Being the only veteran in a room
is like speaking a foreign language,
or thinking in one, as you seek
another who lets you feel understood.
Most of the veterans I know
don’t talk too much about it,
especially those who went to war,
but I have learned that
the more you reveal your story,
speak or write of your experience,
the more you heal.
There’s a weight in keeping it close,
even when one wants to talk about it.
So what does one do?
Perhaps, find another veteran,
one who answered the call,
be it in war or peace,
knowing we are all comrades,
better because we served.
Most of us don’t look like
those recruitment posters,
“The few, the proud…”,
but we feel like it.
We know war is fought by kids,
too young to drink,
too young to vote,
not too young to die.
They’re trained, schooled in battle,
but there’s no way to prepare them
for what it’s like the first time
one fires on another person,
and there’s no good way to prepare them
for when they return to civilian-hood,
taking the long journey back,
hearing bumper sticker thank you’s,
well meant but awkward.
There are manuals for how to create soldiers,
but few directions for creating veterans,
why the VA, Legion, DAV, VFW matter,
the places where the bond can be recaptured.
I’m grateful I survived to have earned the right
to tell my brothers and sisters that I get them,
to acknowledge that they all experienced
Dangerous Duty.
They trained for it, lived it, survived it,
and forget, relive or remember it,
and today I welcome them home,
tell that, whether I have met them or not,
I honor them.
