Lessons for Civilian interactions with Veterans, 101.
SOLDIER STORIES: Healing one memory at a time.
Dear Mrs. Collins,
June 26th, 2010.
This is the last picture that was taken of your son before he died.
I was there. I carried his body. I tried to save him for you, maam.
We were on our way to the DFAC in this picture, trying to squeeze in one last meal before our mission that night. I’m sitting to his right, talking about how much I hate the chicken in the DFAC, but that I was going to eat it anyway. I was starving.
In the next few seconds, he will tell me how much he misses your cooking. And how he would give anything to have a plate of your fried chicken sitting in front of him. He missed your cooking more than anything.
I’m so sorry, Mrs. Collins.
Words cannot express how sorry I am.
He was my soldier, and he was supposed to be with me that night… but I was upset with him and didn’t want him in my truck. I reassigned him to the truck he died in. All I could think when I pulled him out, covered in his blood, was, “Dear God, what have I done?”
I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe I just carried his dead body from the truck. I started CPR anyway… I wanted to save him for you. I tried as hard as I could… but I failed.
I am so so sorry.
excuse me while i fucking cry.
you dont even learn cpr in cls, nor would it help if hes bleeding, airway breathing circulation. Also no one in this photo is even named collins.
You caught me. I’m a complete fraud. Way to go hero.
Either you’re a liar or a murderer, why would you do chest compressions on someone who is bleeding to death.
A.) He wasn’t bleeding to death. His head came apart when I lifted him out of the truck, so I had the added bonus of cleaning dried cerebral fluid from under my fingernails after recovery. He was dead from the second I got to his side, I was just too traumatized to believe it.
B.) I tore off his body armor and did chest compressions, because people do shit that doesn’t make sense when they’re in shock. My brain couldn’t process the fact that my soldier was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. Reality collapsed, my objective thinking disappeared, and I fell back on the level of my training. Which was trying to save his life anyway.
C.) He has his father’s last name, not his mother’s maiden name. Ever heard of a divorce?
D.) You are an absolutely worthless, servile piece of shit, and you can go fuck yourself from here to eternity. Have a good day.
I sincerely cannot believe how insensitive that fucking prick is
[This post is making a second appearance this afternoon for a very specific reason. To create visibility of and awareness to a perfect example of How Not To Communicate With A Veteran. I recognize that civilians in various sectors have some measure of experience. That has zero parallel to combat action, combat zone trauma, and combat scenarios. Under no circumstances should one find it logical to critique the actions and decisions of a veteran to the degree demonstrated above. This is crass, ignorant, and immature.
I’ll even go a step further and say this. Any individual who reblogs a post directly from /my/ blog and pulls this type of shit will receive zero tolerance. Your blog will be reported for harassment through the proper channels. And your ISP will be reported in the same fashion. Bear in mind that what I deem proper channels may well terrify you and make you piss your pants before all is said and done. There is an epidemic of suicide plaguing our veterans, and you’re going to pull silly, asinine shit like this? With all due respect (which in this case is none), fuck you, troll. -R]