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by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

​It was a bright, warm, late June morning. Platte Valley Trout Unlimited and Project Healing Waters were collectivelyhosting their annual Wounded Warrior Event float trip. The two groups embarked on different sections of the river that Thursday. One group of veterans and their guides launched at Bennett Peak while a second group consisting of veterans from the Cheyenne VA Hospital departed from Treasure Island.

The beauty of the river, the challenge and fun trying to land a big trout, and observing the many creatures such as mink, deer, antelope and eagles made the morning special. Roughly an hour and a half into the float from Treasure Islandtragedy struck. A raft with two couples, who were floating on their own, hit a log jam broadside on a hazardous island point in the middle of the river.  As their big raft flipped in the treacherous water, all four individuals went into the swift, cold water…only three were thrown clear of the massive log jam.The fourth rafter did not survive the river’s current even though great effort was made to rescue him from the tremendous force of the water.

Yet, throughout this tragedy there were many angels on the river. Angels that surrounded the rescuers, angels that surrounded the survivors to let them know they were not alone, angels that shuttled the traumatized rafters across the river to waiting medical personnel, angels that kept every veteran and their guides safe. Angels in the form of Army National Guard that found the body downstream and encompassed him in their arms letting the person’s spirit know that he was surrounded with love, respect, and comfort.

Yes, there were numerous angels on the river that morning. Angels, that in spite of the tragedy and sadness, provided many blessings. For you see, in the darkness there was still light, in moments of massive despair, hope arose, and in feelings of being alone there were wings surrounding all who needed strength and comfort.

 

 

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

 

“Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.”

Francis P. Church

            At this time of year it may be hard for many to believe in much of anything, not to mention a person named Santa Claus. Nevertheless, I still love the story of how the letter, “Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus” came to be.  It was written way back in 1897 by a man named Francis Church. Mr. Church was an editor of the Sun newspaper and when receiving a letter from a small girl by the name of Virginia O’Hanlon asking if there was a Santa Claus he wrote his now famous letter. You see, Virginia’s father told her if something appeared in the Sun it must be true. Golly, how times have changed. At any rate, I still find his response to the small Virginia a reminder how important it is to believe in the kinder, sweeter things in life. How miracles surround us every single day, but in our despair we may only be able to see the cruel, bitter, and oftentimes heartbreaking fragments of the moment. Perhaps reading Mr. Church’s famous letter might remind us all of what is really important during this holiday season. His words are as enduring now as they were way back in 1897.

The answer as published in the New York Sun was:

Virginia, your little friends are wrong.
They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

If you are finding yourself in the Grinch mode, read Virginia’s letter and think about whatever is good, precious, or beautiful in your life and choose to believe.

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

 

It was during our work in Hot Springs, SD with the American Legion and the “Honoring Our Heroes” event that we were able to view for the first time the “Quilt of Tears”.  This is an unbelievable sea of orange fabrics with hundreds of patches depicting the stories of those Vietnam veterans and families who have suffered with the effects of Agent Orange.

Much of what is in this blog will be taken from a pamphlet I picked up at the quilt display. The quilt is being cared for, assembled, and driven across the United States by Shelia and Henry Snyder (amrdangel@aol.com).

Many veterans and their family members still do not know much about the effects of exposure to Agent Orange. An accurate number of casualties is “almost impossible to record due to various reasons, but the estimated number has been at 250,000 for quite a few years”, and the number grows every day. Even today, few Americans know that Agent Orange was a powerful herbicide used during the Vietnam War to deforest the jungle in order to set up base camps for our troops. Understanding the effects of Agent Orange on an individual is frightening. These powerful chemicals could literally take down a thick canopy of trees in a short few days. Think about, if it could destroy these huge trees in a matter of days —  imagine what these chemicals could do to the fragile human body.

Exposure to Agent Orange can be fatal. Some of the diseases which are currently thought to be a result of these herbicides are Chloracne, Hodgkin’s Disease, Multiple Myeloma, Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, Peripheral Neuropath, Porphyria cutanea tarda, Prostate Cancer, Respiratory Cancers, Soft-Tissue Sarcoma, Type II Diabetes, and illnesses and birth defects for the veteran’s children.

 

It is essential that veterans who have been exposed to Agent Orange get regular physicals complete with CAT Scans to detect the chemicals related to cancers. As with all diseases, early detection is critical to positive long-term outcomes.

The “Quilt of Tears” is a non-profit organization and relies solely on private donations. To learn more go to the website: www.agentorangequiltoftears.com. Individuals can get information on how they can create his or her own personal patch for the quilt at this site.

“Fear not my great soldier…for your story shall be passed down through the years because the fabric of your life is sewn into the Quilt of Tears.”

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

 

 

            One thousand, full sized, American flags flew on a grassy green, long rolling boulevard in Cody, Wyoming.

            It was their second annual Field of Honor Flag Day. Each flag was purchased on someone’s behalf. Sometimes it was for a family member who had served in the military. Some flags were given in honor of a special friend. And some were purchased to show respect and gratitude to an organization or group who has made a difference in their community. At any rate, up until this event, I have never seen so many large flags jam-packed in one place. Quite an impressive sight for these timeworn eyes.

            This vista reminded me of  a saying by Sara Teasdale, “My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain”. This field was created to honor those who sacrificed so much for their country, their communities, and their fellow Americans. Each flag was a tangible reminder of the broken souls, bodies, and hearts impacted by wars old and new.  We brought two flags, one to commemorate an uncle who I had never met who died in WWII as part of Patton’s assault in Normandy; the other was to pay tribute to Tony and all those who served in Vietnam.

            What made this a wonderful event were the charming individuals who attended the four days of celebrations. Much like the Vietnam Wall experience, many visited the Field of Honor to pay their respect, to view the sight of these amazing flags sometimes pounded ruthlessly by the heavy winds of Wyoming. There were times when some of us wondered if they would sustain such severe gusts. Yet, they did, every day, every night, and every gale. Several of the individuals we met were like the flags, tough, reliable, and persistent.

            One veteran, John, was a ninety year old man who served in WWII  in Africa, then Korea, and finally Vietnam. After our presentation he stated he would once again be visited by nightmares and visions from his past war conflicts. “They never seem to go away”, he declared, “and continually find their way into my thoughts and dreams.” The second individual, I watched from our position as guest speakers. He was a young man bouncing around a very small baby who couldn’t be more than a month old. After placing his tiny package into a near-by stroller, he just stood there, listening and watching. Shortly after our talk, I walked over to where he was standing and asked if he was a veteran. “Yes”, he responded. He had served several tours in combat. Much like the stories I told of a few of my university students who tried to return to school after war, he also dropped out, unable to withstand the innocence of a campus youth who have never been exposed to war’s trauma. Now he was in the process of reorganizing his life as a new father/husband, and finding a fulfilling purpose for his life. A life that he will have to fight for in order to live fully.  A life with struggles. Much like his combat encounters, he will have to accept and move forward. A life with some sorrows that must be endured. And a life created with his special song that must be sung with great passion.

            So here is wishing peace to all the John’s that went through too many battles and still struggle with their demons after such a very long time. And for all the young Patrick’s who are composing their own unique melodies.

          May their ballads be full of love, laughter, and happiness.

 

           

 

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

 

            It has been a really long Memorial Day Week and we are truly exhausted.

            For the last six days we have been privileged to be a part of bringing the large version (80%) Traveling Vietnam Wall to Fort Collins,Colorado. The city of Fort Collins put in its request back in 2003 to host this special event over Memorial Day Weekend. With extensive planning throughout the last six months, the Veterans Plaza Committee of Northern Colorado wondered how many people might visit the Wall and pay homage to all who made the ultimate sacrifice in service to their country.

             Our answer came and all were humbled.

            Thousands came daily. They came to pay their respects. They came to pray. And some came to simply heal a bit more. Seeing the names of classmates and friends lost in battle is sad indeed, but viewing the names of fallen comrades with whom you served is far more profound.

            I watched as young children were educated about how all those names got on the structure.  One small child innocently asked, “You mean they are all dead?” For this tiny boy it was hard to comprehend such a large number. For those who served it was even harder to comprehend and accept once again the huge price of war.

            The Vietnam Wall is more than a memorial. It is a reminder to our nation of what we did wrong in welcoming our young men and women back after serving overseas. That lesson, I believe has been learned. However, there is so much further we need to grow. As our military returns from war, as a nation we need to make sure that they are comforted, healed, and given work that will allow them to have a solid future. And we need to make sure we are more aware of those veterans and families who have endured a great deal in the name of freedom. They are the silent minority and too many are finding it gut-wrenching hard to reintegrate back into their communities.

            After observing the thousands of individuals who visited the Traveling Vietnam Wall these last many days, I truly believe we, as a community/nation, have the will to accomplish this task of human restoration.

            What is hard, is taking the time during our very busy days to notice what needs to be done and then do it. Each small step we take moves all of us closer to a healthier and more humane nation.

            God does truly bless America when we take the time to meet the needs of others.

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

 

 

            Every so often we get asked a question about why past war veterans like those from World War II seemed not to suffer as greatly from Post-Traumatic Stress. Our answer is that “they did” but as in all past wars very few knew what they were experiencing or how to talk about such a silent wound. Who would understand their despair? Who would judge them for being inferior, less courageous? How could they talk about what they were suffering when there were no words/names to this despondency?

            Once again, one of our friends sent us an article by Duane Jeffrey, an emeritus professor of biology at Brigham Young University. The article was titled, “Mental Malfunction in Mankind’s Wars. The author gave some staggering statistics about World War II veterans both American, British, and even German troops.  It made me wonder, not that these veterans were troubled by Post-traumatic Stress, but that they somehow were able to move forward each day not ever knowing or understanding what was happening to them.

            When we read about the various battles of any war, it is pretty obvious that the horror and devastation of what our young men and women went through was beyond mere words. Mr. Jeffrey’s writes, More than 1,393,000 U.S. military personnel were treated for psychiatric “breakdowns” in WWII. Forty percent of all medical discharges were for psychiatric reasons. That amounted to 504,000 troops formally discharged due to “psychiatric collapse.” The battle for Okinawa alone produced some 26,000 cases of psychiatric stress and care.

Teams of psychiatrists, social workers, and psychologists tried to screen men headed for combat, to identify which would reach a breaking point and which would not. This proved fruitless: It soon turned out that anyone, everyone, had a breaking point.”

            In addition, he went on to write, that during the battle of Guadalcanal more than 500 Marines were reduced to “sensitivity to sharp noises, periods of amnesia, tendency to get panicky, tense muscles, tremors, hands that shook. … Men were frequently close to tears or very short tempered.” 

            According to Dr. Jeffery’s research, a report in 1946 indicated that severe emotional trauma in infantry soldiers occurred “in the first 90 days of combat”. The article went on to state that “of those soldiers who survived 60 days of fighting on Normandy’s beaches and the hedgerows immediately inland from there, fully 98 percent… became psychiatric casualties”.

            After reading this article, it made me pause to once again wonder how much our current military can take when being deployed for so many tours. Since we have known about these statistics for decades, why are we asking so few to continually sacrifice so much? Surely as a nation we can and should do better.

            Over this Memorial Day weekend, be sure to not only thank every veteran you may know, but to pray for those and their families still serving.

           And lest we forget, remember those who made the supreme sacrifice and never returned home.

Guest Blog:

 by Jim Fountaine, Vietnam Veteran

A man of eighteen years, barely dry behind the ears hears Uncle Sam’s call and in eight short weeks the change is as radical as a caterpillar into a Butterfly. Only this change has no beauty to it. A young boy is transformed into a soldier, an instrument of war.

            The days of taking his girl to Lover’s Leap, skipping class to go fishing are gone. He is thrust into a world of violence against his fellow man. He begins to see the ravages of war. He learns to kill, not for sport or for food, but for territory, ideals. He does learn these skills with dedication and without question because he is doing what he is ordered to do!

            Then, suddenly, he is thrust in a world of pain, death, blood and pure fear.  He sees things that no amount of education or training has prepared him for. His friends are now few and close, yet distant because getting too close will cause pain when that friend is no longer there. The cold, damp, heat, loneliness become his constant companion. Sometimes he tries to deaden the pain with booze. He fights himself to bury what he sees. He keeps doing his job without emotion because he feels if he feels he’ll go nuts.

            Then suddenly it’s all over and he sheds his uniform and finds himself back on main street U.S.A.  When he sees his old school mates he finds he no longer has anything in common with them. He cannot talk about his experiences because they won’t understand. He finds he has had his youth robbed from him. He no longer trusts those around him with the ease he once did.

            He has wounds you cannot see; not wounds of the body but wounds of the soul, the mind and the spirit, and no one can see them. No one can see the scars. He drifts back into a time when he felt the pain for real. He seeks out answers he cannot find. At times he feels out of control, so tries to find things he believes that will give him control like booze, drugs or he buries himself in work almost to the point of exhaustion.

            He withdraws from relationships for fear of loss. He rejects authority for that authority brought him harm in the past. He feels alone in a vast world that doesn’t seem to care. He hurts, but no one can see the wounds; no one hears his cries for help. He is judged by people by what they see on the surface. They don’t see the Unseen Wounds in him. They don’t hear his silent cries and all he can do is ask, “Why can’t you see what this is doing to me?”

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

 

 

What is it that keeps someone going when everyone else seems to be giving up? We hear about such individuals on television, read about them in magazines, and if we are really lucky, we even know a few personally. When trying to put together some common traits of these resolute beings, it is interesting to see what it is that keeps them going.

For some it is religion; a deep faith in a higher source that is walking the journey of a demanding life with them. For others it is more about spirit than religion – spirit being defined as the vital force that characterizes a human being as being alive or a sense of self and energy. Yet, for many it is as simple as living for a cause that is greater than the personal comfort of the self. The vast amount of veterans we have been around have a profound abundance of this trait. Perhaps living beyond oneself came as a result of serving their country even when it meant the possibility of death, bodily injuries, and emotional distress.

In combat, soldiers woke up every morning to face a foe that was ever present. Seeing the price of war and dealing daily with personal losses was a constant of their battle experience. There was no such thing as giving-up or giving-in because it meant that it would let their fellow troops down.

Perhaps the greatest battle for many is when they return home. The challenge of trying to reintegrate into a community which has essentially been isolated from war. Families, spouses, children, friends, coworker – most are truly grateful for the warrior’s sacrifice. We try to understand, to be patient and encouraging, yet, there is absolutely no way any of us who have not been in a combat situation can fully comprehend such devastating experiences.

Therefore, choosing persistence is an option that allows the person to move forward. It is a choice that the vet must make every day. It is a choice that spouses, children, families, and friends must make every day. And it is a choice that Winston Churchill proposed in his statement… “Never give in, never, never, never — in nothing, great or small —- never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.”

And this is the true essence of persistence. And last, a very special quote from Winnie the Pooh,

Promise me you’ll always remember: You are braver than you believe,

And Stronger than you seem,

And smarter than you think.

(A.A. Milne)

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

 

I saw God today. He appeared in many forms and shapes. Some were tall with crippled arms and legs. Some were young with broken hearts and tangled minds. One was weathered with a long, white-bearded, grizzly face. Amazing how God changes and morphs into such diverse appearances. Yet, each face had eyes that seemed to explain wisdom, pain, and hope.

As with such celestial beings, God tends to surround himself with legions of angels. They support, guide, and maintain an environment of light and joy. You see, God cannot do all the tasks he has to accomplish without some assistance.

Such was my experience with the second annual Wounded Warrior Event held in Saratoga,Wyoming. The faces of God traveled in metal chariots through high mountain ranges and wide fields of swaying hay. When the convoy arrived at their destination they were welcomed by the hosts of the Saratoga Resort. Once settled in rooms filled with cowboy furnishings, God was taken to the beautiful Upper Cedar Creek Ranch owned by Tom and Dixie Arthur. Horses and a special mule named Henry awaited His arrival ready to gently carry God to a pristine mountain lake where he could rest, fish, and replenish his mind, heart, and spirit. Angels continually encircled him, focused on quietly serving and ensuring His few hours on the mountain were peaceful and revitalizing.

The following morning God had one more opportunity to experience the splendor of hisWyoming landscape where He engaged in amazing fishing at Big Creek Ranch. New adventures lead by Mark Dunning facilitated hours of fun and entertainment. The day culminated in an evening barbecue with appreciative community members and the staff of the Saratoga Resort led by general manager, Susan Wallace. Each simply sought one last chance to say thank you. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for your courage.

Finally, God was sent on His way with a goodbye breakfast provided by the town’s American Legion Post.

Yes, I saw God today and I was blessed, both by his presence and his multitude of angels who continue to give so much to keep us safe and free. And once again I realized how even God within every individual needs time to rest, to replenish, to experience peace in order to persevere with the journey ahead. As you go through your hectic days, take time to see God in those who pass your way and be grateful for the divine in each being’s special presence.

by Janet & Tony Seahorn

 

 

            Another Memorial Day. Another opportunity for a barbecue or a day off. Another few hours, perhaps, to sleep in and do absolutely nothing. Not a bad thing at all, yet not quite the purpose of the day.

           What then is that purpose of a day to remember? By definition, Memorial means preserving the memory of a person or thing…something designed or adapted to preserve the memory of a person, an event, or anything belonging to past time… a record; (The Living Webster’s Dictionary, p. 595).

            Originally it was a day set aside to commemorate and honor those individuals who died serving in war. I wonder, however, how many younger American’s know or understand this special day?

            In preserving the reason for Memorial Day, what then should we remember? Perhaps it is not as important to reminisce about all of the bloodshed, awfulness, and destruction of war. More importantly it would serve us well to think of the characteristics of those who fought in any war, past and present. Characteristics such as courage, honor, selflessness. Characteristics such as humility, perseverance, and optimism. Perhaps another lesson of Memorial Day is to keep in mind the huge cost of war in hope those future generations will never have to pay such a price. You see, so many of our past and present military fought for precisely this reason. They went to war to keep not just their future sons and daughters safe, but all of America’s sons and daughter, grandsons, granddaughters…

            Therefore, Memorials should not merely be a time for sadness, but also a time for joy and pride in the valor and goodness of spirit of our service men and women.

            So this Memorial Day may each of us take time to say a prayer of gratitude to our military young and old and their families, and may each of us say with pride and vigor…

 GOD BLESS AMERICA.  THE LAND OF THE FREE

 

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