First off, Happy Birthday Devil Dogs. Second, what the heck was I thinking?!?!
I have dubbed this stage in our life as the season of firsts…to date this year we have survived no less then three hallmark holidays, two birthdays, three if you count mine, which I do not mainly because I had become accustomed to a lack of fanfare, a day of remembrance, a celebration of freedom, back to school (a mom holiday, am I right?), and our favorite, All Hallow’s Eve. Looking forward I knew, from the aforementioned days that we were getting ready for some big ones…ya know, the one with the turkey and the jolly ole fat guy. I forgot to consider the weight that Veteran’s Day and the Marine Corps Birthday might bear. Memorial Day was a blur, sure we remembered but there is something raw about right now that makes the well wishes of Semper Fidelis in my newsfeed feel a little more weighty than normal. I would like to do what I always do and blame the moon, the transformational power to shed the old and step into the new right now is quite unparalleled haha, but that is a post for another day.
Really, it is that I forget. I forgot. I need to be constantly reminded because the pain of the last years was often so immense it outweighed anything worth celebrating that came before it. And today was a big reminder. The struggle was, as they say, real. And the struggle bus had definitely run over the good, the best, and the legacy, at least for me. So in honor of the birthday of the Corps, and as that reminder for me and a precursor to the story for you, I share this part…
I had never been to any event quite like a Marine Corps Birthday Ball that first time. The patriotism, the ceremony, the uniforms. It was a lot for a want to be hippy, academic, 20 year old supposed system challenger to handle, but I was sold. I drank the kool-aid, I wanted the life, the duty, the sacrifice for something greater than my little self. Even then, 16 or so years ago, the medal stack was something to rival the majority of the room. I forget that, all the time. I remember then teasing him about how much noise he made and would laugh as a couple years later, when he would return to the fleet from recruiting duty, young Marines would stop and ask for pictures, as if he was a celebrity. The medals, the ribbons, the insignia told the story even when he wouldn’t. I forget. I need reminding of this.
And I need you to know, whatever I end up sharing here, that the important part is that there was sacrifice for a greater good, for lives none of us would or could ever know, for events that have not even happened yet. It makes the hardest days worth something. It makes looking at “the stack” which will never grace another uniform or appear in photos with eager young Devil Dogs, a beacon of light in the dark days of the loss. And not just this year, but all the years that preceded the physical death. In fact, when people ask how I have managed to stay afloat this year I often tell them that the end was the easiest part, the death was easy, it was the living that was hard.
After he passed, there was a photo of him and I shared attached to a fundraiser, dressed in our birthday best, and someone actually commented about the legitimacy of his medals. The person even tagged Stolen Valor. I shook my head and laughed because I know it is crazy to see someone so decorated alongside the copy that he had taken his life, succumbed to the service connected injury of Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome in the worst of ways. But this is the secret about PTSD…the strong, the accomplished, the normal, the brave, no one is immune to it. And one of the things I hope to do with this new chapter, beyond encouraging those of you in your own personal storms, is to help change how we look at and treat our heroes, our spouses, and our kids with PTSD.
But for now, I’ll simply settle for being reminded.
Semper Fi Devil Dog
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Finding Om in the OMG 