belated

I didn't do a Veteran's Day post this year.  I meant to, I guess.  I don't know.  I did last year.  I doubt I have any other year.

When I think of Veterans, I think of strong and handsome and grisled men.  Mens' sort of men.  Manly men.  Our dads and uncles and grandads.  Our brothers and husbands and friends who have lived long enough see life and death and war and peace and barracks and home over and over and over again.

Lately I've been running across a new sort of Veteran.  A new-to-me sort of Veteran.  I know they have been here before.  More recent Veterans.  Boy Veterans. Men-through -experience-but-not-through-age Veterans.
Hard looking, hard living, hard drinking, hard smoking, hard loving and especially-hard-on-themselves veterans.

The ones I'm seeing are in physical rehabilitation programs.  Substance rehabilitation programs.  Mental rehabilitation programs.  In jobs programs.  In group therapy programs. In jails.

I know it's the nature of my career to see these things.  To see people in these situations.  I know I shouldn't be surprised when their names end up on my paperwork.  In my audits.  In my life.
But it's once a day now.  Not once a month.  Once a week.  Every single day it seems I look a Veteran in the eye and have a hard time keeping it together.  A hard time finding the words to express my thanks.  My sorrow.  My guilt.  I feel guilty for taking taking taking and having nothing to give back.

And they are so damned young.  And so damned damaged.  And so damned damned.  All these programs are in place to help, but none of them seem to do much good.  I don't know what is being done on the preventative end of things, but from what I see it isn't working well.

I'd like to think that things are different in other places.  Might be different in other times.

It hurts to know that we haven't figured out much about taking care of our boys.  Our men.  Our Men. 

The ones who give everything they have to take care of us.