Soldiers and their grief

This blog is about grief. It’s not about defining grief, recovering from grief, working with those who grieve, understanding the purpose and function of grief. It’s just about what I see as a psychologist who specializes in grief, as a certified traumatologist, and as Director of GriefNet. I began writing this blog on Memorial Day and now we're heading to Armistice day, sad days for those who have lost someone through military conflict. I think of my friend whose son went to Iraq, came back with PTSD, was introduced to drugs that eased his pain while still in the service, then changed to street drugs when he was discharged. He died from an overdose. I think of him as a soldier who gave his life for us. He was one of the many returning vets for whom coming home meant peril, as explained in the front page one Sunday’s NYT: http:// I think of my uncle who was in the last of the Cavalry and fought the Japanese in Burma. They re-opened Stillwell’s Road and took 2,000 mules loaded with supplies over the Himalayas to resupply the Nationalist Chinese. He got malaria, dengue fever, and amoebic dysentery. His Captain did not know if there would be even a field hospital where they were headed: there were no roads, no maps, and no certainty of where they’d meet the Chinese. They had only Kachin tribesmen for guides. So my uncle was given a mule to ride, one with supplies, and two pistols and was sent back they way they had come, following the well trodden path but not knowing if the locals would be as friendly to one man as they had been to the hundreds. They were, but most of the time he was totally alone. He said he felt as though he was on the moon: no planes, no phone wires, no sounds because he was above the elevation that could support life. It took him two weeks to get to Allied forces and a hospital, and 18 months to recover from his illnesses. He did not talk about the War until seeing Saving Private Ryan, the only film my uncle ever saw twice. He said they got it right – it was the only realistic depiction of war and combat he’d seen. Then he began to tell his story, first for a local TV show and then by writing his memoirs. He let me be his editor. After learning the whole story I cried and said, “So, Uncle Don. You did all that stuff for us?” That caught him short and he had to consider it awhile. Finally he said, “Well, yes, I guess I did!” sounding surprised. I had to hug and kiss him and tell him thank you. Of course he was embarrassed, but he was also tickled. It also made it easier for him to begin writing his story. “Old soldiers never die, the song goes, “They just faaaade away.” My uncle faded a few years back and I miss him dearly. But strangely, when I miss him, I am not overwhelmed with sadness. It’s poignant because I so enjoyed spending sixty whatever years with him in my life. I always think of a piece of wisdom he gave me, or something he described about the war, or riding horses with him when I was two and keeping the secret we were going to do that from my grandmother until afterwards. My big, strong uncle always protected me, so it was a big delight to learn about what he did in WWII, but never a surprise. All the fighting, the hiking, the climbing, the training on horseback, succeeding at the mission – that’s just: “Of course! That’s my Unca Donald!!” I wish everyone who has lost a loved one in service feels this same sense of pride and joy in having known them. On those special days, and every day, we honor them all.

Why

Grief is now out of the closet in the media and, occasionally, in social conversation.  But by and large in most first world countries, death and grief are to be avoided in any personal way.  Since 1994 I've been reading semi-private emails from the bereaved in the support groups at GriefNet.  I realized last year that I've actually learned a lot from people who come to these safe havens to share their stories of their loss and to bear witness to the grief of others.

Seemed like something to blog about, but I kept waiting for the right time, for my head to get organized, to have less work, for all the atoms of the universe to be in the right order....  Meanwhile I carefully was saving all my writings in a file, waiting for The Day.  What pushed me over the edge was trying to post a comment on my daughter's blog.  Comments had to come through certain providers, and in figuring that out I accidentally got brought to this site where I had already created an account for myself that I'd forgotten all about.

Coincidence?  Divine Intervention?  I didn't stop to ponder.  I just plunged.

So that's my introduction.  Follow if you're interested.  If you're seeking grief support, go to www.griefnet.org.