Listening to our veterans

By James Brobyn

If you asked me what I remember most about my time as a Marine in Iraq, my answer would probably surprise you. More than anything, I remember the smells.

To this day, I can still smell the aromas of Iraqi towns and foods, which trigger fond memories of exploring a new culture with my fellow Marines. And I can recall the less pleasant smells of hydraulic fluid leaking from my light-armored vehicle, and of a platoon of Marines who hadn't showered for 45 days.

And then there are the sinister odors of dead and decaying bodies, blended with the strangely sweet smell of explosive residue. Years later, these smells still evoke regret, guilt, and nightmares.

Some people don't ask me why these odors elicit such visceral emotions. Perhaps they are unsure or afraid of what I might say next. But it's a story I want to tell.

That smell of explosive Composition B residue overwhelmed my senses as soon as I woke up from the blast that destroyed my vehicle. Seconds later, I realized I was trapped. As I panicked and tried to free myself, knowing that I was already wounded and that another improvised explosive device could soon detonate, one of my Marines pried open the turret hatch and freed me from the shattered vehicle.

After quickly grabbing a radio to give directions to the 30 Marines and four remaining vehicles in my platoon, I made my way to the driver's compartment of the wrecked vehicle. And as that Composition B smell once again filled my nostrils, my eyes rested on the driver, Lance Cpl. Shane Harris. The 23-year-old Marine from Las Vegas, N.M., had been killed instantly in the IED attack. The image of this friend, fellow Marine, and fallen hero is forever ingrained in both my memory and my soul.

I could still smell the explosive residue when I called Shane's family and when I sorted through his personal effects. I could smell it when I called my wife and when I was being treated for my injuries. And I was inundated with it whenever I walked off to cry alone.

There is much talk about the challenges service members face in making the transition back to civilian life. And it is indeed challenging - but not for the generally accepted reasons.

There has been a continuous outpouring of support from American civilians for veterans like me. Corporations are actively recruiting us for jobs. And there are more than 40,000 nonprofit organizations focused on helping veterans.

While people care, however, it's hard for them to understand what some veterans have been through. In fact, as I helped carry Shane's flag-draped casket to a CH-53E helicopter while my fellow Marines stood at attention, one of the first questions I asked myself was: "Will people back home understand?"

The past 11 years of war have been fought by a tiny share of our population - less than 1 percent, including both service members and contractors. Never before have so many Americans watched a war unfold without knowing someone who is fighting it.

By contrast, virtually the entire country was involved in a winner-take-all battle with our enemies during World War II. Men went to fight, women worked in ammunition factories, and children helped their parents. Every single American was vested in the outcome.

At the conclusion of that war, veterans were seen as civic assets, leaders, and valuable members of communities. Most Americans understood what was sacrificed, because they had sacrificed as well.

Today, it's hard for many Americans to understand how something as simple as a smell could affect someone so deeply. I certainly had no idea what the aftereffects of combat would be like until I experienced them. But time after time, as kindhearted people have thanked me for my service, I've wished they would also ask what my Marines and I saw, heard, and smelled in Iraq. I want to help them understand.

So if you want to thank veterans, listen to their stories. And look at their service, leadership, determination, and pride as civic assets.

Imagine if such selfless service were once again sewn into America's fabric. Imagine if we lived our lives placing the needs of others ahead of our own, as we demonstrated after World War II, 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and Hurricane Sandy. Selfless service every day, not just when something tragic happens, is just one lesson we can learn from our veterans.