Ferguson Files/Berkeley Bulletin

Actions are popping up all across the nation and, here in St. Louis Metro Area, the movement is reinvigorated.  Today a group decided to “inconvenience” people at the local airport.  That takes amazing courage considering just what kind of law enforcement can be brought to bear at an airport.  But it was successful.

About 7pm a lot of us sat down to a community dinner and wellness fair that had been pulled together by Mama Cat and Marta.  Lots of good food and great company was just the start of a fantastic evening.  There were masseuses, reiki healers, an acupuncturist, and even nurses doing health checks.  People table hopped, hugged, swapped updates on people still in jail or who’d gotten out etc.  We even welcomed new members to the “fam”, though I’m sure they’d rather not have had to join the way the Martins’ did.  In other words, probably much like a family reunion.

We, who’ve been out on the lines for months or only days, quickly learn who is who (though you may not catch their name) and what folks are about.  C can cook, A does a mean cocoa, J is loud, M is always live, L is helpful, H is a dedicated streamer, N is always in the middle of mischief, E is noting things for her artwork, B has his camera everywhere, P-C is good for a hug, M is writing poetry, K is doing healing art and on and on and on.

Yes, everyone is good for something and everyone can do something.  Please, look into yourself and find something you are passionate about and are capable of doing.  Then, take that first step outside your comfort zone and do whatever it is that you can and want to do in and with the movement.

Midwestern Memorial Day: A Reverie

      Old soldiers march in step to the high school bands of local youths.  Places once filled by WWII buddies keep time with their aged cadence.  Korean and Vietnam veterans still have a decent cohort showing, though they are also victims of times’ attrition.  The young ones, the boys and girls of our current wars, some of them march, but not like in the old days when war was more popular, or at least soldiering was more common.

Flags and flowers bloom in the local cemetery.  Abrupt bursts of patriotic color placed by local Scouts, veterans or even family.  21 gun salutes and bugle calls bring tears to the eyes of many, though everyone tries not to meet the haunted eyes of the young widows and widowers in the “new section”.  It’s too hard now.  Everyone has an opinion on the wars, the military, and their deeds.  We don’t know if they went because they were committed to the cause, just trying to get a job or even a college education.  We don’t know and, though we care, we duck our heads as we pass, fearful of catching their eyes.  Afraid of having to stop and speak to them about something we peripheral mourners know nothing about.

The coals in the BBQ are almost gone completely to ash.  Not even enough heat for one more marshmallow.  Remnants of the feast, parade goodies and tiny flags lie strewn in the yard.  Citronella smoke vies with the dusk, making cleaning up a futile effort.  Children are slathered with lotion for the “sunkisses” of the day, and tucked up into bed.  The friends and neighbors are home now and quiet.  Even the dog has crept out from under the table in the yard where he was hiding from the fireworks.  The beginning of summer is off to it’s unofficial start…except for one thing, the one thing a soldier and their family never forgets…the dead, dying and wounded we’ve left behind.

It’s not that we don’t want to remember.  It’s all over the TV and such that today was Memorial Day.  There was a parade after all.

Bad Night at Black Rock

It’s a term a friend used to use for those nights you can’t sleep, can’t watch TV, can’t do much of anything but scramble inside your brain pan. It was his reply to me when I’d say, “c’mon, let’s go for a walk. Walking the halls is better than walking the walls.” I even tried a walk and, while it’s nice outside, it’s also damp, dark and just as creepy as what goes on inside my head on these kind of nights.
These are the nights when all the memories and might have beens get jumbled up together and thrown about in your thoughts so that you can’t quite pick out just what it is that is bugging you and keeping you awake. It is reminiscent of a far off storm. You know,when you think it’s the sounds of semis on the highway, but then you realize it’s the mutter of thunder in the distance instead. The hair on your neck stirs with the static laden air of lightning that’s not near enough to be seen. It’s just enough to give you the goose over grave shivers, but not let you know what’s up with the Universe.
I find myself craving a burger in a diner that no longer exists. I’ve checked theater times for films I cannot afford to go see and fares for flights to somewhere, anywhere but here. I am wondering who’s going or coming tonight as I tick off the names and faces that have passed beyond this kind of whisper laden wandering. Definitely whispering, not voices in my head but from it, in a way. The voices of those I’ve held, who held me, who I helped through nights like this as they’ve helped me. Strangest thing is, it has a soundtrack, from the late 60’s and 70’s, running too. Jimi, Janice, CCR, Dylan, Springfield and others. Maybe it’s my brother, haven’t seen or spoken to him in years. It might be, it fits the timeline.
Wish I could shake it, it’s hours until I can start to call around checking on folks so I guess I’ll just listen to the music of this bad night.

Support Our Troops! A Crime in 3 Wars. Part III

As before, this story is substantively true in that only names, specific dates and locations may be changed in order to protect this particular service member’s well being as they are currently still dependent on VA services. Because it refers to fairly recent events, I feel a trigger warning is warranted. Thank you for reading:

Part III: My Broken Children

I just said goodnight to another broken child, the latest in a string that stretches back to 1975, a boy we’ll call D. This one is a bit special though. D was a “stray” my son, X, brought home their freshman year in high school. He stayed over, a lot. His family life was sketchy and often there wasn’t food, running water or safety where he was supposed to live, so he basically lived with us for 4 years. We’re not rich, not even middle class, but I can always stretch soup and the couch is comfortable.

D and X got tight. So tight they even broke the gender barrier in the high school color guard/drill team. Not because they wanted to wave flags at football games, but that’s where the girls were. I used to say it was “two boys, a babe and a bet”. X was college bound, D was not. With 8 kids in his house, he just wanted out. We all tried to talk him out of it, there’s a war on after all. But, he signed up for early entry into the Marines. Didn’t even walk in graduation he was gone so fast after finals. He was a Lance Corporal so fast my head spun. And then he was gone. And then, what was left of him came home.

D has what was once known as a “no broken bones, no blood” disability. In other words, unless you knew him before, you’d not immediately see he has problems. The physical stuff is pretty well healed, the mental stuff, not so much. The Marines kept him for a while, stuffed him with the “PTSD cocktail” of drugs, then out processed him with full medical discharge. We knew he was hurt and coming home, but we didn’t know exactly when. It took him 3 months after discharge to show up on my doorstep. He was broke, homeless and out of food. The Marines weren’t paying him anymore because he was now “the VA’s problem” and the VA was stonewalling him on his disability payments. He couldn’t cope with many things because crowds, loud noises, strange cars, speeding cars, strangers, and people he knew but doesn’t recognize due to memory loss caused by his injury. All this and more freak him out and he doesn’t trust anyone but me, my son and, well, that’s about it.

So we pitched in to help as best as we could. My son helped him get out more, going to movies, the “hangout” park, quiet bars and such. Me, I did paperwork, ream upon ream of the stuff. A few more months passed and D was going stir crazy. It’s the Midwestern/Puritan work ethic i.e. if you don’t work, you’re worthless. Hoping for the best, I directed him to the local WalMart*, they have that much vaunted and publicized promise to give every vet who applies a job. D applied for night stocker, so he’d not be around a bunch of people. He applied three times! Not a single call back yet, though we all know they are hiring. Another broken promise to add to the tally. He keeps applying at places, for minimum wage, but no one is calling him back. I think they see “disabled veteran” and think “likely to snap on the job”.

Another 6 months passed and we got his VA somewhat straightened out, after appealing it 3 times. So he has a little money coming in now, but is appealing again as the percentage of disability allowed by the VA is less than his DD214 states. It’s barely enough to make rent, car and phone bills, but he’s trying to make it on his own, so I have my couch back, at least part time. I call him to come over and eat at least twice a week. He doesn’t know it’s a check up.

As a former USAF nurse, I also kept an eye on what the VA doctors were doing. At one point I had to go with him to get a medication adjustment. They were giving him a drug for depression, that causes anxiety and giving him a drug for anxiety that causes depression! They also had him on sleeping pills that weren’t working, but can make you psychotic if you can’t sleep when you take them. Another drug was to make him wake up but zone out when he’s awake. I found him a good therapist that takes TriCare which are scarcer than hen’s teeth, but at least I know this one won’t tell him to “suck it up! Be a Marine!” and he has a good record with PTSD.

This past Fall was really bad because he would sit at his place with nothing to do but watch cable and stew about the VA and the wreckage of his life plans. X finally convinced him to sign up for a few classes at the local junior college to get him out of the house. They aren’t in the same classes, but X made sure they were on campus at the same time, just in case. They also have a scheduled study session night. I made sure he got an Individualized Education Program, IEP, so that accommodations can be made to help him succeed.

D. applied for a Service Dog and was accepted. He’s due to get it in a few more months. I hope it helps replace his lost K-9 and gives him comfort and safety.

D came over today to get help applying for Social Security Disability/Supplemental Income, SNAP aka Food Stamps, and help with his utilities. It took hours, but it’s something I can do to help him stay afloat long enough that he might be able to salvage some sort of life after war. The thing that really kicked my ass and got dust in my eyes was when, during the 2nd application, it asked if the applicant was disabled and, after clicking “yes”, he said, “I suppose I have to get used to being useless most of the time.” The despair bloomed in the room like a toxic fog. I know what he was thinking: “I’m only 22, how can this be all there is? Why me? I was good at what I did. I had PLANS! Life sucks. I’m useless…..etc.”

We finished the paperwork, at least for now. Seems they all need new copies of everything every time, but we saved that for this weekend. Dinner was done and he wanted to get home to do homework and watch a show on TV. As I walked him to the door, I spoke to him about not kicking himself over things he can’t control and how he was worth just as much as any young man. I also told him things would get better, things change, etc. I’m not sure I believe that anymore given my experiences over the last 30+ years of dealing with the human detritus of war. A mothers’ words of comfort I suppose, though of comfort to him or me? Both I guess. All parents want their children to have a better world/life than they had. At this point, I just want the kids to have a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving.# I also gave him a hug, something he’s not let me do since the first day he came home. It’s progress and all I can hope for right now.

If you know a vet who needs some help but aren’t sure what to do, here’s a few tips from someone who’s been at it a while.

Commit or Don’t: If you commit to a wounded vet, it’s like making a promise to a child. Don’t you dare break it unless you’re in hospital or dead. Even then, make arrangements for someone to step in. No more broken promises!

Create a Safe Space: In a family, kin or chosen, make sure there is space for them to be who they are now, not as you remember them. Keep an “open door, open mind” policy in your place. Love them unconditionally. This means no strings on your help or caring for them. Don’t always try and cheer them up or “happy chat” as I’ve heard it called. They can smell fake and uncomfortable miles off. Make quiet time to just “be” with them, it helps. Hugs are good too if they’re up to it. They don’t make it all right, but they are human contact and that does help.

Volunteer: VA and Vet Centers are notoriously underfunded and understaffed. Even a non vet can answer the phone for these folks. It will also get you an in on what’s what in the VA.

Paperwork: Help them fill out, file, copy, make copies of documents they need, make sure to list passwords, usernames, etc. in a hard copy as many vets have cognitive problems due to PTSD, TBI or other types of injuries. Also, help them schedule and keep appointments. A shared calendar app is good for this aspect.

Transportation: Make sure they can get to and from where they need to go. Mass transit is often not an option for these vets. Even driving a car can be problematic and directions/GPS useless, depending on the vets’ injury.

Medical Issues: Sometimes it’s good to have a buddy system so that the vet has someone they trust there who can then reexplain things the vet might have missed. Also, check the meds! There are a bunch of doctors out there who think “one mix fits all”. It doesn’t. A huge warning flag is when they are prescribing meds to counteract the side effects of another med a person is on.

Therapy: Study after study shows that meds alone won’t do it. Even if all they do is join a vets group therapy session, it’s better to have someone else to talk to about this stuff with.

Addiction: Familiarize yourself with the signs and care enough to talk to the vet about self medicating with booze, pills, sex, shopping, whatever. It’s a band aid and it only sticks long enough to wreck your life. Find AA, Al-Anon, Nar-Anon etc. in your area and have the number handy when they’re ready to deal with it.

A place to cry: One day, some day, it always happens. Don’t judge or try to solve things, just let them cry.

I’m sure I’ve missed some things. Please let me know if you spot one I missed.

*As far as I’m concerned, WalMart is evil, but they did promise to hire vets, so it was worth a shot. Now, I think it’s worth a class action lawsuit. Anyone know an attorney?

#There is a Hell in Montana which freezes over every year though it also thaws so it’s a 50/50 proposition with the snowball. Better than the alternative 100% melt rate though.