As November 11th approaches, one can’t help but to think of our veterans across North America.
The ones who fought for our country and our rights of freedom.
In their fight for freedom, many lost their lives.
My two grand fathers fought in the war. One lost an eye. He lived with disfigurement and shrapnel escaping his body for the rest of his years.
The other was shot three times in the chest and managed to live, however he never talked about it. At least, not to me.
All our soldiers came home wounded, only some of the wounds were physical.
As I think of our soldiers, words can’t begin to describe the appreciation I have for their acts of valor.
Unless we happen to be a soldier and one who has fought in the war, I suspect we can never truly understand the truth of their experience.
When I think of the broken bones and missing limbs and life time of rehabilitation, I catch only a glimpse.
For me, there is no greater wound than the wounded soul. A wound that runs so deep, you need to disappear in order to survive it.
I can’t help but parallel the similarities between our soldiers fighting overseas for our country, and our families fighting right here to keep an addicted loved one alive.
Or the junkie who isn’t quite high enough, as he sticks another needle in his vein.
Both are experiencing the type of wound, most others will never understand.
It’s a massive vacant spot in ones mid-section de-voiding self of all joy and peace of mind. It lives in hyper-vigilancy and can be easily set off by the wrong word, or look.
It’s a dark, silent, and noisy place.
It feeds on paranoia.
You walk ever so softly around it.
A wound like this changes who you were and dictates what you’ll become.
There are many who never acknowledge it. They simply tolerate the nothingness, fading into an invisible ghost, as the years pass.
Why can’t we acknowledge it?
Why is it easier to talk about broken bones and rainy days than it is to say, ‘excuse me, but I’m dying inside.’
This November 11th I’ll be saying two prayers.
One for our soldiers and their families.
And one for the casualties lost to the disease of addiction.
May you rest in peace.
Rhonda B
I never quite put the two together but you have certainly opened my eyes. I have always appreciated our veteran as well as wondered how they got through each day with what they saw and performing the jobs they did and the soldiers who still are. As for addicts I just want to be able to help them.