It's not often that I write something profound. Not often that I string together the right words, in the right order to touch someone's heart. Not often that my writing has an impact.
But every now and again...my words do just that.
On a side note...that's why I got into the business. Many people get into TV under the illusion that it's glamorous (it's not). They get in it for the fame...for the attention...for the notoriety. I got into TV to make a difference. To use this job as an opportunity to make a difference in people's lives, to open their eyes, to touch their hearts.
So, you can imagine my satisfaction when I got a 12-paragraph note from an old college friend...who just so happens to be a Marine...who just so happened to have served in Fallujah...who just so happened to be impacted by my note. Perhaps that's not entirely accurate. But he was touched by it enough to write me a letter back and share secrets, that I'm assuming, he hasn't shared with many people.
For that reason, I won't tell you who he is. What I will say is I met him my sophomore year in a cafeteria full of people. What followed, was a remarkable friendship filled with some of the goofiest and bizarre comments on his part (mild and nutty comes to mind...) and a piggy back ride across campus late one Friday night when my joints locked up and I couldn't walk. It took us a long time to get home that night (mainly because at that point in my college career, I was a bit of a chunky monkey..and he was a bean pole)...but I knew then, his friendship was one worth keeping. We kept in touch for awhile after MSU. I saw on facebook that he joined the Marines, and saw again that he was being deployed. I sent messages telling him I'd pray for him, and to come home safe, but thinking back on it now, those were hardly substantial. This Christmas was actually the first time since college I haven't mailed him a Christmas card...and after his 12-paragraph letter, I regret it terribly.
No, my dear friend...I won't say who you are...but I will use parts of your letter. Your words resonated with me. Because of my leg (and the pain medication veto given to me by my doctor yesterday) I didn't sleep all night. So, I was awake when my phone chimed to let me know I had a new e-mail, and when I saw the message was from you, I read your note with sleep-filled eyes...and I haven't stopped thinking of your words since. They're powerful...and I think people should hear them. I don't have much of a platform...but (for some reason) people do read this silly New Year's Resolution of mine, and I want those people to hear your story.
"It's hard to phrase, but what I'm trying to say, is I'm still a regular guy and I don't want people to think I'm crazy, but there's a bunch of little things that are, as I'm told, 'a normal reaction to an abnormal experience'."
He goes on to talk about how he watched the life drain from his best friend's eyes after he took a shot through the neck by a sniper. How he can't stop checking the backseat of a car before he gets in. How he gets irritated over minor things, can't sleep, and doesn't enjoy the things he once loved before he deployed. He also shared (what to him has been) a dark secret...he has PTSD. He said he doesn't normally tell people that, because he's afraid at how they'll take it...and that just breaks my heart. I'm no veteran. Shoot, I'm no soldier, but it appears to me that the war continues long after the battle field. That, those that are lucky enough to make it home, still have a long fight in front of them.
It's a mixture of ignorance and pride (hear me out). Ignorance on behalf of people back home...and pride of soldiers who are trained to be too tough to break down and speak up (Can't say that I blame them, it's just an observation...and one that my friend echoes perfectly.)
"I really think a lot of these images SHOULD be seen, by everyone. This sheltering of graphic images really does make it seem like it's all happening in some magically far-away land. It's very real. Those of us that came home all in one piece, still deal with enough problems that it could be a full-time job."
It breaks my heart. It hurts that he was going through all of this, and I had no idea. And it hurts to think of how many thousands more are fighting the same struggles...as I sit in my nice, warm house, with my nice job, and my nice, peaceful, naive existence. ::sigh::
He goes on to say how he felt underappreciated when he got home. That the majority of the support is lip service, and as shallow as some of the examples I mentioned in my post. He says the VA is woefully underfunded, yet is given the task of fighting one of the largest untold demons of our military men and women -- PTSD.
All I can say is...my heart aches for you. I've always been one of those people who wants to walk up to a vet and say, "Thank you so much for your service," when I see them in the airport, or in line at McDonald's, or after an interview...but I can never find the words. I never know what to say so I don't sound cheesy. That will change. Your words have given me perspective, and I'm thankful for that. Your story (or what little I know of it) inspires me. It motivates me to give back, to advocate for change, to use my little soap box to help in whatever way I can.
I'm thankful for your letter, for the "two cents" you said you weren't sure that I wanted (for the record...I did, and I still do). I'm thankful for your multitude of sacrifices. I'm thankful for your bravery. Thankful that you had the guts to do what so few people are brave enough to do. I'm thankful that you fought for my freedom, and I'm thankful that you came back alive. I'm thankful that you trusted me with your story. Thankful for the perspective it gave me. I'm thankful to have met you 8 years ago (seriously? 8? we're getting old) in the Landon cafeteria. Thankful that you were eating by yourself, and brave enough to talk to strangers. I'm thankful that you randomly decided to talk to some chunky girl sitting one table over...and I am thankful, and incredibly, incredibly PROUD to still call you a friend today.
And that's just my two cents...whether you want it, or not... :)
But every now and again...my words do just that.
On a side note...that's why I got into the business. Many people get into TV under the illusion that it's glamorous (it's not). They get in it for the fame...for the attention...for the notoriety. I got into TV to make a difference. To use this job as an opportunity to make a difference in people's lives, to open their eyes, to touch their hearts.
So, you can imagine my satisfaction when I got a 12-paragraph note from an old college friend...who just so happens to be a Marine...who just so happened to have served in Fallujah...who just so happened to be impacted by my note. Perhaps that's not entirely accurate. But he was touched by it enough to write me a letter back and share secrets, that I'm assuming, he hasn't shared with many people.
For that reason, I won't tell you who he is. What I will say is I met him my sophomore year in a cafeteria full of people. What followed, was a remarkable friendship filled with some of the goofiest and bizarre comments on his part (mild and nutty comes to mind...) and a piggy back ride across campus late one Friday night when my joints locked up and I couldn't walk. It took us a long time to get home that night (mainly because at that point in my college career, I was a bit of a chunky monkey..and he was a bean pole)...but I knew then, his friendship was one worth keeping. We kept in touch for awhile after MSU. I saw on facebook that he joined the Marines, and saw again that he was being deployed. I sent messages telling him I'd pray for him, and to come home safe, but thinking back on it now, those were hardly substantial. This Christmas was actually the first time since college I haven't mailed him a Christmas card...and after his 12-paragraph letter, I regret it terribly.
No, my dear friend...I won't say who you are...but I will use parts of your letter. Your words resonated with me. Because of my leg (and the pain medication veto given to me by my doctor yesterday) I didn't sleep all night. So, I was awake when my phone chimed to let me know I had a new e-mail, and when I saw the message was from you, I read your note with sleep-filled eyes...and I haven't stopped thinking of your words since. They're powerful...and I think people should hear them. I don't have much of a platform...but (for some reason) people do read this silly New Year's Resolution of mine, and I want those people to hear your story.
"It's hard to phrase, but what I'm trying to say, is I'm still a regular guy and I don't want people to think I'm crazy, but there's a bunch of little things that are, as I'm told, 'a normal reaction to an abnormal experience'."
He goes on to talk about how he watched the life drain from his best friend's eyes after he took a shot through the neck by a sniper. How he can't stop checking the backseat of a car before he gets in. How he gets irritated over minor things, can't sleep, and doesn't enjoy the things he once loved before he deployed. He also shared (what to him has been) a dark secret...he has PTSD. He said he doesn't normally tell people that, because he's afraid at how they'll take it...and that just breaks my heart. I'm no veteran. Shoot, I'm no soldier, but it appears to me that the war continues long after the battle field. That, those that are lucky enough to make it home, still have a long fight in front of them.
It's a mixture of ignorance and pride (hear me out). Ignorance on behalf of people back home...and pride of soldiers who are trained to be too tough to break down and speak up (Can't say that I blame them, it's just an observation...and one that my friend echoes perfectly.)
"I really think a lot of these images SHOULD be seen, by everyone. This sheltering of graphic images really does make it seem like it's all happening in some magically far-away land. It's very real. Those of us that came home all in one piece, still deal with enough problems that it could be a full-time job."
It breaks my heart. It hurts that he was going through all of this, and I had no idea. And it hurts to think of how many thousands more are fighting the same struggles...as I sit in my nice, warm house, with my nice job, and my nice, peaceful, naive existence. ::sigh::
He goes on to say how he felt underappreciated when he got home. That the majority of the support is lip service, and as shallow as some of the examples I mentioned in my post. He says the VA is woefully underfunded, yet is given the task of fighting one of the largest untold demons of our military men and women -- PTSD.
All I can say is...my heart aches for you. I've always been one of those people who wants to walk up to a vet and say, "Thank you so much for your service," when I see them in the airport, or in line at McDonald's, or after an interview...but I can never find the words. I never know what to say so I don't sound cheesy. That will change. Your words have given me perspective, and I'm thankful for that. Your story (or what little I know of it) inspires me. It motivates me to give back, to advocate for change, to use my little soap box to help in whatever way I can.
I'm thankful for your letter, for the "two cents" you said you weren't sure that I wanted (for the record...I did, and I still do). I'm thankful for your multitude of sacrifices. I'm thankful for your bravery. Thankful that you had the guts to do what so few people are brave enough to do. I'm thankful that you fought for my freedom, and I'm thankful that you came back alive. I'm thankful that you trusted me with your story. Thankful for the perspective it gave me. I'm thankful to have met you 8 years ago (seriously? 8? we're getting old) in the Landon cafeteria. Thankful that you were eating by yourself, and brave enough to talk to strangers. I'm thankful that you randomly decided to talk to some chunky girl sitting one table over...and I am thankful, and incredibly, incredibly PROUD to still call you a friend today.
And that's just my two cents...whether you want it, or not... :)
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