Veteran Life

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 too close,

but when one wants to talk about it,

what does one do?

Perhaps, find another veteran,

knowing we are all comrades,

better because we served,

ones who answered the call,

be it in war or peace.

Maybe attend a discussion group,

one led by one with experience.

In some cases, go one on one

with a professional, 

someone who’s heard it all.

Most of us don’t look 

like we need this, but

most of us also don’t look like

those recruitment posters,

“The few, the proud…”,

but we feel like it,

even amid painful recollections.

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 sure 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 to hear.

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,

difficult memories shared.

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 relive, remember or try to forget it.

Today I welcome them home,

tell them, whether I have met them or not,

I appreciate, honor and love them.