s not in the business of sugar-coating. Bombs are the best way to kill because no one has to be there, he tells me. He recounts how the fluids on the floor of a walk-in freezer stacked with car bomb victims flowed, tar-black, to a drain under his feet. “Beyond capacity,” is how he describes the scene of the nameless corpses. “Innocent victims of roadside bombs gone wrong. The unwanted. Victims that will never ever be identified.”

My friend’s insights increase with the drinks. He points out that while what we have is called a “volunteer army,” life circumstances are what dictate if enlisting is in a kid’s future. “See those guys?” he points to the two men who have stopped fighting and are staring blankly at their sentinel of empty shot glasses. “If they did serve, I can almost guarantee they came from little money. No Haliburton sons and daughters are dying in Iraq or going to Afghanistan,” he says, pushing his finger into the beer-stained table. “I can’t even tell you how many Army leaders I’ve seen without a combat patch (signaling they’ve been deployed) on their right arm. It just shows you how many people aren’t bearing the weight of this war.”

The weight of his story accumulates like a collection of heavy fragments.

A break for a granola bar on the back of Vehicle 2. A deafening explosion. A puff of smoke where Vehicle 4 had been.

Like many young men who enlist, my friend wanted to be independent of his parents and the military was the best possible solution, so he enlisted five years ago. “I thought if I don’t find anything I’m passionate about, I should go,” he says.

By now, he’s gathered plenty of things to be passionate about. One of them is not returning to Afghanistan. As a technically disabled vet who already did five years, was honorably discharged, and “did everything I was ever asked,” he received the news of his “involuntary mobilization” with reluctance and disbelief. He knew he was subject to recall until June 2012, but opening the envelope was one of those times when you say, “Seriously? I mean, seriously?”

Really, he did more than he was asked to do: He volunteered to fight at a time when he knew he’d likely be deployed. He was stationed in Iraq during one of its bloodiest summers. And, most importantly, he came back.

He also has simpler reasons for not wanting to return: He doesn’t know if he can pick up a 200-plus-pound person. He doesn’t want to carry a weapon. And he doesn’t want to be a pawn in a game of politics if part of the reason the withdrawal is scheduled for 2011 is because President Obama is up for re-election in 2012.

After opening his Afghanistan envelope, my friend immediately called his superior to appeal. “What’s the deal?” he asked. “I cannot do this again.” And the noncommissioned officer on the phone replied: “Look, we are scrounging the bottom of the barrel right now. The bottom of the barrel.”

One of the two men at the bar says he doesn’t have the money to pay for his drinks tonight, stands up from his tattered stool to leave, then sits back down. Someone puts a coin in the jukebox and I’m hoping the song will be happy, but it’s not. Bonnie Tyler’s voice starts in on “Nothing but a Heartache.”

“I only saw the effects of war, not the worst of it,” my quieted friend admits as the song reaches its refrain. “For every war story, there’s a better story not being told. Those go to the grave. Or they’re stories that the people holding them can never begin to relive.”

Tyler croons, “It’s a fool’s game,” while I work on my next beer.

I’m not sure what I should tell this young, smiling and wounded man in front of me. That he’ll be fine and somehow his appeal will be granted, and if not, he’ll come back and we’ll have beers and it will be over. We both know that soon he’ll probably be on a plane with his 60 pounds of gear, looking for silver-lined stories to send back to middle American about the benefits of being at war.

“It’s a heartache,” she sings: “Nothing but a heartache. Hits you when it’s too late. Hits you when you’re down.”

There are many things to thank my friend for, but the only thing I thank him for at the end of the night is his time, and at least that feels like a little bit of sincerity in the midst of everything we’ve both heard and read about our reasons for sending him to Afghanistan. “I’ll see you soon,” I tell him, and the last thing I say – my minuscule gift of acknowledgment – is his name.

The silver lining in this story? I’m still looking for it.

A Christmas Poem Video

Filed Under American Patriotism | Comments Off

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-Written by Michael Marks

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_P6yU_ymFM

christmas-poem

by Michael Marks

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said “Its really all right,

I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.”
“It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at ‘ Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘
Nam
‘,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.

“I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.

I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?

It seems all too little for all that you’ve done, For
being away from your wife and your son.”
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret, “
Just tell us you love us, and never forget.

To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.

Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,

That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.

 

Please, would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let’s try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us.

LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN

30th Naval Construction Regiment

OIC, Logistics Cell One

 

 

 

veterans-day-22

 

 

 

 

 Wednesday was Veteran’s Day.  A twenty-four hour period where Americans are supposed to stop at some time during those hours to honor and reflect on the sacfrices made by our veterans so that others can live in a free and democratic country.  Truly, I don’t know how many Americans did this… With the busyness of daily life, I didn’t see much evidence that many knew the honorary day existed.  Yet, across the nation there many observances.

In our home we did something uniquely special.  Something we have never done before, nor will we do again. The event was a culmination of several months of planning. 

It included the thoughtfulness and generosity of family members and close friends, along with the sewing fingers of  the Caring Quilters of “The Rabbit’s Lair” in Rogers, AR.  Contributers are Betty Hayes, Marguerite Steiner, Nancy White and Patty Wilhelm and machine quilted by Donna Roche. All are dedicated to making a difference with the  ”Quilts of Valor”. 

It was a secret for Tony, which took a great deal of evasive action and patience to execute.  In honor of all vets, we took this day to symbolize such respect by paying tribute to one.  Inviting several neighbors to share the evening, we ate a light dinner, then watched the touching movie, Taking Chance, the true story of a twenty-year old Marine who died in Iraq.  The movie chronicled the journey of Chance Phelps from Iraq to his family burial place in Dubois, Wyoming.  http://www.hbo.com/films/takingchance/

One member this evening, a former marine who flew helicopters in Vietnam, shared how, while he was waiting for his overseas assignment, was given the duty of informing two families of their loved ones’ death.  It was information he had never shared with any of us before and we could tell that the memory still remained with him.

At the very end of the evening, we surprised Tony with his own Quilt of Valor.  Needless to say, he was speechless and quite humbled.  You see, he understood that this distinctive comforter of courage was not just for him, but for every wounded warrior from every war past and present.  So Thank You every veteran for your sacrifice and service.  We hold you warmly in our hearts and minds, not just on November 11, but every day of every year.

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Veteran’s Day, November 11, 2009

Following is a guest post from some dear friends. Thanks to all veterans on this day and every day!  Lest we forget, “Freedom Isn’t Free”

Post by Larry & Nancy Thoney:

flag-monument2Battered & Tattered, Yet, How Proudly It Waves!

 

 While traveling across the Navajo Reservation in the Monument Valley in AZ last winter, we saw an American flag flying in spite of what had obviously been some very hard times.  It was symbolic and we had to have that picture!

The ragged, tattered old flag reminds us of our country and the fact that it has also been through some trials and tribulations, but never-the-less our life style and independence have prevailed.  The reason our flag has continued to fly proudly, in spite of all, is largely because of the sacrifices of Veterans such as yourself.

Thanks so much for your contributions.   We Americans are forever grateful!

Happy, Healthy Trails to you and yours.

Two Appreciative Americans,

Larry and Nancy Thoney

 

 

Post by Janet J. Seahorn:

Today is Wednesday, November 11, 2009… Veteran’s Day.  Be sure to say thank you to every veteran you meet; not just today, but often.  Be sure to let them know how much you appreciate their sacrifice for our country.  A sacrifice that allows you and your family to live in peace and pursue your dreams of prosperity and happiness.  Be sure you say an extra prayer for the families of our troops who are far from home in harms way.  And may you live your life making a similar selfless commitment on behalf of others you may never know or meet.

 

Josh Groban in his song, You Raise Me Up, says it nicely. 

 

You Raise Me Up 

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary

When troubles come and my heart burdened be.

Then, I am still and wait here in the silence

Until you come and sit a while with me.

 

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains

Your raise me up, to walk on stormy seas

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up… to more than I can be.

 

  Thanks to you, members of our military, you have raised us up higher than we could ever be without your contribution to freedom and liberty for all. 

  

God Bless America and God Bless our Veterans!

 

 

 

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LL-0mdEg0U4

soldier-tears-72478744-getty

Coming Home

Filed Under American Patriotism, Life, PTSD, Today's War | Comments Off

by Stars and Stripes

dave-johnson

He’s a businessman now. He has leisure time. He reads his law books, looks for a house to buy. He sleeps on clean sheets, and takes Hawaiian cruises with his family.

But a part of Dave Johnson is still in Iraq.

A couple of times a week, he wakes up there – “in the middle of a giant explosion,” he said, like the one on his second tour that took out his patrol base, killed one colleague, maimed another and injured a dozen more.

The former sergeant, who enlisted after getting a law degree to do his duty for his country – then was stop-lossed for 18 months – revisits the battleground in his waking life, too.

Every now and then, he says, he’ll have a flashback – “a very, very vivid memory” – of one among six or so events during his first Iraq tour.

A certain suicide bombing in a market, for instance.

“It was the last one I ever went to. We were the first responders,” Johnson, 30, said. “I felt the concussion. The blast wasn’t as big so there were much larger body parts, an arm here, a leg …

“It was me and Capt. [Matt] Lee and a member of the British Parliament. The entire market burned to the ground,” he said.

The memories creep in without warning, he said, and the acute flashback, including increased pulse and perspiration rate and a pounding heart, lasts about 30 seconds. Johnson’s twin brother, who spends a lot of time with him teaching him the family roofing business, can tell when it happens.

“He says, ‘You’re twitching again, dude.’

So Johnson wasn’t surprised to be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. The nightmares, the residual feelings of terror, the loss of sleep – all of it “affects you all day,” he said. And to have a flashback in the courtroom would not be good, he said.

Experts estimate that fully 20 percent of Iraq-deployed troops have developed PTSD and that nearly all show some post-combat anxiety. Yet despite a Defense Department effort to remove the stigma surrounding such psychological impacts of combat, many soldiers are still hesitant to admit they may be having problems and seek help.

Now Johnson spends his days learning the family roofing business from his brother. He’s looking for a starter house. Evenings he reads up on civil law so he can assist with the firm’s legal work.

Life is good, he said.

Yet as glad as he is to be out, he has few regrets about having been a grunt.

“Riding in a helo, staying up for 50-some hours straight, carrying a machine gun … I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.”

Red Fridays

Filed Under American Patriotism, Events, Today's War | Comments Off

red-friday-11

RED FRIDAYS —– You will begin seeing a great many people wearing Red every Friday.

 The reason?

Americans who actively support our troops used to be called the ‘silent majority’. We are no longer silent, and are voicing our love for God, country and home in record breaking numbers. 

We are not organized, boisterous or over-bearing. We get little media coverage on TV, to reflect our message or our opinions.

 Many Americans, like you, me and our friends, simply want to recognize that the vast majority of Americans support our troops. 

Our idea of showing solidarity and support for our troops with dignity and respect starts on Friday – and continues each and every Friday until the troops come home from war.

Every red-blooded American who supports our men and women afar should consider wearing something red.

A bunch of us are doing this. 

Please join us.

red-friday-2

  purple-heart-pictures-006          QUILTS OF VALOR PROJECT”

 During the Purple Heart National Convention we passed a table of women busily sewing and constructing several incredibly beautiful red, white, and blue patriotic quilts. Turns out, these ladies have made and sent to military hospitals throughout the United States and overseas over 415 quilts. The national Quilts of Valor Organization has provided over 17,000 quilts. Frankly, I was stunned by this number given the time, money, and effort that goes into making a hand sewn quilt. Wow!

For that reason, I thought our readers might find it interesting to know some of the facts regarding such a worthy organization.  (PS – they greatly need and accept donations to help defray the personal cost and postage for each quilt and quilter). The following information is taken from a brochure given to me by Donna Roche, the Arkansas QOV Coordinator (e-mail diva@mc2k.com)

The Quilts of Valor is our “Purple Heart Award” for service, sacrifice and valor of combat wounded soldiers. It is our way of saying “Thank You for your service, you have not been forgotten.” Numerous people are involved in making the quilts, from contributing quilt blocks, finishing the tops, and then quilting them. Each quilt receives a “Quilt of Valor” label thanking the injured warrior for their dedication and sacrifice. The label contains the name of the maker and the quilter.  Sometimes the soldier will send a letter of thanks like the one below:

“My QOV not only keeps me warm when I am cold, it keeps my heart warm too. I’m twenty-four, a husband and father. This may seem childish, but when I get scared with memories of war, I curl up in the quilts and everything goes away. It makes me and the hundreds of wounded I’ve seen feel better knowing there are people in the States that care about us and what we do.”

The Cost of each quilt:

Quilt top                                    $55

Batting                                       $15

Quilt Backing                             $40

Binding & Notions                     $10

Pillowcase                                 $  5

Shipping w/Insurance                 $10

Total for making a QOV       $135

 

The following poem is dedicated to these amazing women and their loving selfless efforts.

  

BLANKET OF HOPE

Blanket of Hope

Covers my wounds,

Keeping me safe

In this far from home room.

 

Blanket of Hope

Surrounding my heart,

Keeping me sane

When I’m falling apart.

 

Blanket of Hope

Sewn by love’s hands,

With patience and kindness

Compassion commands.

 

Blanket of Hope

As tears fill my eyes

Brings me closer to home

When morning arrives.

 

Blanket of Hope

With deep gratitude

My words can’t express

A way to thank you.

 

 

 

Janet J. Seahorn,  Ph.D

August, 2009

In honor of the Quilts of Valor Organization

Donations are greatly needed and accepted to help continue this amazing, healing mission.

http://www.qovf.org

or Donna Roche, diva@mc2k.com

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by Tony Seahorn

Even in the most devastating and pain-filled moments, we have an opportunity to learn something about ourselves, our world, and the human spirit.

Attending the Purple Heart National Convention in Rogers, Arkansas provided an enormous volume of proof supporting this statement. The group was a moving, living sea of purple where great amounts of blood was given in service to our country. Veterans from WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and a few from the current war in Iraq and Afghanistan attended.

It is the Vietnam veteran, however, who have provided evidence of how to do things differently when welcoming a warrior home from combat. These vets had no “welcome home”. Their experience of returning from combat was often met with verbal and sometimes physical abuse. Crowds of protesters were waiting to hurl insults and thoughtlessly displayed signs/banners with obscene language and incredibly cruel remarks and pictures.

What Vietnam vets taught Americans through their touching stories were how badly they were injured – not just by the enemy in a foreign land, but by their own country men. The wound to the soldier was deeper, more personal. It bled into the heart and soul of the veteran and couldn’t heal. Healing requires exposure to the light, the outside air. The Vietnam vets were forced to suppress not only their sacrifice, but their woundedness.

With our present battles in Iraq and Afghanistan, veterans have rallied for a new mission, a promise that never again would our military personnel return home unwelcome. Today there are a multitude of individuals and organizations who support, care and offer hope to serving military members as well as their families. At the Purple Heart Convention we met a few. The “Soldier’s Angels” were there to ensure every military person serving in a combat zone receives care packages, cards, and letters from their fellow Americans. “Quilting for Valor” is another group who painstakingly create beautiful hand-crafted quilts to send to hospitals both in-country and overseas. These quilts cover and comfort the wounded warrior during his/her hospitalization.

And there were others with their own caring mission.

Vietnam veterans taught Americans how words can wound deeper than guns.  How lack of support impairs the ability to move forward. And most of all, how to forgive – their country’s leaders, their country men/women, and sometimes even their own families – because they understand that forgiveness heals.

The significant lesson these past warriors, in their aging wisdom learned, then modeled, was the power of absolution, which granted freedom from their emotional woundedness. Then, through such forgiveness, they have and continue to work tirelessly with the American people and the military to meet the needs of the new combat wounded.

America’s new Purple Hearts hopefully feel only the love, support, and generosity of an America who will never again allow our sons and daughters to return home from combat unwelcome.  

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