this, TOO, is sparta

This past week, while visiting a university for a speaking gig, I sat next to a military mom at a celebratory dinner. The mom, who works at the university and has for years, spoke with pride about her son and his service, and the idealism that led him to joining up in the first place. One of her favorite stories of his childhood, she said, was when someone in the grocery store asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up.

“A hero!” he’d said. He was five at the time. The perfect response.

The military mom’s eyes shined with tears as she told us this. The war — the Iraq War — had taken her son some years after this tender memory. It wasn’t a firefight that killed him, though, or a roadside bomb, or a freak helicopter crash. He’d made it home in one piece, at least physically. The moral injuries, though — he couldn’t shake them, for whatever reason. He took his own life some months after returning to the States, the country where he was supposed to be safe.

Like many Iraq and Afghanistan vets, I’ve lost friends to suicide. It’s a fucking scourge upon our community. As terrible and shattering as it is to lose service members in combat, that’s sort of expected — maybe we never think it’ll happen to us specifically, but it’ll definitely happen to someone. It has to happen to someone. It’s part of the gig. But to make it through a combat tour, oftentimes multiple combat tours, and then lose all hope for the future like that? No matter how many times it happens, I find it unfathomable, devastating, a ruin and waste beyond words. And I know I’m not the only one.

Is the tide turning? It’s tough to say. According to the VA, approximately 22 veterans die by suicide every day. (It’s important to note that data includes veterans of all ages and eras.) And while suicide awareness in the veteran community feels light years ahead of where it was just a couple years ago, the rate of suicide in younger veterans is actually on the rise, according to the nonprofit Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA).

There are crisis hotlines, some affiliated with the VA, others more local and independent. There are mental health retreats and excursions to help struggling vets remember the finer things in life. We’ve all had to answer those questions at the VA, even if we’re just getting a physical or our teeth cleaned, the ones that go, “DO YOU EVER CONSIDER HURTING YOURSELF?” and “DO YOU EVER FEEL HOPELESS?” Sometimes all that can feel like bureaucratic chickenshit, but I’ve come around on it. At least it’s something. Something’s always better than nothing.

Sebastian Junger, the author of “A Perfect Storm” and “WAR” and someone deeply respected in the vets’ community, has a new book out called “Tribe.” Part of its thesis is that a lot of what we now call “PTSD” and associate with combat and trauma is actually more an issue of integration and reintegration into wider American society. While some of the data Junger provides has come under fire — David Morris in particular questioned Junger’s sources in The Wall Street Journal — the general concept makes sense and rings true on an anecdotal level. What vet hasn’t felt like a stranger in a strange land upon his homecoming?

22 veterans commit suicide every day, and the rate of suicide among younger veterans is on the rise.

Some young veterans have decided to combat the suicide crisis themselves. Some readers are certainly already familiar with The Spartan Pledge, but for the uninitiated, here’s a rundown: a couple years back, a vet named Boone Cutler (who’s now a radio host if that name rings a bell) and his pal “Nacho” (which is just perfect as far as nicknames go) lost a mutual friend to suicide. They drew up The Spartan Pledge in the wake of that tragedy, and it quickly went viral due to its forceful succinctness:

“I will not take my own life by my own hand until I talk to my battle buddy first. My mission is to find a mission to help my warfighter family,” goes the straightforward edict. 26 words that pack a punch, and hit all the vital notes: reminds the troubled soul about life, and battle buddies, and missions, and perhaps most importantly, family.

As viral things are wont to do, The Spartan Pledge pops up in timelines and newsfeeds with irregular regularity, if that makes sense. And whether or not it’s the “official” Spartan Pledge, or something else, the intent remains the same, plain as day: a reminder that we all have tough days, tough weeks, deep ruts. But just because we aren’t in the same platoons anymore, carrying out the same patrols and missions, doesn’t mean we aren’t still there for one another. It doesn’t mean there’s no one out there who gets it, because fuck that, there are people who get it because they were right there with us for every step and every minute.

Reach out to those guys and gals you haven’t heard from in awhile, just to check in. I know I’m going to. Maybe they’re fine, and you all can just catch up. Maybe they’re not, and you’ll be the one who spares another military mom the anguish of telling those stories of childhood dreams with tears like mirrors in her eyes.

“A hero!” he’d said. He was five at the time.