Poppy People

My father stood at the water's edge to watch the memorial dedication to Korean war veterans. A local war veteran and businessman had rallied community support to create the small, isthamus monument, and my dad had come up from down state to see it dedicated.

Standing there in the fading autumn light, years of sadness seemed to flood over him. Losses too deep, could not be erased by bronze, rock and official speeches.

My dad was a gentle man who grew up on a farm in the 30's and 40's and wanted to be like his older brother he admired. So he enlisted in the Army. He spent 18 months on the ground in Korea, seeing things no sane person could endure, like so many before him and after him. They called him home when his father was dying, but all the bravado faded. Time and again he'd try to collect fragments of his spirit, but he could not hold them together. No marching songs sung in the car, or drunken claims to toughness could change the broken man who tried over and over to be himself again.

In those days military veterans were not screened or treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, (PTSD). They weren't treated for anything, but told to be men. Be tough. Warriors.

But they were warriors without a warrior society. Cut loose, left to find their way when the nightmares raged inside of them. Dad kept a few warriors close to him; mostly older men who served in WWII and kept ribboned medals in velvet boxes. One man died when his house burned down from an eternity candle meant for his grave. He fell into a drunken sleep mesmerized by its flame. Another died bloated with liver failure.

As he grew older, the conflict raged more fiercely inside of my father with ghosts more taunting and frightening. We thought it was some failure of character.

Only last year did I learn his behaviors are typical of veterans with PTSD; a problem that must be treated, it only grows worse left untreated. We know now that PTSD is increasingly reported in our military veterans returning from war, and it is our duty to help them through early screening and treatment. We need to save their lives, the lives of their families, and to save their communities from the loss of their unique capacity. Military service must not ask them to lose a living life too.

My gentle-spirited dad, a misplaced warrior, died of cancer the following spring. You can see the little island where the memorial is built on, from the highway. Its bronze bigger- than- life soldiers stand side by side supporting each other. Warriors in a warrior society. You were not flawed, dad, just left behind in time. We will not leave anyone behind again. Promise, dad. I promise.