Monday, October 10, 2011

Sergeant Dakota Meyer: The Hidden Story

For the first time since the Vietnam War, a living Marine, Sergeant Dakota Meyer, was presented with a Medal of Honor a couple weeks ago. His tale is that of a modern Rambo, no lie. After an ambush, Dakota boldly, relentlessly, returned to the kill zone as humvee gunner – mortar shrapnel wounding him, RPGs and bullets whizzing past him – to collect his injured or dead comrades. "I didn't think I was going to die; I knew I was," Meyer was quoted as saying. You can read his Medal of Honor citation here.

But lost in the pageantry of the event – the predictable probing of the media, the late night talk show visits, the White House ceremony, his story being disseminated everywhere – there is a story of a possible mental injury – maybe PTSD, combat stress, etc.; the “camouflaged wounds” of war – that hasn’t been talked about much. And I’d like to thank President Obama for his tact in handling that reality.

See, to Dakota, he was a failure. He wasn’t successful in saving some of his brothers-in-arms, his friends, and one can only imagine how painful it must be to, if that’s really what he believes, have to retell that story on a daily basis, many times a day. This is a symptom of PTSD: not being able to accept the outcome of a situation or process it in realistic way; feeling guilty for things that happened that were beyond your control. Nathaniel Fick called it the “sacred geometry of chance” in his memoir. No matter what, in war, someone’s going to die. Some of your buddies are going to have to die. No one has control over it. You just do your best to survive and take care of those around you.

And this is where President Obama deserves significant recognition. During the ceremony at the White House he addressed this specifically. They were just few quick lines, probably tossed aside by most, but they will go a long a way in helping Dakota heal. President Obama faced him and said, “I know you’ve grappled with the grief of that day. You’ve said that your efforts were somehow a failure because your teammates didn’t come home. But as your commander-in-chief, and behalf of everyone here today, and all Americans, it’s quite the opposite.”

But just the same – keep in mind, I am in no way comparing my efforts or experiences to Dakota’s – I’ve felt a similar grief and guilt. Many of us have. Maybe all of us veterans have.
I served two tours without a scratch, and some of my friends were wounded or killed. And some of my friends will never be the same people; they’re unwilling or incapable of coping with their mental traumas. I still often think about reenlisting and doing more. Five years ago, when I got sick with mono and couldn’t deploy a third time, my captain told me, “D-Bo, you’ve done your time.”
I don’t know if that’s true anymore. So I go back to my laptop and keep writing, hoping that contributes somehow.

I’ll continue to tell the stories of the battles we face when we come home.


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