Don't Drink and Drive

When I was a Private in the military, stationed in South Korea, I had a roommate who lost his wife to a drunk driver. They were married just two weeks. He was working for an ambulance service and responded to an overturned vehicle that was hit by a drunk driver. It was his wife and her best friend.

As the firefighters tried to extract the mangled vehicle, my friend laid on his stomach holding his wife's hand. She was conscious and alert, but fading quickly. The "jaws of life" and other extraction tools were unable to open the the vehicle enough to get her out before she died.

Years later, after a tour in Iraq, a young man I worked with on a daily basis was killed after being home in America for less than two weeks. He wasn't used to driving.  He wasn't used to being back home in the U.S. Like many veterans coming home, he was probably driving much faster than the posted speed limit. I'm not sure, but I suspect he was drinking.

Driving impaired and getting wasted has lasting consequences. Watch this video and pass it on.


To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

One operator's PTSD story and healing journey

Scot Spooner is the brother of Tom Spooner. Both were in US SOCOM. Tom was interviewed here on the Warrior SOS blog as well as in Warrior SOS, the book, available on Amazon.com. 

Scot wrote a great book, called My Life.  Recently he wrote an article titled One Warrior's Perspective on PTSD that is well worth reading (in addition to his book). Below are some excerpts from the article found on http://chairbornecommandos.com/one-warriors-perspective-on-ptsd/. 

"I was miserable. I hated the idea of going to work. I had stomach issues that no one could explain. I had widespread chronic pain no one could explain. I had anxiety attacks that I did not know were anxiety attacks. I would often get lost driving back to my house at the end of a long day. I broke out in crying fits all alone in my truck, or when watching a sappy movie. I was short-tempered with the team leaders that served under me. I was in constant turmoil with my superiors..."

"The physiological effects of high risk training and combat are as equally devastating as the psychological effects."

"Those who have committed suicide due to their inability to learn how to live with the “new normal” were not and are not cowards. They are people that need relief. We are all creatures of comfort and will always seek comfort. Hell, that’s why we squirm around in a chair – to get comfortable. These individuals end up in a place in life that is so painful that the only way to achieve any level of sanity or comfort is to end it all.  Unless you have ever been in so much pain that death looks like a good alternative to continuing to live in hell in this life, you have no right to judge a veteran that makes this sad yet too common choice. This is what we must strive to change!"

To review the entire article, check out http://chairbornecommandos.com/one-warriors-perspective-on-ptsd/

Thanks Scot. You're a true warrior and a good man.

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Justifiable Self-Defense

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

"I am sorry it has come to this": A soldier's last words

This post is taken from the following website: http://gawker.com/i-am-sorry-that-it-has-come-to-this-a-soldiers-last-534538357

"I am sorry it has come to this": A soldier's last words

Daniel Somers was a veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. He was part of Task Force Lightning, an intelligence unit. In 2004-2005, he was mainly assigned to a Tactical Human-Intelligence Team (THT) in Baghdad, Iraq, where he ran more than 400 combat missions as a machine gunner in the turret of a Humvee, interviewed countless Iraqis ranging from concerned citizens to community leaders and and government officials, and interrogated dozens of insurgents and terrorist suspects. In 2006-2007, Daniel worked with Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) through his former unit in Mosul where he ran the Northern Iraq Intelligence Center. His official role was as a senior analyst for the Levant (Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Israel, and part of Turkey). Daniel suffered greatly from PTSD and had been diagnosed with traumatic brain injury and several other war-related conditions. On June 10, 2013, Daniel wrote the following letter to his family before taking his life. Daniel was 30 years old. His wife and family have given permission to publish it.

I am sorry that it has come to this.

The fact is, for as long as I can remember my motivation for getting up every day has been so that you would not have to bury me. As things have continued to get worse, it has become clear that this alone is not a sufficient reason to carry on. The fact is, I am not getting better, I am not going to get better, and I will most certainly deteriorate further as time goes on. From a logical standpoint, it is better to simply end things quickly and let any repercussions from that play out in the short term than to drag things out into the long term.

You will perhaps be sad for a time, but over time you will forget and begin to carry on. Far better that than to inflict my growing misery upon you for years and decades to come, dragging you down with me. It is because I love you that I can not do this to you. You will come to see that it is a far better thing as one day after another passes during which you do not have to worry about me or even give me a second thought. You will find that your world is better without me in it.

I really have been trying to hang on, for more than a decade now. Each day has been a testament to the extent to which I cared, suffering unspeakable horror as quietly as possible so that you could feel as though I was still here for you. In truth, I was nothing more than a prop, filling space so that my absence would not be noted. In truth, I have already been absent for a long, long time.

My body has become nothing but a cage, a source of pain and constant problems. The illness I have has caused me pain that not even the strongest medicines could dull, and there is no cure. All day, every day a screaming agony in every nerve ending in my body. It is nothing short of torture. My mind is a wasteland, filled with visions of incredible horror, unceasing depression, and crippling anxiety, even with all of the medications the doctors dare give. Simple things that everyone else takes for granted are nearly impossible for me. I can not laugh or cry. I can barely leave the house. I derive no pleasure from any activity. Everything simply comes down to passing time until I can sleep again. Now, to sleep forever seems to be the most merciful thing.

You must not blame yourself. The simple truth is this: During my first deployment, I was made to participate in things, the enormity of which is hard to describe. War crimes, crimes against humanity. Though I did not participate willingly, and made what I thought was my best effort to stop these events, there are some things that a person simply can not come back from. I take some pride in that, actually, as to move on in life after being part of such a thing would be the mark of a sociopath in my mind. These things go far beyond what most are even aware of.

To force me to do these things and then participate in the ensuing coverup is more than any government has the right to demand. Then, the same government has turned around and abandoned me. They offer no help, and actively block the pursuit of gaining outside help via their corrupt agents at the DEA. Any blame rests with them.

Beyond that, there are the host of physical illnesses that have struck me down again and again, for which they also offer no help. There might be some progress by now if they had not spent nearly twenty years denying the illness that I and so many others were exposed to. Further complicating matters is the repeated and severe brain injuries to which I was subjected, which they also seem to be expending no effort into understanding. What is known is that each of these should have been cause enough for immediate medical attention, which was not rendered.

Lastly, the DEA enters the picture again as they have now managed to create such a culture of fear in the medical community that doctors are too scared to even take the necessary steps to control the symptoms. All under the guise of a completely manufactured “overprescribing epidemic,” which stands in stark relief to all of the legitimate research, which shows the opposite to be true. Perhaps, with the right medication at the right doses, I could have bought a couple of decent years, but even that is too much to ask from a regime built upon the idea that suffering is noble and relief is just for the weak.

However, when the challenges facing a person are already so great that all but the weakest would give up, these extra factors are enough to push a person over the edge.

Is it any wonder then that the latest figures show 22 veterans killing themselves each day? That is more veterans than children killed at Sandy Hook, every single day. Where are the huge policy initiatives? Why isn’t the president standing with those families at the state of the union? Perhaps because we were not killed by a single lunatic, but rather by his own system of dehumanization, neglect, and indifference.

It leaves us to where all we have to look forward to is constant pain, misery, poverty, and dishonor. I assure you that, when the numbers do finally drop, it will merely be because those who were pushed the farthest are all already dead.

And for what? Bush’s religious lunacy? Cheney’s ever growing fortune and that of his corporate friends? Is this what we destroy lives for

Since then, I have tried everything to fill the void. I tried to move into a position of greater power and influence to try and right some of the wrongs. I deployed again, where I put a huge emphasis on saving lives. The fact of the matter, though, is that any new lives saved do not replace those who were murdered. It is an exercise in futility.

Then, I pursued replacing destruction with creation. For a time this provided a distraction, but it could not last. The fact is that any kind of ordinary life is an insult to those who died at my hand. How can I possibly go around like everyone else while the widows and orphans I created continue to struggle? If they could see me sitting here in suburbia, in my comfortable home working on some music project they would be outraged, and rightfully so.

I thought perhaps I could make some headway with this film project, maybe even directly appealing to those I had wronged and exposing a greater truth, but that is also now being taken away from me. I fear that, just as with everything else that requires the involvement of people who can not understand by virtue of never having been there, it is going to fall apart as careers get in the way.

The last thought that has occurred to me is one of some kind of final mission. It is true that I have found that I am capable of finding some kind of reprieve by doing things that are worthwhile on the scale of life and death. While it is a nice thought to consider doing some good with my skills, experience, and killer instinct, the truth is that it isn’t realistic. First, there are the logistics of financing and equipping my own operation, then there is the near certainty of a grisly death, international incidents, and being branded a terrorist in the media that would follow. What is really stopping me, though, is that I simply am too sick to be effective in the field anymore. That, too, has been taken from me.

Thus, I am left with basically nothing. Too trapped in a war to be at peace, too damaged to be at war. Abandoned by those who would take the easy route, and a liability to those who stick it out—and thus deserve better. So you see, not only am I better off dead, but the world is better without me in it

This is what brought me to my actual final mission. Not suicide, but a mercy killing. I know how to kill, and I know how to do it so that there is no pain whatsoever. It was quick, and I did not suffer. And above all, now I am free. I feel no more pain. I have no more nightmares or flashbacks or hallucinations. I am no longer constantly depressed or afraid or worried

I am free.

I ask that you be happy for me for that. It is perhaps the best break I could have hoped for. Please accept this and be glad for me.

Daniel Somers

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS, the book on Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

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To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Father's Day post

Gen. Robert E. Lee was one day walking through the snow. His oldest of seven children, still a lad at the time, was mimicking every step his father took; he stepped in the same footprints as his dad. General Lee later recalled, "When I saw this, I said to myself, It behooves me to walk very straight when this fellow is already following in my tracks."

That story reminds me of a poem I read many years ago. I'm not sure who the author is. The poem goes like this:

A careful man I ought to be

A little boy follows me

I dare not ever go astray

For fear he’ll go the self same way.

I must remember as I go,

Through summers heat and winter’s snow

I’m building for the years to be

The little chap who follows me

I cannot once escape his eyes,

What ere he sees me do he tries.

Like me he says he’s going to be

This little chap who follows me.

We all can be good examples to those around us, whether we're fathers or not. May we each recognize that there is always someone looking to our example and looking to us to be leaders. Sometimes the title of "Father" isn't alone given to one who bears children, although that's one of the most significant and important roles in life. No, sometimes "Father" is reserved for leaders, like General and later President George Washington, the Father of our Nation, or James Madison, the Father of the Constitution, or all of America's Founding Fathers.

Finally, in a society that is increasingly fatherless and too often exhibits a disturbing trend of cultural emasculation towards men and boys, let us remember to rise up and be the kind of men and fathers whom our mothers would be proud to call sons.


To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Wounded Warrior Project interview and Warrior SOS success story

In this video, Colin Bond references J.P., whose words and interview was found here on Warrior SOS. JP Villont and his wife Lisa, have done wonderful things for many wounded warriors. It takes a lot of courage to go public, especially about such a sensitive topic as PTSD. Kudos to you Colin, JP and Lisa.

JP and Lisa Villont's story can be read in the newly released e-book, Warrior SOS, available on Amazon. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Freedom is not free - A soldier's pledge

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

My Memorial Day Message

To all my brothers and sisters who've suffered from wars desolation, and for those who've lost family members and beloved friends in battle, or because of battle, may you all find and experience peace this special holiday and always.


To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Requiem for a Soldier - Katherine Jenkins

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Taps

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Mansions of the Lord, lyrics

To fallen soldiers let us sing,
Where no rockets fly nor bullets wing,
Our broken brothers let us bring
To the Mansions of the Lord

No more weeping,
No more fight,
No friends bleeding through the night,
Just Divine embrace,
Eternal light,
In the Mansions of the Lord

Where no mothers cry
And no children weep,
We shall stand and guard
Though the angels sleep,
Oh, through the ages let us keep
The Mansions of the Lord





To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Fanfare for the Common Man, Aaron Copeland

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Broken Things to Mend - Jeffrey R. Holland

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Memorial Day message from Colin Powell

Memorial Day is also a time to personally say thank you to all living veterans. Across our nation there are Memorial Day parades that move down small town streets and big city boulevards.... We cheer these beloved sons and daughters of America. But after the marching bands salute, after the parade has turned the corner and the music fades away in the distance, you and I must never forget the enormous adjustment our men and women make when they return home from war. Some face monumental physical, mental, spiritual and emotional challenges as they seek to reestablish their lives as they cope with the changes within themselves and their families brought on by the ravages of war. 

It’s easy to celebrate the brave men and women of our Armed Forces and appreciate their sacrifice on Memorial Day and then return to our daily lives. Let us practice the lesson of the Good Samaritan, to not pass by on the other side of those in need, but to reach out a helping hand as true neighbors. We can all do something. Volunteer to welcome our vets and their families back into the community, encourage employers to hire veterans, get involved with your local veterans organizations, simply listen to their stories. These men and women are our heroes who stood tall for us in every dangerous part of the world. They have kept us safe, so keep them and their families in your hearts and minds and find tangible ways to help and honor them always. Thank you and God bless our veterans.

-- The Honorable Colin Powell, 2013 National Memorial Day Concert


To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Memorial Day poem - Walt Whitman's "Dirge for Two Veterans"

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Dirge for Two Veterans

The last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finished Sabbath,
On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.

Lo, the moon ascending,
Up from the east the silvery round moon,
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
Immense and silent moon. 

I see a sad procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles,
All the channels of the city streets they’re flooding,
As with voices and with tears.

I hear the great drums pounding
And the small drums steady whirring,
And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
Strikes me through and through.

For the son is brought with the father,
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
Two veterans son and father dropped together,
And the double grave awaits them.)

Now nearer blow the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive,
And the daylight o’er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.

In the eastern sky up-buoying,
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumined,
(‘Tis some mother’s large transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)

O strong dead-march you please me!
O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music,
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.


To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Warrior SOS e-book on Kindle

Warrior SOS, the book, will be available through Amazon ebooks on May 24th.   Read about the amazing stories of veterans, as well as advocates and family members. Thanks to all those who've participated.

Update: Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

    America’s servicemen and women are our utmost national treasure, and Warrior SOS allows a glimpse into their lives.  Each story gives compelling insight to what warriors can face in battle and what they can experience after coming home.  The words found in this book show that freedom comes at a cost . . . an ultimate cost of human sacrifice, blood, sweat and tears.

-- US Congressman Adam Kinzinger

1 in 5 veterans of Afghanistan and/or Iraq have PTSD

The following information was found on a government fact sheet list for employers (emphasis added).

http://www.americasheroesatwork.gov/forEmployers/factsheets/dispellMyth/

...data compiled by the Rand Corporation suggest that approximately one in five service members who return from deployment operations in Afghanistan and Iraq have symptoms of PTSD or depression.

While many suffering from PTSD and other psychological conditions may benefit from treatment and support, only about half seek it. For many, a common barrier to seeking care is the stigma associated with their psychological symptoms or condition-that is, the bias, embarrassment, shame or fear of negative reaction from others.

Employers are in a powerful position to help debunk such misperceptions. After arming themselves with the facts, they can use their knowledge to educate others and to support the social inclusion and acceptance of people with PTSD...

Learn more at the link above regarding some of the myths of Post Traumatic Stress.

Check out Warrior SOS, the book on Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Random thoughts on PTSD, media, and American media culture's fixation on violence

Combat veterans with PTSD have various reactions. Some symptoms can be more severe in some people or at some times than others. 

Police officers can also suffer from these various traumatic experiences.  I was fortunate enough to give two presentations on Reintegrating the Returning Warrior to law enforcement professionals and warrior advocates at this year's ILEETA conference. Everything from emotional numbing to aggression and from sleeping problems to apathy shows the sign of PTSD at work, whether the officer has been deployed in a military combat situation or not. 

Whether you're a family member of a warrior or a warrior yourself, these two truths are paramount. Knowledge is power, and when it comes to post traumatic stress, ignorance isn't bliss. 

Learn about it. Talk about it. Get help for it. Too many marriages are troubled and too many lives are in jeopardy because of the stigma surrounding combat PTSD. Too many people just don't understand and have blaring misconceptions about combat PTSD. Sadly, even a few mental health professionals misconstrue the facts regarding what a soldier will or will not do after returning from war. 

If we honor our soldiers and pray for our troops today, while they're in uniform, why do we attempt to throw them to the proverbial wolves once they return home and receive an honorable discharge? If we give our young men weapons of destruction, teach them to destroy lives, send them off to war and then fail to reintegrate them into society of non-warriors, does the fault lie with them? I think not. 

We owe it to our warrior class to let them know we appreciate every horrible and terrible thing they've encountered. We may not want to know what they've done, what they think, what they're capable of or what they've witnessed. We may not want them to think or behave a certain way, but just as any of us, our experiences shape who we are, how we think and how we act. We need to let warriors know what they experience is part of what every warrior throughout the ages experiences, in one way or another. It's the bane of war, combat and up-close confrontations. As a society and a people, we should never glory in war, killing or brutality. Yet we do.

The irony of our society is that millions of American citizens possess an anxious zeal for watching TV shows and Hollywood movies about gun-wielding cops and rugged military personnel, and millions more love to play violent video games, all glorifying and revering the warrior archetype, but the perception is severely skewed. This alarming misconception of what a warrior is and what a warrior does and how he/she feels has a grave impact to our culture. 

First, it puts into the minds of those who view or play such violent actions that violence is good. This could not be further from the truth. This also has a tendency to create in the minds of those who view such sordid scenes or play these first-person style violent games the idea that killing is pleasing to the senses. This can truly warp the senses. While most of us can differentiate between what is right, honorable and good, and what is evil, twisted and wrong, constant repetition from negative images and impressions, nevertheless, neutralizes us morally; it turns off the perception valve of humanity. A leak in the moral code of human dangerousness can open up flood gates to both the civil-minded as well as the mentally deranged or those who already possess a propensity for great criminal violence. In short, these are moral poisons that are slowly given in doses, eventually injuring our spiritually sensitive natures. The latter is especially true considering the growing tide of media that spawns amoral behavior as totally acceptable and justifiable. Examples could be given, but I will refrain and let you consider that for yourselves.

Secondly, watching or participating in such violence in the media distorts reality by showing that the hero will never get severely injured as one would in reality.  These media mediums further show, erroneously of course, that the pains caused by violence, war and loss of friends, including any physical, emotional or spiritual soul wound, can all be over when the show ends or when the video game is turned off. Of course, in reality it isn't that easy. 

Moreover, by watching these extremely myopic views of such tragedies, it gives viewers a perception that to cry or to be humane somehow isn't heroic. In other words, these films and other inventions show a false image of what a real man is. These instruments of deception jeopardize the very nature of human emotional stability by falsely depicting what a hero or heroine should or should not do, or how a man or a woman should or should not behave. In turn, this establishes an identity crisis within the real warrior -- the one who experiences the real pains and sorrows of war. 

Years of idealizing and idolizing the warrior archetype, even if unconsciously, by constant views of what someone should be, could tear a man or a woman to pieces emotionally when experiencing the real thing. Young men may have fixed in their minds what war is to be, but the expectation of what war is, who he really is, and how he reacts to combat can be damaging to the core. 

Perhaps he may, even tacitly, hope to behave like Hollywood's war heroes and not be affected for more than the length of a feature film. After a few months in the war zone, he realizes that's not possible. Perhaps he may impress societies' expectations upon him. After all, a combat soldier is revered by all of society and only the purely vocal pacifists oppose the honor of the military uniform, but those are few and they are largely shunned and ostracized. No, society has a fixed idea of calling our military men heroes, honoring them with parades and ribbons. Interestingly, the war veteran may very well not feel like a hero at all, instead there can be feelings of great guilt, remorse and sorrow. Plaudits of praise might only aggravate any feelings of shame or meaninglessness after the war experience. These praises, of course, are not meant to be offensive; and the citizen who has never served may not know what else to say or do. Recognition for war veterans can, however, be deeply rewarding when done in certain ways, the which will not be defined at this point.

Of course, these war pains of identity wounds have been a part of societies far before any media inventions like the TV, so this no specific diagnosis to this complex issue of identity wounds, but media certainly plays an incremental role in the shaping of our identities. This phenomenon may be best compared to the youthful boy who is told that boy's shouldn't cry; that he must wipe away his tears, dust off his boots and drive on. When that boy becomes a man, now he may feel that real men shouldn't cry and if he cries because of deep, troubling emotional pain, that he's somehow not measuring up. Tears can be therapeutic though, and real men do cry. Real men cry tears that no Hollywood actor could ever reproduce. No show could ever capture the real pain of real soldiers. 

Alas, it's been said that only warriors can help warriors. One reason is because they "get it". Those who've experienced traumas can offer help unlike those who just don't understand. Traumas that are not combat related are terrible, and there are those who can lend a listening ear, but they still may never truly understand. On the flip side, there are some warriors who experience things that other warriors will never know or comprehend. Nevertheless, their trauma is at least still in the same genre, so to speak. 

I believe that all members of the warrior class have experienced troubles for which emotional assistance is warranted. This applies to law enforcement personnel, who've been on the job for a few years, veterans of war, as well as some in the private security profession. Not everyone has problems, but more often than not, these warriors do face personal demons. They either try to avoid or ignore their problems (typically with alcohol), or they think everyone else has a problem but them. Symptoms of PTSD is the nature of the beast -- it's the bane that comes in the wake of warring experiences. And, unfortunately, society at large will simply never understand. On one hand, that's a really good thing; on the other hand, it's too bad the only thing they think they know about war and warriors is from what they see on TV or in the movies. 

To read the real stories of real warriors, check out the forthcoming book named after this blog: Warrior SOS -- Interviews, Insights & Inspiration, due out in ebook, available through Amazon, real soon. Watch for it.

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Tell My Sons - Lt. Col. Mark Weber

During Lt. Col. Mark Weber’s medical screening to deploy to Afghanistan, the 38-year-old father of three was told he had stage IV intestinal cancer. He wrote a blog, outlining his struggles, www.TellMySons.com, and eventually wrote a book along those same lines. I was recently able to read excerpts from that book, Tell My Sons, the same name of the blog. Wow. These are the words that tug on the heartstrings. 

One story he mentioned was of his son who tried out for and was granted an opportunity to sing a solo during a high school concern. The song was a ballad about an American Civil War soldier, telling an unknown messenger to tell his father he had become a man and that he should not cry for him. The son, “Tell My Father,” goes in part like this:

“Tell my father that his son didn’t run...or surrender. That I bore his name with pride ... as I tried ... to remember ... you are judged by what you do, while passing through. 

“Tell him we will meet again ... where the angels learn to fly. Tell him we will meet as men, for with honor ... did I die.” 

Reading Mark Weber’s remarkable love for his sons and his emotional maturity and goodness really made my day. 

It also reminded me of my own late brother-in-law, John Cloninger, a military officer and combat veteran who also was diagnosed with stage IV cancer, which eventually took his life. He was the reason I started Warrior SOS. I think of his very young six fatherless kids, my little sister who’s now a widow, and the legacy of love he left for his children. In a similar way, perhaps, of Mark Weber’s story, I have also created this blog (Warrior SOS) and have a book that will be published very soon with the same title: Warrior SOS -- Interviews, Insights and Inspiration. The book is currently being edited and will be out soon. I hope hundreds, if not thousands of people will read it. 

The great thing about Warrior SOS, the book, is all of the amazing warriors and people who were interviewed for the book. They told their stories and opened up in ways that aren’t easy to do. The book also includes the words of John Cloninger and is dedicated to his memory. Additionally, I included the faith, advice, counsel and love of his young widow. It’s simply amazing and I’m excited to get it published soon. 

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

NRA Life of Duty - Forward March: Two Brothers Journey of Hope and Restoration

Tom and Scot Spooner have devoted their lives to helping other warriors. I'm grateful that Tom first opened up about his PTSD and TBI here on Warrior SOS. http://www.warriorsos.blogspot.com/2011/11/interview-with-tom-spooner-invictus.html

Tom's interview and many more can be read in the forthcoming book titled, Warrior SOS, due out real soon.

Speaking with both Tom and Scot has been incredibly helpful to me. Their examples and courage of speaking up about their own experiences with PTSD have helped countless others.

 This NRA Life of Duty video made about their post deployment, post military lives is exceptional and well worth watching. This embedded YouTube link is a one minute advertisement of the film. The link here shows the full feature documentary: http://soldiersystems.net/2012/11/02/nra-life-of-duty-patriot-profiles-the-spooner-brothers

or

http://www.nralifeofduty.tv/#/patriotprofiles/video/753

Again, to watch the full length video, click on one of the links above. (Note: The Soldier Systems link shows a brief background about the Spooner brothers.)

 

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Breaking the Stigma -- Special Forces Operators talk about PTSD

If you or someone you love is experiencing the symptoms of post traumatic stress from combat experiences but have not gotten help, this video is a must-watch. Even if you or someone you know has gotten help, this video is well worth watching.

Tom and Scot Spooner and many other operators are seen in this video made by US Army Special Operations Command (USASOC) Public Affairs Office (PAO).

Thanks to Ron Relf, a former Navy SEAL, who forwarded this video to me. Both Ron and Tom were interviewed here on the Warrior SOS blog. Their interviews and many others will be featured in my forthcoming book named after this blog: Warrior SOS -- Interviews, Insights and Inspiration. Watch for it.





To read amazing interviews with warriors, please check out Warrior SOS, the book on Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

For the Fallen...They Shall Grow Not Old

Of late, I find poetry, especially war poetry, quite soothing to read. Here is "For the Fallen," one of the long enduring classics of war poetry, written by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943) of England.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Amputations, Wounds and a Prisoner of War

Yesterday I spoke to a man about his experiences while in Korea. He was there the same time I was. While walking along the DMZ, he said, his buddy stepped on a land mine. He said something hit him in the back; it felt like a sledge hammer. It was his buddies’ leg. 

I recently had lunch with another man who tried, unsuccessfully to kick a grenade out of the area which an enemy soldier had thrown during Operation Just Cause in Panama. 

I received an email from another man who was a Marine guard at the U.S. Embassy in Lebanon when it was hit with a truck bomb. His buddies died, and he eventually fainted from the loss of blood himself. 

And, last night after spending time with my family, I stayed up late reading the account of a POW from WWII sent by the editor of my forthcoming book, Warrior SOS. 

Update: Here's the book…

To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Laughter, the Best Medicine

Recently, I heard from a good friend in the tactical law enforcement community, owner of TacView, a great tool for all SWAT teams, that another friend, Michael Finley, had throat cancer.  I just chatted with him a few months ago. Well, yesterday I sent him a note and told him I've been praying for him and that I added his name to a prayer roll at the temple. Temples are different than churches at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At any rate, he wrote back and thanked me, described a bit of his battle with cancer, and gave me a link to his blog. He said it's to keep family and friends updated, but after reading his blog titled "Easy Like Sunday Morning...", I just had to share.

For those who suffer tough times, attitude can make all the difference. Michael Finley has one of the best attitudes of any operator I've ever met. In fact, when I met him, he was the president of the Texas Tactical Police Officer Association (TTPOA) and a team leader on Dallas SWAT team. Often, when outsiders envision guys with such stature, they may immediately think of some giant, knuckle-dragging oaf who hates everyone and is mean. That Hollywood image is simply not the case. It's especially not true with  Finley. His giant smile and his contagious energy sets him apart as one of the most outstanding professionals I've ever met.

For some good laughs and SWAT stories, check out Michael Finley's blog. Hopefully he'll publish a book!

http://mfinleyblog.com/

Get well, brother. And, thanks for the laughs and great stories. Your optimistic attitude is infectious.


To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

Gun safety, realistic weapons training, and negligent discharges

When it comes to dye-marking cartridges or man marking rounds (e.g. Simunitions, Ultimate Training Munitions) and simulated training exercises, most often performed by police, military and private security professionals, it's extremely important to have assigned and marked weapons specifically for those drills or scenarios. Administrators, departments and trainers ought to realize the cost-benefit value of incorporating purchasing or adapting specifically-marked training guns that will only allow dye-marking cartridges and no live ammo. Remember, the worst thing that can go wrong and then have the courage, wisdom and foresight to authorize the budget or implement wise protocol from there.

Moreover, stopping training long-term after an event just hampers preparedness. As it is now with budgets, departments are already behind the curve when it comes to a duty to train, as outlined by case law and actual readiness for all contingencies. Too often we get lucky and live, and thus, erroneously believe we have good tactics or incorporate quality safety measures. In reality, that may well be a false protection, a false sense of security. Too often, like the civilian who pointed his pistol at me "accidently" at the gun range the other day, there are those "experienced" people fortunate enough not to have a negiligent discharge (ND) for "the last 20 years handling guns", but their lack of safety awareness with firearms has merely given way to luck. Hope is not a stragety or a tactic. When doing all the wrong things, it's just a matter of time before bad things happen. Regardless, when it comes to law enforcement training, the onus of officer safety and preparedness still remains on both the individual officer as well as the agency.

Lastly, two things to remember are these:

1) Before pulling the trigger, have positive identification of your target and what's surrounding it. Don't shoot sympathetically just because someone else is shooting. They may be in the wrong.

2) The definition of a safe direction is anywhere that if a round went off, it would not cause major property damage and no human injury.

Alas, I wrote this letter to a local Chief of Police recently. Readers may find it of interest.


Chief,

I recently received this link and thought it was well worth sharing. Examples of NDs like these should be mentioned before training, during training, at the range, at the academy, prior to shift, and so forth.

http://www.optacinternational.com/officersafety/pdfs/WhyAreWeKillingOurselves.pdf

I was a cop in Dallas at the time of the Arlington, TX police shooting incident, where a corporal shot another officer in an empty school during a Simunitions training exercise briefing. The officer forgot to go back to Sims FX rounds after lunch. I saw him speaking later on the news, and except for seeing grown men cry while I was in the war zone in Iraq, I've never seen a man weep so profoundly.

Hopefully this link is a helpful reminder to stay safe and remember to reinforce the four fundamental safety rules:

1) Treat all weapons as if loaded.
2) Never point at anything or anyone you're not willing to kill or destroy. (If you think it's unloaded or "safe", or even have the action opened or blocked, refer to rule #1.)
3) Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot.
4) Be sure of your target, backstop and beyond.

As far as training goes, sniper/observers must keep their bolts out of battery when looking at any other officers through the glass and get a buddy check for no live ammo. That may not apply to your department specifically, but it's good to know.

Another essential absolute is to ensure that during training where guns -- even plastic, non-firing guns -- are pointed at other human beings (or even during unarmed defensive tactics), that everyone needs to get patted down. EVERYONE. It doesn't have to be ultra invasive, just hit the spots where officers might carry a concealed weapon. Check their guns and bodies for live rounds and loaded magazines. No one's perfect, we all forget. Overconfidence, boastful egos and the "It will never happen here" or "It will never happen to me"-syndrome, gets people killed.

I cannot tell you how many advanced military, SWAT and other tactical schools I've attended across the nation where the "big boy" rules applied, and where no one wanted to pat down other officers. That's an accident waiting to happen, especially when you're dealing with firearms directly; frankly, it's stupid and dangerous. Moreover, if anyone leaves and returns, including any late-comers, everyone needs to be checked again.

We can never be too safe. Perhaps you may recall my safety briefs prior to teaching you and your officers on the range or in the school. We've got to be safe and help each other be safe. Safety is a culture and a mindset, but too often we fail to recognize that "officer safety" also means safety when conducting training and handling our personal, off-duty and duty firearms.

Finally, I'm presenting at this year's ILEETA Conference on Reintigrating the Returning Warrior. There are too many cops and too many veterans who are suffering. Hopefully they'll be a good turn out and officers and administrators can come away with some strategies for winning the personal war with stress, PTSD and depression. If you can't make it, feel free to let others know about it, if you think it would benefit them personally or professionally.

Respectfully,

--
Jeffrey Denning

Tennyson's Sir Galahad

Sir Galahad
by Alfred Lord Tennyson


My good blade carves the casques of men,
   My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
   Because my heart is pure.
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
   The hard brands shiver on the steel,
The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly,
   The horse and rider reel:
They reel, they roll in clanging lists,
   And when the tide of combat stands,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
   That lightly rain from ladies' hands.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend
   On whom their favours fall!
For them I battle till the end,
   To save from shame and thrall:
But all my heart is drawn above,
   My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine:
I never felt the kiss of love,
   Nor maiden's hand in mine.
More bounteous aspects on me beam,
   Me mightier transports move and thrill;
So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer
   A virgin heart in work and will.

When down the stormy crescent goes,
   A light before me swims,
Between dark stems the forest glows,
   I hear a noise of hymns:
Then by some secret shrine I ride;
   I hear a voice but none are there;
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
   The tapers burning fair.
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,
   The silver vessels sparkle clean,
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
   And solemn chaunts resound between.

Sometime on lonely mountain-meres
   I find a magic bark;
I leap on board: no helmsman steers:
   I float till all is dark.
A gentle sound, an awful light!
   Three angels bear the holy Grail:
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
   On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
   My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
   And star-like mingles with the stars.

When on my goodly charger borne
   Thro' dreaming towns I go,
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
   The streets are dumb with snow.
The tempest crackles on the leads,
   And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;
But o'er the dark a glory spreads,
   And gilds the driving hail.
I leave the plain, I climb the height;
   No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms
   Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.

A maiden knight--to me is given
   Such hope, I know not fear;
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
   That often meet me here.
I muse on joy that will not cease,
   Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,
   Whose odours haunt my dreams;
And, stricken by an angel's hand,
   This mortal armour that I wear,
This weight and size, this heart and eyes,
   Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.

The clouds are broken in the sky,
   And thro' the mountain-walls
A rolling organ-harmony
   Swells up, and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
   Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
"O just and faithful knight of God!
   Ride on! the prize is near."
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;
   By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,
   Until I find the holy Grail.


To read amazing interviews with warriors, check out Warrior SOS: Interviews, Insights and Inspiration, the book on Amazon.com. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK

My Flag -- the United States of America Flag

I awoke this morning, after dreaming, with a renewed vigor to protect the America I know and love -- to do all in my power to preserve the greatest symbol freedom in the world today, Old Glory.  I felt, as I nearly leaped from my bed, to contact my elected officials and with all the vigor I have to muster, encourage them to preserve, sustain and/or create any and all such laws that make dropping the flag, burning, trampling, spitting upon, or disrespecting, defiling, or defacing the national flag, in any way, illegal.  

We must treat the Stars and Stripes as the physical representation of all America holds dear.  The fabric of three colors -- red, white and blue -- beautifully sewn in a pattern rich in national historic meaning, is the symbol of a free people and a free nation.  That incredible flag which was still standing during the War of 1812, while Francis Scott Key was held a helpless prisoner on a British vessel during the attack at Fort McHenry, is the flag I hold most dear.  That same flag, given 37 more stars, is the flag of my home.  

We must treat the United States flag as the symbol of peace and power she truly is.  Americans must look to that beautiful, incredible and majestic piece of art as the sacred emblem of “the Republic for which it stands.”  

I have seen the flag -- my flag -- flown high over the U.S. Capitol, the White House, and U.S. embassies and consulates in foreign lands.  I have seen the fabric and material honored, presented and saluted by men and women in military uniform.  I have witnessed men literally weep while looking to her and the free nation she represents.  I have wept myself and have received chills over my entire frame while saluting and listening to our national anthem, the Star-Spangled Banner.  I have silently watched as our flag has been draped over the coffins of American countrymen who have given the ultimate sacrifice in defense of all she stands for -- foremost being freedom, liberty and equality. 

May the blood of our forefathers, who created and erected the blessings we now enjoy because of their actions, and because of the Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution, be revered, respected and honored forever.  May the faithful and courageous military men who hoisted the flag of our nation from Fort McHenry to Iwo Jima and beyond, be remembered for sacrificing for our great nation, represented foremost by our greatest symbol of freedom, the American flag.  May the war dead who die today and tomorrow be allowed an honorable burial without protesters who, in essence, are certainly disrespecting my flag, my nation, and my brothers and sisters in arms. 

I pray that our flag -- my flag and your flag -- will be the banner of freedom it truly represents, the beacon of hope for all mankind, the light and glory of “one nation under God.”  May this blessed symbol -- held high at ball parks, waved at parades, worn on every military uniform, and flown at half-mast during national catastrophes and loss of life -- become, and forever stay, the symbol of hope for a better way, the sacred evidence of self-government, the meaning of all things Americans cherish most, the incarnate Constitution of these United States of America.  

May each of us gain anew the appreciation for Old Glory.  May we each rally together, around and behind and beside this blessed symbol of freedom.  May we all look high to see this extraordinary piece of fabric forever waving in the breeze and cherish all she stands for.  May national patriotism shown to our flag be honored, respected, and sustained and enforced by law.  

Finally, may all those who value freedom and all those who have stood with arms to defend her rich blood-red stripes, her deep-blue sky and pure-white stars and stripes, forever thank God for all she stands for.  May this people -- the American people -- remember what Abraham Lincoln once so eloquently encouraged in his Gettysburg Address every time we look upon the folded or unfurled flag.  Let us “be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us ... that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

The Hands -- a powerful poem by Richard Brewer

The following is a brief commentary and a poem written by warrior-advocate and Marine, Rich Brewer, founder of One Warrior Won. 

I wrote this shortly after putting the cold steel of my weapon in my mouth, then realizing “My Hands” were not done yet.  By the grace of God my journey continues, and with BBOWW, we will march forward and make sure so many others never get to the point so many of us already have!! 

The Hands

The hands that were once used as a pacifier for a new born child.

The hands that were used to reach out to hold my mothers legs.

The hands that were held by my parents to ensure I stayed close by.

The hands that awkwardly wrote that first love note in third grade.

The hands that were used as a teenager to prove my self worth.

The hands that reached out and held my first girlfriend.

The hands that struggled to breakaway from ordinary and reached for extra-ordinary.

These were the hands that rose and swore to defend this nation from the enemy; foreign and domestic.

These were the hands that nervously grasped the stair rails of a bus bound for Parris Island in the middle of the night.

These were the hands that were held tight to the seams of my “trousers” while being screamed at standing on yellow footprints.

These were the hands that climbed obstacles they never thought possible, that learned to defend for the righteous.

These were the hands that first felt the cold comfortable steel of my newly issued M16A1 rifle.

These were the hands that spent weeks feeling, touching, learning every part of the very weapon that was to keep me and others alive.

These were hands that proudly had the Eagle, Globe and Anchor pressed into its palm transforming from a mere mortal to a Marine.

These were the hands that committed to God, Country, and Corps.

These were the hands that embraced the brotherhood that has been bonded by blood, sweat and tears.

These were the hands that grasped the seat of the swaying Chinook at it took evasive action while delivering us to the hostile shores.

These were the hands that held firm, aimed true and gently squeezed the trigger to silence a different set of hands that will forever remain unknown.

These were the hands that steadied scared people as they were gently pushed to waiting choppers to carry them from the surreal reality of war to safety.

These were the hands that held the head of youth, shattered by a snipers bullet, providing comfort awaiting the last breathe.

These were the hands that held my own head down in holes never deep enough as the rounds pounded way to close.

These were the hands that waved good-bye to thousands of Marines as they sailed away from the hostile shore.

These were the hands that grasped tightly to the fourteen Marines left behind to guard the bees’ nest that had been vigorously stirred.

These were the hands that clasped tightly every night in prayer to preserve my life until I woke, and again in the morning to pray to survive the day.

These were the hands that waved frantically to my office colleagues to take cover as I grabbed my weapon and ran towards the noise. 

These were the hands that reached for that sliding glass door that allowed me to step onto the exposed balcony.

These were the hands that attempted to hold steady the weapon I knew so well, only to have it blown from my hands by the force of the bomb.

These were the hands that flew through the air for untold feet only to crash against the collapsing wall.

These were the hands that were buried and felt my own body to see if it was in one piece.

These were the hands that scratched, clawed, and dug my way out from what I believed to be a premature coffin, only to hear and see the hell unfolding around me and wanting to crawl back into my hole.

These were the hands that would hold the soon to be lifeless bodies of two close buddies trying to make their last moments less lonely.

These were the hands that would dig, uncover and carry untold numbers from the burning and destroyed building.

These were the hands that again took hold of my precious weapon and stood guard against a secondary attack.

These were the hands that held my body off the ground as I fell to my knees, not knowing why until it was realized the blood covering me was my own.

These were the hands that shakily signed me out of a field hospital to return to the pile of flesh infested rumble.

These were the hands that stood guard over the ground that only mere moments ago stood the American Embassy for four sleepless days.

These were the hands that wiped away dust from my eyes and wished for the tears that never came to flow.

These are the hands that now try to hold a fragile life and family together.

These are the hands now that try to hold a beast within at bay.

These are the hands today that hold a wonderful wife.

These are the hands that two young children rush to for safety and love.

These are the hands that have tried to teach young minds the perils and purpose of war.

These are the hands that have provided protection to communities from those who wish them harm.

These are the hands that have shied from friendship for fear of being exposed.

These are the hands that are never idle in fear of some distant unseen enemy.

These are the hands that for years never reached out, stoically staying by my side.

These are the hands that wrapped themselves around a bottle, the only medicine able to take the unseen but always present pain away.

These are the hands that hide the scars that so many do not wish to see, yet so many of us bear.

These are the hands that have reached out after 25 years for help, and were slapped by those professing to be helpers.

These are the hands that had to enter battle all over again simply to be recognized as worthy of treatment and care.

These are the hands that have been clasped together in prayer for someone to understand.

These are the hands that have been clenched in anger over those who have never served making us prove we indeed did serve.

These are the hands that have flailed about speaking jargon others seem to think is a foreign language.

These are the hands that have spent countless hours typing rebuttals to the appeals of my appeals.

These are the hands that have fantasized about being around the neck of so many who say they are there to help, but never do.

These are the hands that have been thrown in the air, and wishing to wash themselves of the entire process.

These are the hands that have written farewell notes to loved ones; too tired to go on.

These are the hands that have tried to write, hoping to get someone to see what I feel.

These are the hands that have grasped the cold comfortable steel of an old trusted friend in hopes of ending the pain and suffering.

These are the hands that held a family vacation itinerary in one hand, and the end in the other.

These are the hands that God made and Parris Island perfected.

These are the hands that have saved so many, and protected so much.

These are the hands that have lost battles, but will eventually win the War.

These are the hands that remain clasped in prayer every night, praying that justice will prevail for me, and all who suffer from the beast within.

These hands paid a dear price for this country.  Now it is time for this country to pay a little back. 

All gave some; Some gave all. What has the country given to them?

THIS poem and an interview with Richard Brewer, and many others will soon be featured in a forthcoming book about warriors with wounds and PTSD. Be sure to check out Warrior SOS for updates. 

To read amazing interviews, including an interview from Richard Brewer, check out Warrior SOS, the book available on Amazon.com  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D3WO7VK