The National Catholic Review

My sister is leaving her husband. The last intact marriage of my dad’s six children is coming apart in the face of her husband’s bizarre symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. My brother-in-law returned from Vietnam with multiple decorations, including two purple hearts. He also brought back a Marine Corps-instilled conviction that strong men do not seek help for emotional or psychological problems because they are not “real” problems. They tough it out and move on.

 

So my sister cries and cries, grieving her lost dreams of growing old together along with the loss of the man she thought she married. She told me about their separation today. I have known for some time that they were struggling to keep going. Now there is one more chapter in the unending nightmare that is my family’s emotional life.

My father was a World War II veteran, a former prisoner of war who died of tuberculosis of the spine, the aftermath of tuberculosis contracted in a prisoner of war camp in France. After the war, he and my mother had six children, all of us boomers. We grew up in a household filled with chaos and emotional turmoil caused by my dad’s attempt to escape into alcohol and my mom’s determination to hold things together, no matter what. My dad died young, at age 55. Five of the six children were still living at home. After a long battle, the Veterans Administration recognized the service-connected nature of his illness and death and paid my mother a pension. Our lives went on.

One of my siblings has never married. Five of us have attempted marriage seven times, without success. Although we grew up in a strong Catholic household, where my mother certainly did not consider divorce an option, it seems some component is either missing from or broken in our psyches that makes it impossible for us to choose partners and maintain relationships. We thought my sister had managed to overcome “the family curse.”

My mother has always maintained that the war (World War II) changed my dad, that the man she married was not the man who returned from the P.O.W. camp. In my adolescence, I used to accuse her of making excuses for his destructive behavior. Now I realize that her observation was undoubtedly quite correct. In those days, however, we did not even have a name for the condition from which he suffered. Now we would call it post-traumatic stress disorder. Naming it helps, at least minimally. At least it takes our family’s suffering out of the realm of a mysterious and strictly personal failure.

These are the hidden and largely unacknowledged costs of war. We describe the high divorce rate and the high incidence of mental illness among Vietnam-era veterans as an anomaly, while veterans of Desert Storm struggle to have their service-connected illnesses accepted by the Veterans Administration. Now we are sending a new generation to Iraq. We are instituting a cycle of personal suffering for many that will last for decades and be visited not only upon them, but upon their children and grandchildren. As a society we remain largely blind to these realities.

I am not a pacifist. I have always believed that there are values worth fighting for and even worth dying for. I recognize that the presence of U.S. troops in Iraq may be achieving some good along with the suffering. But as I support my sister through our latest family tragedy, I wonder if the same decisions would be made if the hidden costs of war, the costs we so easily ignore, were ever looked at in the light.

The Author wishes to remain anonymous.

Comments

Peter J. Riga | 2/19/2007 - 7:03pm
Thank you for your piece “Hidden Costs of War” (Of Other Things, 11/8). The author spoke the truth, as any combat soldier knows only too well. In my own case, it took me some 35 years full of nightmares, weeping and shivering through many nights before I could even talk about it. A Houston police officer stopped me as I walked in my sleep on a public street in my underwear, gently woke me and took me home. It was grace that sent him to me. He was a Vietnam veteran and had experienced much the same trauma. He got me into a veteran’s group at the local V.A. hospital, and I slowly became better as I talked about the trauma.

So before we send our young men to fight in war, the situation had better be very serious. In addition, the government must become much more responsive to these hidden wounds, which can last a lifetime and need careful tending and professional help. We owe more to these servicemen than a discharge and some muster pay.

Irene Osborne | 2/16/2007 - 9:52am
The “Hidden Costs of War” (11/8) was heartwrenching. It shed light on the all too common reality of some of the more hidden effects of war. When will we learn?

I prayed hard that we would not drop the bombs on Iraq that faithless night. It was as if I realized how much suffering this would bring to so many people in Iraq and in the United States and ultimately to all of humanity for years and years. As the television presented us with the light show, I could see beneath the clouds of smoke. What I saw on the ground was shattered bodies, destroyed buildings and little children screaming in terror.

The next morning, after Mass, I saw a friend across the chapel who I knew understood the magnitude of what it all meant. As I walked toward her I began to sob uncontrollably and dissolved in her arms. It was one of those days when we knew that history had again made a turn for the worse.

Some people re-elected President Bush on moral grounds, but the war in Iraq may be the greatest immorality of our time. Some people think the president will protect us from terrorists, but terrorists will fight all the harder against a bully. When will we learn that if we do not want war, we must stop making enemies?

Now that the election is over, I pray for our national leaders; and believe me, the Holy Spirit had to work hard on me for this one. So we must unite and support what we can, object to what we cannot and have the wisdom to know the difference. We must do some good for our country and for the world. We are blessed, and that means responsible; so God help us.