Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I felt less pressure to share when sitting near the door, so I found a couple of chairs for Carson and me. A number of the regulars were already inside the room, talking in clumps near the coffee pot or sitting in the chairs. I nodded in acknowledgment to those I recognized as everyone found seats for the meeting to start.
Simone liked to begin with announcements and any new community resources that might be of interest to the veteran community. We were headed into back-to-school time in August, so a number of the resources she mentioned were focused on school-supply help, affordable-housing developments, and support for parents. None of these were likely to ever apply to me, but I nodded along just the same.
“Who would like to share?” Simone held up a whiteboard with ADAPTATION written in big, colorful letters. The bulk of the meeting was always individual sharing, but Simone used various themes to help guide the conversation. “Our word for the month is adaptation, but feel free to share any successes or concerns as you’d like.”
“I finally got my new wheels. Took the VA long enough.” Alan, a guy around my age with shaggy brown hair who always sat near Simone, was first to share. He did a wheelie in his new racing-style wheelchair, which earned some applause. “Now we’re trying to scare up the funds for an accessible vehicle. Bring on the hand-control lessons!”
“That’s so good, Alan.” Simone’s tone was warm and encouraging. “I hope you manage to get something that works for your family. Anyone else with good news?”
A few others spoke up about things that were helping them or daily victories before the discussion returned to Simone’s theme. She read a short poem written by a fellow veteran before asking for thoughts.
“I hate the word adapt.” Bert, a skinny young guy in his twenties, always had an irritable tone for everything other than his service dog Roxie, who lay at his feet. “Like, why should I have to be the one to adapt?”
Bert’s rhetorical question drew some nods and murmurs of agreement. Next to me, Carson tensed. He sat forward in his chair, hands resting on his knees, more of that intent listening he was so good at.
“And there are some things you just can’t get used to, no matter what you try,” Bert continued, voice harsh enough that Roxie nudged his clenched fist. “I really hoped Roxie here would help with the nightmares, but no luck so far.”
Bert’s anger gave others an opportunity to chime in with similar frustrations.
“I hate that everyone else in my life has to adapt as well.” Valerie, a navy veteran, had talked at other meetings about her ongoing struggles with PTSD and social anxiety. “Sucks for them. I can’t go to my kids’ softball games. Can’t handle festivals or concerts. I’m missing out on so much, and so are the kids.”
“You’re a good mom.” Ron, an older Marine Corps vet in his late sixties, was quick to offer reassurance. “Those kids need you. And I like Simone’s theme.” Although grizzled in appearance with a raspy voice, Ron could be counted on to bring balance to the conversation. “I didn’t use to like learning new things. Then I read a study that learning keeps us young. Keeps the brain healthy, so now I seek out things to learn. I’m taking piano lessons this fall.”
I glanced over at Carson. A deep frown creased his face as if he were thinking extra hard. He’d had to relearn so many skills. Ron meant well, but Carson wasn’t exactly the target audience for his advice. I shot Carson a reassuring look as Simone gave Ron a little clap.
“That’s amazing. Well done.” She smiled broadly as she gestured around the room. “Did anyone else want to share?” Her gaze lingered on me, but I gave a subtle head shake. “No? All right. Let’s close with a few reminders about resources.” After she passed around a flyer with various hotline numbers and organizations that provided assistance, she rubbed her hands together. “Next month, the theme is self-care, one of my favorites. Hope to see you all then.”
Carson was one of the first to his feet. I understood his eagerness to flee all too well. I came to these things out of a desire to hold space for my fellow veterans, but there were plenty of times when that duty felt extra weighty. However, before we could leave, Ron came over with a hearty handshake for me.
“Jude. Our veterinarian veteran.” Ron had made that joke only about a hundred times, but I gave a good-natured laugh nonetheless. Ron’s gaze flitted over to Carson. “Good to see a new face with you. Keep coming back, you hear?”
“Will do.” I nodded at the frequent refrain among longtime meeting regulars before stepping closer to the door. Carson was right behind me. “We better head out. You take care.”