More and more across this nation, restaurants are offering meals at no or reduced cost to those who have served our nation.  It is a wonderful gesture that often produces more than a little misunderstanding and even invective from those who seem to feel it is not right.  One time, while standing outside one place (with a long line of other Veterans), a couple came out and seeing those waiting to go inside observed, “Look at all the freeloaders!”  A retired MARINE, who was in line in front of me thought to do some attitude adjustment on them, but I cautioned him against such by telling him that we had served as we did to ensure the freedoms of such who are freeloaders (those who never served).

These meals offered in thanks for the service that Veterans have provided our nation, and we as a group do appreciate this, but some just don’t get it.  A good friend (and well-meaning I am sure) commented on Facebook about a fellow Veteran, and I were eating at a local place, “…enjoying your free meal?”  For the last several days, I’ve thought of that and in the interests of attempting to explain how I feel about the comment (and the offer of such meals annually). For a meal (or anything) to be “…free…” it has to have been, “…given or available without charge…”  So, are these meals truly “…free..?”

While it is true that Veterans do not have to pay cash for what we eat at local restaurants, there is a charge that we do pay over and over and will continue to do so while we live.  Those who have “…seen the elephant…” (a phrase referring to, “…gaining experience at a significant cost..,” initially referring to those men who fought in the Mexican-American War and the Civil War of the mid-1800’s.  In the years that followed, this phrase fell out of use but has recently once again gained some popularity.  This ‘elephant,’ in whatever form it may take, is something experienced that once ‘seen’ is not easily or ever forgotten.

Years later something unrelated or totally innocuous can bring to mind the horror of what was once experienced, the result being what is now called Post Traumatic Stress.  In my case, something that happened 45 years ago came rushing back while I was attending a seminar on PTS.  After listening to one speaker and while going to get some coffee during a break, a friend asked me what I thought of the speaker.  Suddenly I was back in that nightmare and could do little but break down and cry at the memory.

Since that day I have been refused care at the VA (having ‘only’ been a Veteran of submarines and everyone knows they never saw combat), but through the kindness of several friends have begun Equine Assisted Psychotherapy, which has made a difference.  I have battled depression and suicidal ideations at times and tried different pharmacological treatments, mostly without effect.  I joke about how my hands shake, often suggesting to others who notice that I would be perfect working for an establishment making milkshakes.  With my hand tremors, I have difficulty eating or drinking at times and despite medication there is little, if any, improvement.
So, getting back to my “…free…” meal; Veterans have earned the thanks of the nation we protected.  Many of our friends never came home; some returned scarred physically while some, like me, retain wounds that seemingly remain invisible but no less real. 

Yes, I did not ‘pay’ for that meal on Veteran’s Day, but I will continue to pay every day.  When you see a Veteran receiving such consideration, please don’t envy us our ‘free’ meal.  Trust me, we paid for it!

It has been over 40 years since I was in the Navy or at least since some of the events that seem to have such an impact upon my life even today.  As my previous post alludes to, most of those events will remain behind a curtain that keeps me from sharing it with anyone.  As a pressure cooker with a faulty valve, over time this will lead to a catastrophic failure of the pressure cooker and the person so impacted. 

The VA seems less than adept at handling such problems even with active-duty personnel; for those of us who are of by-gone days (makes me feel like I sailed with John Paul Jones), often the only response we receive is a shrug and a finger pointing us to the exit.  To be told by some pencil-neck bureaucrat whose most dangerous activity involves driving to and from work that I am “only” a veteran of submarines and so am ineligible for assistance and/or compensation was a demonstration of how my faith in Christ has changed me.  Previously said person would be either in the morgue or ICU, but I just shook my head and stood aghast at the ignorance and lack of understanding on the part of many of those who make such decisions.

Even when a friend snuck me in the back door (as it were) to be seen by one of the staff psychologists in the PTSD clinic who diagnosed me with PTSD, even then he had to admit that regardless of the confirmation of my need for help, they had none to offer me!  Through a series of ‘happenstances’ (I do love the way God can work) I met Amy Gressler, a psychotherapist with Harbor Reins who suggested a rather unusual form of therapy to address my struggles; equine assisted psychotherapy. 

The combination of one-on-one therapy in an office setting with working with the horses at the Corral is almost magical in uncovering the hidden emotions and rationale that serves only to cause more and more pain.  Often what is uncovered is not pretty; the raw memories can cause us to explode at those with whom we are the most comfortable, those with whom we feel safest.  The pain (as with any sin) is passed along from generation to generation (often in more than one way), but caring folks and loving families can bring healing over time.

What has been so wonderful about my experience at the Corral is the long-suffering animals that most would put off as just ‘dumb animals.’  Two horses in particular that I’ve been working with have shown me how the phrase ‘horse sense’ must have come into being.  A definition I found puts it nicely; “…sound practical judgement independent of specialized knowledge or training…”  These horses do not have any formal training, but they can sense emotion and tension better than many people I know (especially those at the VAMC in Durham!).  Bob (a Belgian…just picture needing a parachute) and Chester have taught me much about myself and how to get along with others when it is not possible to have a conversation per se, but oh how we do talk! 

One of my favorite parts of each weekly session is at the end when Amy tells me to relax against the horses’ side and relax, matching my breathing to his.  There have been a few times when I could almost fall asleep; once Amy told me that the horse (it was Bob I think) seemed to be relaxing as I did.

Yeah, there is still a journey before me, but with the help of such friends as Bob and Chester (as well as Amy and Lisa), it is one that is doable.  Thanks for reading along with me on this part as well.