Today I write with an exceptionally heavy heart.  On Wednesday, I received the devastating news a friend/former work peer/fellow Iraq veteran committed suicide last Saturday, November 14th.

It is absolutely impossible to capture fully the extent of my grief for so many reasons.  I don’t think there is a single one of us–family members, friends, his Former Recon buddies, instructors, and so on–who had any inkling he was struggling.  In fact, his life was choke full of so many great achievements; I’ve always known him as an avid athlete and this year completed a Master’s degree.

My connection with him began when I started working for Arizona State University and since then, we negotiated a fine balance between friends and professionals in this setting.  In times of great stress, I reached for writing like I often do.  I sat down and made notes on where our stories began together in 2013 and the changes over this time period.  It may sound funny to say I was almost immediately smitten by him when we first met.  I know ‘smitten’ is often used in the romantic sense, but he was–as some people are–someone, regardless of gender, that I was instantly drawn to and I felt quite comfortable in his presence.

I am happy to tell you why his life was so meaningful to me.  When we first met, I learned rather quickly he served in Iraq during the same time period as my first deployment.  I spent so much time on that deployment constantly taking in the numbers of injuries and killed persons and here I was finally meeting a fellow Marine from this deployment; we shared a common thread from that time in Iraq and I felt so proud to see one of our guys who made it safely home.  We laughed easily that our paths did not cross sooner as well.  He had also been at Camp Pendleton–and more specifically we’d been at the same camp within Camp Pendleton, Camp Margarita–but here we were at Arizona State University finally meeting.  He was one of the work study students in our Center when I started my career with ASU and I spent a number of semesters observing him with his peers.  He was not shy as well discussing his successes inside and outside the classroom, particularly athletics.  I had the great pleasure of participating in the Spartan Race in 2014 and we bonded over our participation in the event.  I knew I wouldn’t place, but he was supportive of my efforts.  At the event, I introduced him to my husband and watched him and a friend begin their race in an earlier heat than ours.  Later that day, I heard him cheering for me from the stands near the end of our race and I was thankful again the camaraderie that exists in the Corps was still so prevalent in my life.

As he began his Master’s program, I no longer worked with him as a peer but as his particular School Certifying Official, which I do for a number of ASU students.  With his decreased presence in the office, I recognized I knew less about him, but we still kept in touch via social media.  He constantly posted photos from various athletic competitions, his international travel adventures, and his graduation photos.  With this fall enrollment–and a huge increase in our student population–I found myself keeping less track with all my friends on social media.  My time spent on Facebook detracted significantly from my studies and so I’d only gloss through a few things when I needed a moment of reprieve.    However, I’d still greet him warmly when he’d come through our Center to say hi and take a few moments to hear how he was, as I like to do with my students.

Writing to you all today is probably the calmest experience I’ve had–since learning of his passing–in talking about what I’m going through right now.  Veteran suicide is an issue I have not taken lightly since I first came home from war.  I discussed this issue with you all earlier this year and organizations such as Mission 22 discuss it as well.  I really wish I had known he was struggling, and I wish to know when anyone I’m close to is struggling with mental health issues.

At any point in our lives, we can encounter trauma and the identities we carry in the military do not often allow us the opportunity to say “I need help” without the consequence of losing opportunities to train or deploy, and so we don’t.  As well, the stigma associated with mental health (and getting help) significantly hurts us as a community, and we lose people, like my friend Kiernan, and each death–like his–was 100% preventable.

Asking for help is not a sign of weakness.  It takes an incredible amount of courage to say “things aren’t right and I can’t fix them all alone”.  No one can.

I think about what I would have liked to say to him had I known of his  struggles.  I could have discussed the pain I experienced coming home in 2005 and feeling like I lost my purpose since there weren’t great opportunities to shine back in the States as there is in Iraq.  I could have told him how much I only wanted to go back to Iraq back then because the experience of serving there was so meaningful to me and yet, my family wanted none of that for me.  They wanted me to be safe and home.  I was specifically asked to not volunteer again, but I went out again a year later.

I think about how any one of us would have taken him to any appointment he needed and stayed in his apartment through tough times.  We’ve slept on cots–and some have slept in holes–but we would have taken shifts to help him make it through each day, if that’s what he needed.  We would have opened our own homes if he didn’t feel like being in his and fed him and cared for him, with no regard to the financial burden of caring for another person.  We would have done anything to help our friend, but we didn’t know he needed it.  And sadly, all he had to do was ask us.

I am not mad he didn’t ask for help.  I am incredibly hurt feeling like he may have thought it wasn’t there.  None of our friends are substitutes for professional help, but we are the links to get there.  We are not therapists, but we understand combat.  We are not prescription bottles of meds, but we understand when the warmth of a hug from a good friend has medicinal power.  Some of us have stood suicide watch in boot camp, MCT, at our duty stations, and perhaps, even during a tour in Iraq or Afghanistan.  We would have done it again to keep our friend safe.

His death brings up a lot of other painful memories for me, so please understand the exuberance I sometimes bring to my writing may be missing for quite some time.  There will still be moments of joy in each day and I know that’s what he would want for all of us, but I am incredibly hurt right now.

I am blessed to have a wonderful partner to share my grief with, other combat veteran friends of ours who understand this loss, and professional counselors in my community to work through my guilt that I missed some incredible clue my friend was in such pain.

A chaplain once told me “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” The stigma regarding mental health needs to go away.  We cannot afford to lose any more of our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, friends and loved ones.

The week ahead will be a busy one.  The Marine Corps’ birthday on Tuesday will certainly disrupt–happily–an already short work week.  Typically, I see Marines ‘vanish’ on this day to celebrate our birthday in official and unofficial capacities. I generally expect a diminished workforce that day because we have so many Marines in my office. Although I have not attended a Marine Corps birthday ball in a number of years, this time of year my Facebook timeline is inundated with ball photos from friends still serving.

And it’s not like the motivation completely ceases once one leaves the Corps.  Some Marine veterans might attend a friend’s unit’s birthday ball as guests or go to a local Marine veteran organization for similar festivitites. Earlier this year, Marine Corps license plates became available in Arizona.  I had the pleasure of seeing one such plate earlier this week. $17 from the fee for this specialty plate goes to the Marine Corps Scholarship Foundation.

Since Veterans’ Day falls the day after, I expect a secondary disruption to the work week.  Please note, I am not complaining!  With everything on my plate for school, I am happy to enjoy a break.  In fact, I benefit greatly from the additional day off of work to complete some school related tasks and spending time with my family.

Currently, I’m studying local veteran courts for my Research Methods class.  As many of my followers know, I’ve looked at different aspects of the veteran community since the start of my graduate program to include unpacking my own combat experiences; art therapy through the use of Guitars for Vets;  and how the Marine Corps’ represents female recruits and Marines via its Facebook page and Marine Corps Enlisted Opportunities Book (MCEOB).  Now, perhaps most importantly, I’m discovering what the veterans’ court does that is absent in other forms of the justice system.

My Veterans’ Day will be spent pulling together the research I’ve compiled for my course and also spreading a message for ‘She Wears Dog Tags’ via the contents of the package pictured below.   Thanks again for all your support.

~Cheryl

I share today’s post with a somber heart. On February 2nd, 2005, my unit lost our Watch Officer, Captain Sean Brock, and every Memorial Day, I think about the impact his death had on his family, persons I’ve never met.

Today we honor Captain Brock, among our nation’s many fallen, and I will never forget how I felt learning he was wounded and later, when he died as a result of his injuries. I was twenty at the time and as I learned afterwards, he was only twenty-nine. It stung a little bit more to know he was a fraternal twin, like me. I don’t doubt others, especially my peers and superiors working in the command center, have survivor’s guilt like I feel at times. Our base was frequently hit with mortars throughout the duration of my deployment and yet, most of us made it home.

I wrote a letter not too long ago about things I’d like to say to my mother, although she passed away in 2000, and I’ve never “said” anything specific regarding Captain Brock.  Should his family ever read these words, I think of their loved one every Memorial Day and the day of his death.  There are times throughout the year when I must be reminded of my place and he comes to mind even more.  I came home and I owe something back.  I was very anxious last night thinking of my recent frustration that companies are offering veteran discounts today.  Today is not Veterans’ Day.  Today is Memorial Day.  Some Americans chose to attend parades or memorial services; I chose to write this letter.

~C

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To Captain Brock,

I can write this letter to you now as a civilian.  Your death in 2005 transformed my life.  I felt like a tourist when I landed in Iraq, and more so before, in Kuwait.  At work though, I was not in tourist mode.  I didn’t have the time to gaze about the world around us.  There was too much to do on day shift with the mission assigned to me, our team, and all our individual contributions wove together a situational picture for the commanding generals.  I was (and still am) very proud of this assignment.  As a Lance Corporal back then, it’s not like I had the freedom to know you the way other Marines could in the command center.

I don’t know what you thought about our team of enlisted Marines working to your left.  Did you find it odd we were a mix of infantry guys stationed with G-3 and Chemical Biological Radiological and Nuclear Defense Marines, like myself?  I know I encountered Marines who naturally assumed I was a MAGTF (Marine Air Ground Task Force) Planner.

I wish I could pick your brain about the Army and Navy Liaisons who worked behind my desk.  I wish it was easier to remember people from back then.  I can only recall the Lieutenant Junior Grade’s first name was Candy and the Army Major gave me a 2nd BCT (Brigade Combat Team) coin.  Quite often, it felt strange to be surrounded by so many officers.  I wanted to make a good impression on you all and especially make my Master Sergeant proud I was on the team.

I don’t know if you’d find it stunning or embarrassing that I ignored my responsibility to burn items in the burn bin when I kept an article written about your death.  (I don’t know who printed it out but I couldn’t let the article disappear; I keep it to this day.)

There was such good insight into your life that the average American would never know about you, as one of our fallen.  I didn’t want your death to be another number on our screen.  Your life shouldn’t be just a statistic, a number thrown out among numbers when others discuss the merit of war.  You were a husband, son, brother, twin brother.  As a fellow twin, I cannot imagine the pain your twin goes through each day without you.  You chose to be a Marine, but the article revealed most what I love about people–their connections to their families, friends, and communities.  I’ve read memorial boards about you as well–you are greatly missed.

My place among the living deprives me of the opportunity to know what you see and understand in death.  I don’t know if you watched myself and Corporal Vaughn in our shared responsibility to destroy your cover and holster.  I don’t have an answer as to why we were chosen for this sacred task.  There wasn’t much blood on your things, but your blood was still there.  In burning your possessions, I feel better now about the historical use of funeral pyres and my own decision to be cremated when I die.

There were so many times I tiptoed on this notion of wishing I was there to help you and also being grateful I didn’t witness your wounds.  I was ending a phone call with my grandmother when the round landed on base.  I was over in my barracks and you were right outside of our work.  My grandmother suffered from lung cancer and during the deployment, I found out her cancer was no longer in remission.  I have no doubt she heard the round land.  It’s the loudest impact I can ever recall.  I had a few seconds, maybe 30 or less, where I could put on my game face essentially and keep her fear at bay.  I told her the normal things we tell our loved ones–I loved her and I’d try to call again soon and then I had to say goodbye.  I had to get back then to the present reality.

I’m currently reading Ashley’s War so I feel safe to tell you I don’t feel I wouldn’t have been helpful because I am a woman and you are a man.  I do understand some men feel women have no place in combat zones.  I feel like I would have been stunned for a moment if I saw you mortally injured.  I sat so close to you day in and day out for months on end, from 10 am to 10 pm until I was switched over to night crew.  It was only because my shift was changed that I was not at the operations center when the round landed.

But I knew you were injured before I went into work.  And I sat at work looking at the activity report (about you).The activity report shared the same general details like all the others before, but this time, I knew who we lost.  We had hellish days before where there’s so much activity and sadly, many losses of life, but watching the night drag on was terrible.  I felt like that activity report was taunting me.

I hope someone shared with your wife how wonderful your memorial service was; the Marines who spoke about you cared deeply for you and revealed much about your playful, adventurous side.  Once again, I couldn’t know you the way they did because of our ranks.  I am grateful though they reminded us all about who you were as an individual.

I am forever thankful our paths crossed, even for that small amount of time.  I hope as I continue to forge my own path in life, it is something you admire and see as socially responsible as a representative of the Marine Corps.

Your life will be one I always remember today and I hope in sharing this letter, many other Americans take to heart what today really means.

With the Utmost Respect and Admiration,

Cheryl