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Oct. 2010. 7th Marines returned to 29 Palms after a year in Afghanistan. The headquarters suffered several casualties, but the combat-related deaths were limited to our subordinate battalions.
As a radio operator in the RCT COC, a lot of those deaths came through my desk as 9-line requests. Every morning, I'd walk by the dog tags hanging from the sign outside our compound. As the days turned to weeks turned to months, that stack of tags grew.
We'd hear "River City." All the phones and internet to the outside world would be cut. News couldn't get back to the family before the command had a chance to inform them.
There'd be days we'd get out of River City for an hour, only to go back in. It made time stand still.
There'd be days we'd get out of River City for an hour, only to go back in. It made time stand still.
One of those was Sgt. Frank J. World, who I wrote about in 2017. His death is always going to stick with me as one of the worst days in Afghanistan. https://www.starherald.com/news/local_news/jordan-remembering-those-who-gave-all/article_0ef117cc-17ae-5d9a-bd5b-7bf2f73390d9.html
Apathy was my enemy. Everything was so fucked up that day, and after that I made sure every swinging dick grunt that came through for receiving knew how to work a radio.
All of my Marines made it out alive. Same goes for the other platoons, so far as I know.
All of my Marines made it out alive. Same goes for the other platoons, so far as I know.
There's still a lot of shit I wish I had the power to change. A lot of it still gives me nightmares. I get stuck in a loop of people dying and not being able to help them.
For about seven years I self-medicated. Chain smoking and alcohol seemed to numb the pain.
For about seven years I self-medicated. Chain smoking and alcohol seemed to numb the pain.
But then I'd just wake up again. The fog of the hangover would lift, and those same goddamn thoughts would come invading right back into my head, demanding that I pay attention to them.
And since shit sticks to shit, all of those ideas just snowballed and compounded.
And since shit sticks to shit, all of those ideas just snowballed and compounded.
The straw that did it was waking up on Memorial Day 2017, to a text from Dodge, a radio operator from my shop who got assigned to the Colonel's security detachment.
"Zola killed himself."
"Zola killed himself."
Cpl. Thomas Palozola was one of the grunts with PSD, who were basically the Colonel's body guards.
I had only had a handful of exchanges with Zola, mostly helping fix radios when they were getting ready to go out, but I knew he was a tough son of a bitch.
All of PSD was.
I had only had a handful of exchanges with Zola, mostly helping fix radios when they were getting ready to go out, but I knew he was a tough son of a bitch.
All of PSD was.
He'd had some big set backs when he came home, but Zola lead by example. He graduated Webster University in his native St. Louis, and was really involved in the Student Veterans on campus. A lot of vets come home and get stuck. Zola was not one of them.
He had his shit together.
He had his shit together.
The college newspaper wrote a feature about him after he died. The story in short is that he killed himself while stuck on a VA waiting list to get treatment for what was most likely cancer caused by burn pits. http://websterjournal.com/2017/12/06/heroic-life-traumatic-death-tom-palozola/
More Marines I've known have died from drug overdoses and suicide than were killed in combat. It's one thing to say someone valiantly died while fighting the enemy.
It's something else to lose them years after the firefights and IED explosions.
The fighting has never stopped.
It's something else to lose them years after the firefights and IED explosions.
The fighting has never stopped.
The reflexive gratitude and "thank you"s make me so uncomfortable.
Often times people focus on the work done during deployments, and not the horseshit that you have to carry around for years afterwards.
That's a luxury I can never have.
Often times people focus on the work done during deployments, and not the horseshit that you have to carry around for years afterwards.
That's a luxury I can never have.
You try to go to the VA and get help and get scheduled for something months out, all the while you're left holding onto your fucked up failing health
What they offer is a band aid. They assume you can just simply unwind what experience has programed into you.
What they offer is a band aid. They assume you can just simply unwind what experience has programed into you.
There's no political solution. Not one person on that hierarchy of bureaucrats will accept the responsibilities for what they did to Zola, or any of the hundreds of thousands of veterans who are stuck in the purgatory of a VA hospital waiting list.
Today is a day where people want to hide and placate their conscience with shallow platitudes about "ultimate sacrifices" made in wars fought in countries they'll never visit.
The truth is apathy at home has killed more Marines than any Taliban or IED ever could.
The truth is apathy at home has killed more Marines than any Taliban or IED ever could.
