After Veterans Day
12/11/21 03:20
Yesterday we celebrated Veteran’s Day by having our grandchildren over for a little while to play and have lunch. Their mother, a mental health professional, was working and their father was catching up on a few errands for their home. Before the children came over, I ran to town to pick up a few groceries. As I drove down the main street of Ferndale, I thought of the care with which residents had displayed flags up and down both sides of main street and along the bridge over the Nooksack River. As I walked up to the grocery store, I noted that this year I didn’t run into anyone selling poppies. Paper poppies, obtained by a donation to veterans organizations, were such a part of Veterans Day for so many years, that I miss them. I’m sure that there are still groups that sell them every year. I just haven’t been in the places where they were. The poppies, like the date of Veteran’s Day, are reminders of the great sacrifices made by military personnel during the First World War. That was the war of my grandparents’ generation. The veterans of that war are now all gone and the memory of it becomes second or third generation.
As a member of the boomer generation, I remember the veterans of World War I as old men. They were the members of the American Legion who rode in cars in the Veterans Day and Memorial Day parades because they were too old to march any longer. As a teen, I played taps at many of the funerals of veterans in our town. I heard the tributes to their courage and service. I also heard of their many accomplishments after the war. My father, like many veterans of World War II, was quick to focus on what he had done after the war. His generation were very productive after they returned to civilian life, forming the backbone of churches, service clubs and civic organizations, as well as founding businesses and building homes and families.
The stories of today’s veterans are much different. Not all of them are living out their lives after their time in the service. In the United States an average of 16 veterans every day die by suicide. There is a touching and very sad story in the Washington Post about Kenneth Santiago, who posted a 1,116 word message on social media before going to the Lincoln Memorial Monday evening and shooting himself there on the steps. It was a very public death. I can’t help but think that he was trying to make a statement to those of us who had never met him.
What bothers me about Kenneth Santiago’s death, and the death of so many veterans by suicide, is that it represents a betrayal of a commitment we made. As a nation, when we accept the service of men and women in our military, we promised to care for their health. We have a system of special veterans hospitals and insurance to assure that they are provided with the health care that they need. But we are failing to provide adequate mental health care. There are too many suicides that could have been prevented with proper health care.
I understand that military culture makes it difficult for those who have served to show their weakness. Active duty personnel keep their mental health to themselves and don’t seek help because they fear that any sign of weakness can affect their careers. They fear the stigma that is attached to mental illness. They keep their symptoms to themselves. I also know a bit about the macho image of Hispanic culture, of which Santiago was a part. It too encourages young men to hide their weaknesses.
There is, however, another deep and true reality of the life of veterans in our country. When they do seek help for mental health issues, they often find that help is non existent or very, very difficult to obtain. Our hospitals are equipped with emergency rooms with every kind of technological device known to treat medical emergencies such as stroke, heart attack and injury. Almost none of them are equipped to deal with mental health crises. I’ve seen this first hand, sitting with families struggling to find care for a loved one, who have been told that there may be an appointment available in weeks or months, or that they should consider traveling hundreds of miles to an urban center where there is mental health care available. Neither option is adequate to deal with the crisis they face. And people are dying for a lack of care.
Having our veterans die from a lack of care is no way to celebrate Veterans Day. It is no way to honor their service. It is a national tragedy that we could address. Our veterans deserve so much more than a free 10-piece order of boneless chicken wings or a free donut. I don’t know the actual count, but if the averages continued this week, 64 more veterans died of suicide between Kenneth Santiago’s death on Monday and the end of Veteran’s Day last night. 64 deaths of precious, dedicated, servants. 64 deaths of people we promised to provide with lifelong care. It is, however, more than a statistic. Each of these persons left behind a circle of family and friends who are plunged into grief, who have experienced trauma, and who themselves are at an increased risk of severe mental illness.
The Post reprinted some of the comments that appeared on Kenneth Santiago’s social media following his suicide note: “Kenny, you are loved. Do not do this!!” “Hey, you are not alone! Rob is trying to call you now.” “Santi for the love of god don’t do this.” By the time those posts were made, two nurses visiting the memorial at nigh were trying to give him CPR. A medevac helicopter flew in and landed next to the Reflecting Pool to take Santiago to the hospital where he was pronounced dead.
The paper poppies quickly fade after Veterans Day. The flags are put into storage until another holiday. We must not let our concern fade, we must not let our advocacy go into storage. In his final social media post, Kenneth Santiago wrote, “On my way out, I can’t help but wonder if I ever made a difference in the world.”
The answer to his question is up to us.
As a member of the boomer generation, I remember the veterans of World War I as old men. They were the members of the American Legion who rode in cars in the Veterans Day and Memorial Day parades because they were too old to march any longer. As a teen, I played taps at many of the funerals of veterans in our town. I heard the tributes to their courage and service. I also heard of their many accomplishments after the war. My father, like many veterans of World War II, was quick to focus on what he had done after the war. His generation were very productive after they returned to civilian life, forming the backbone of churches, service clubs and civic organizations, as well as founding businesses and building homes and families.
The stories of today’s veterans are much different. Not all of them are living out their lives after their time in the service. In the United States an average of 16 veterans every day die by suicide. There is a touching and very sad story in the Washington Post about Kenneth Santiago, who posted a 1,116 word message on social media before going to the Lincoln Memorial Monday evening and shooting himself there on the steps. It was a very public death. I can’t help but think that he was trying to make a statement to those of us who had never met him.
What bothers me about Kenneth Santiago’s death, and the death of so many veterans by suicide, is that it represents a betrayal of a commitment we made. As a nation, when we accept the service of men and women in our military, we promised to care for their health. We have a system of special veterans hospitals and insurance to assure that they are provided with the health care that they need. But we are failing to provide adequate mental health care. There are too many suicides that could have been prevented with proper health care.
I understand that military culture makes it difficult for those who have served to show their weakness. Active duty personnel keep their mental health to themselves and don’t seek help because they fear that any sign of weakness can affect their careers. They fear the stigma that is attached to mental illness. They keep their symptoms to themselves. I also know a bit about the macho image of Hispanic culture, of which Santiago was a part. It too encourages young men to hide their weaknesses.
There is, however, another deep and true reality of the life of veterans in our country. When they do seek help for mental health issues, they often find that help is non existent or very, very difficult to obtain. Our hospitals are equipped with emergency rooms with every kind of technological device known to treat medical emergencies such as stroke, heart attack and injury. Almost none of them are equipped to deal with mental health crises. I’ve seen this first hand, sitting with families struggling to find care for a loved one, who have been told that there may be an appointment available in weeks or months, or that they should consider traveling hundreds of miles to an urban center where there is mental health care available. Neither option is adequate to deal with the crisis they face. And people are dying for a lack of care.
Having our veterans die from a lack of care is no way to celebrate Veterans Day. It is no way to honor their service. It is a national tragedy that we could address. Our veterans deserve so much more than a free 10-piece order of boneless chicken wings or a free donut. I don’t know the actual count, but if the averages continued this week, 64 more veterans died of suicide between Kenneth Santiago’s death on Monday and the end of Veteran’s Day last night. 64 deaths of precious, dedicated, servants. 64 deaths of people we promised to provide with lifelong care. It is, however, more than a statistic. Each of these persons left behind a circle of family and friends who are plunged into grief, who have experienced trauma, and who themselves are at an increased risk of severe mental illness.
The Post reprinted some of the comments that appeared on Kenneth Santiago’s social media following his suicide note: “Kenny, you are loved. Do not do this!!” “Hey, you are not alone! Rob is trying to call you now.” “Santi for the love of god don’t do this.” By the time those posts were made, two nurses visiting the memorial at nigh were trying to give him CPR. A medevac helicopter flew in and landed next to the Reflecting Pool to take Santiago to the hospital where he was pronounced dead.
The paper poppies quickly fade after Veterans Day. The flags are put into storage until another holiday. We must not let our concern fade, we must not let our advocacy go into storage. In his final social media post, Kenneth Santiago wrote, “On my way out, I can’t help but wonder if I ever made a difference in the world.”
The answer to his question is up to us.
