Too Legit to Quit

Too Legit to Quit

By Jamie Turner

In January of this year, Veteran's Refuge Network started as a crazy idea. Today, we are excited to announce that after only ONE paperwork submission and FOUR short months, the IRS has approved our 501c(3) status and we are officially a non-profit! The short approval time took us off guard, we'd heard stories of multiple attempts, months of waiting, and repeated frustrations. For our approval to only take four months is an awesome surprise, and to say we're excited is an understatement. 

We just wanted to take a minute express our gratitude to everyone for sharing our posts, helping us raise awareness for PTSD and the 22 veterans that commit suicide each day, and continuing to support us each and every day. Changing the statistic is not something the three of us can do alone, we fully recognize it's going to take a network of people willing to reach out a hand to someone who may be struggling. And, to those of you who have jumped right in to join us in this fight, we cannot say thank you enough. 

Now that we're too legit to quit, we know the real work begins as we work toward making our idea of a veteran treatment center a reality. 

Yes, it's going to take a lot of work. 
Yes, it's going to be discouraging at times. 
Yes, it's worth the fight. 

We feel so blessed, humbled, and excited for what the future holds. Please continue to partner with us as we make progress, reach out to those you know may be going through a rough time, and be the one to make a difference for someone today.

I Am The One

I Am The One

By Andrew Turner

On June 30^th, 2014, we gathered together; we stood in awe, in horror, in silence as we looked at 660 crosses in a field representing the incredible loss of veteran suicide in a single month.  We saw the statistic in a new light.  We shared the tragedy with our community and tried to help people understand the epidemic that our veteran population is facing.  We also challenged each other to make a change.  We talked about the impact saving one life could have, the ripple it would create, and the tidal wave that would come with reducing 22 veteran suicides a day to 21 a day.  But most importantly we talked about where the change will come from and who is responsible for creating that change.  I am the one responsible for creating the change.  You are the one responsible for creating the change. 

With September being National Suicide Prevention Month, we have another opportunity to bring attention and awareness to the 22 veteran suicides daily and continue a discussion on what we can do to help change that number.  This month we will continue to bring you information on ways to fight PTSD and other mental health issues impacting veterans.  We’ll list resources that veterans can use to get the help they need in order to be healthy.  And, we’ll share our own stories of how we are the ones making a difference for veterans, and we’ll ask you to share with us how you are the one making a difference for those around you.

We want you to think about how you would finish the statement, “I am the one…”, and share your answer with us.  Think about it in terms of veteran suicide prevention.  Maybe you are the one who has the Veteran Crisis Line phone number stored in your phone so it’s there when you need it, or when your friend needs it.  Maybe you are the one who calls and writes your representative to encourage them to support legislation that increases mental health services for veterans.  Maybe you are the one who lost a battle buddy, and now you make a conscious effort to call and text your surviving friends to make sure they are doing ok, and to let them know you have their back if they need it.  Or, maybe you are the one who has struggled with thoughts of suicide, but has fought back from the brink. We all have a story to tell.

I know how I finish the statement.  Jamie and Laura both know how they finish it.  And starting September 1^st 2014, we’ll be sharing ours with you and hoping you do the same with us. 

Here’s how you can participate: We’re going to share short video clips of us finishing the statement while holding a sign that reads, “I am the one…” Simply hold up your sign, share your statement, and then send us the link. We’ll post one each day during the month of September. If you’re still not sure you understand what we’re looking for, just follow our lead.  Andrew, Jamie, and Laura will have the first three days of the month covered.

This is just one way we can continue to take ownership of the problem and embrace our responsibility for being the change we wish to see.  I challenge you to accept the responsibility of being the change.  I challenge you to be the one that helps reduce the 22 a day.  I challenge you to find your ending to the statement, “I am the one…”, and share it with us. 

#BeTheOne  #IAmTheOne #22aDay  #21>22

#BeTheOne

#BeTheOne

by Andrew Turner

Just over a month ago we began an awareness campaign to show the 22 lives that are lost to suicide each day in our veteran community.  Every day the display grew.  Every day the impact grew.  And on June 30^th, we gathered as a community to witness the 660 crosses in the ground, show respect for the lives they represented, and discuss how we could make a change to this tragic statistic.  Two days ago we finally took the project down and now it’s difficult to put into words what the last month has meant to us, being there every day, pounding 22 crosses into the ground every day.  There is a definite sense of pride for what we accomplished, for the way we were able to share our vision with so many others, and for the way our community responded with support and interest.  There is also a feeling of sadness seeing the empty field after spending so much time there.  We came to appreciate our time among the crosses and despite the tragedy it represented, we found a calmness and peace there that we are now missing.  Leaving town for the 4^th of July weekend, Jamie commented that it would be the first day in over a month that we had not been there.  I missed it that first day.  It seemed that we had put so much of ourselves into that project that not being there was strange.  But I’m also glad it’s over.

I’m glad I don’t have to put another 22 crosses into the ground today.  I’m glad our project is complete, but it’s only complete because of the limit we placed on it.  We could have been back on July 1^st with another 22 crosses.  And we could have been back July 2^nd, and 3^rd, and 4^th…and as many other days as we wanted, as long as this tragedy continues.  So the display serves its purpose of letting people know about this issue.  It allows people to put a visual to a statistic.  But unless it inspires us to make a change, then what purpose does it serve?  The major theme that continued to be discussed at the display was the ripple effect that each suicide has.  It was the ripple effect of three that brought us all together on June 30^th, over 130 people, most who didn't know each other, yet were touched by the ripples of Brian, Ben, and Zack’s deaths. 

We’re going to do this project again.  The response it received was greater than we could have imagined and there’s no telling the impact it can have as we share it in other communities.  The more people it touches, the more opportunity we have to draw them to our cause and encourage them to stand with us to support these struggling veterans.  My hope is that when we do this again (and soon), that we don’t have to put 22 crosses in every day.  That instead we can put in 21 crosses, or 20 crosses, or one day have no need for a single cross at all.  But that change will only come because of the effort we are willing to put in to bring it about. We cannot simply look at all those crosses and hope that the VA is going to come to our rescue, or some new government program will be what makes a difference.  Too many of our brothers and sisters are falling through the cracks and it’s happening every single day.  If we truly want to see a change, we need to take responsibility for that change.  If we truly think these lives are worth saving, we need to take responsibility for that change.  Change will come because we are willing to put in the effort to create it. 

So what does that look like?  How does, “What can I do to help?” turn into, “This is what I am doing to help…”?  You don’t need to have all the answers to a veteran’s problems to help them.  You just need to let them know that you care enough to listen to them when they need to talk.  You just need to let them know that you care enough to call them, or shoot them a text, or reach out to them on Facebook to see how they are doing and let them know you are thinking about them.  You just need to be there for them when they are struggling.  None of us can force a veteran to reach out for help with PTSD or other mental health issues.  But we can be there to support them when they are ready.  We can make sure we are a positive part of their life that lifts them up when they are down.  None of that is difficult or requires much of us.  Yet it can make a real impact on someone looking for a reason to continue living.  Each of us can be the one who makes a change and saves a life.  Each of us can be the one who reaches out a hand to those who are slipping through the cracks.  Together we can make a change in the statistic that says 22 veterans will commit suicide tomorrow.  But it won’t happen by accident.  It will happen because people like you and I are willing to stand in the gap and be the change.  So what have you done to make a difference for somebody today?  What are you willing to do to make a difference for somebody tomorrow?  How far are you willing to go to be the one who changes 22 a day to 21?

660 White Crosses

660 White Crosses

By Jamie Turner

            A few years ago, one of my favorite college professors showed us a documentary called “Paper Clips”, about a group of middle school kids in Tennessee who were learning about the Holocaust and the 6 million lives that were lost during that time. Hearing the number 6 million was one thing, but the students were having difficulty grasping the enormity of that number and wanted to know what it looked like. They embarked on a project where they set out to collect 6 million paper clips in order to visualize just how many people that actually was. As news of their project got out, paper clips began arriving from all over the world. To date, the school has received over 30 million paper clips, numerous mementos from Holocaust survivors and their families, and even an actual German rail car that had been used to transport people to the concentration camps. Years later, this movie periodically comes to my mind, as it did this past week once again.

            Last weekend Veteran’s Refuge had a full schedule of volunteering, manual labor, a 5k race, a business plan to write, a competition to enter, budgets to plan, and more. In the busyness of the weekend, it was easy to simply work through Memorial Day as just a day to get things done; conscious of what it meant, but not really fully grasping the solemnity of the day. As we sat here on the couch, me working on one project, Andrew typing away at another, both of our phones received a text message. What I read changed my day, it changed my week, and it changed my month.

            The message was from the father of our friend Zack, who lost his battle with PTSD this past January. The attached photo showed Zack’s dad with his arm lovingly surrounding a white headstone, and a message that simply said, “One of the bravest most honorable people I've ever known. My hero, my son. I miss you Zboy!” Even now, I can’t read it or think of his words without tearing up. This is what Memorial Day is all about. Remembering those we’ve lost in the heat of battle, and those we’ve lost since they’ve come home, after fighting PTSD for years.

            The text and the beautiful words stayed with me the rest of the afternoon. An idea was forming in my brain, but I kept telling myself it was too crazy, and there wasn't enough time to plan it out. I kept thinking of the statistic of 22 veterans who commit suicide each day. 22. How many is 22, really? We easily spend $22 on take-out and don’t even bat an eye. What does 22 look like? I thought of Paper Clips, and what did 6 million look like? And, I thought of June. I’ve been planning out our social media campaign, and have had on my calendar for weeks that June is PTSD awareness month. There’s 30 days in June. There’s 22 veteran suicides a day. What does that look like? What does 660 look like?

            By 5:00pm, I still hadn’t said anything to Andrew. We were driving home from our favorite Mexican restaurant when I finally decided to just test the waters and see what he thought. I began with, “So, I’ve been thinking about something crazyyyyy…” Gotta love my husband, he didn’t even bat an eye. Then, I told him my idea. I said I wanted to show what 22 a day looked like, every day during the month of June. I wasn’t sure how it could be done, or if it could even be accomplished in such a short time frame. Should it be flags? Should it be boots? How could we get it done? My brain was spinning a million miles an hour. Andrew listened to my jumble of thoughts, was immediately on board, and drove the truck straight to Home Depot. One quick phone call to Laura, and she signed on to the crazy train too.

            So, for the past week, Andrew, Laura, and I along with family and friends have been working feverishly to paint, cut, and assemble 660 white crosses for our art project. We’ve called councilmen, city managers, and people who might know a guy, in order to locate a piece of visible property we could use for the month of June. And, starting on Monday, June 2^nd, our goal is to display 22 white crosses each day, in order to visually show our country’s loss. We have one week’s worth fully assembled in our basement, ready to go. It’s so many. And it’s only a quarter of how many we actually need. I hate that we need even one.

            As we’re working toward building our Veteran’s Refuge, we’re realizing more and more that it’s not just me, Andrew, and Laura. Veteran’s Refuge is all of us together. One of you might be able to help a veteran who is struggling; just by being there for them, sending a text, or connecting them with someone who can help. We recognize we cannot do it alone; in order to succeed, it’s got to be about building a community of support, a network of all of us together, so if we can’t reach one, someone else will be there who can.

            So, this is our big plan. We invite you to come out and see the crosses each day, at 6400 Textile Rd., in Ypsilanti, Michigan. We plan to invite everyone on June 30^th for when we put in the last 22 of the month. Come and see what 660 looks like. One changed me. Three were the catalyst for the forming of Veteran’s Refuge. I guarantee 660 will change your life. This is not about a political statement, it’s not about despair and negativity, and in fact it’s the opposite. It’s about bringing awareness and hope, strength and encouragement. It’s about removing the stigma and showing that losing even one is one too many. On June 30^th, we’ll look out on a field of 660 white crosses and know that by doing this, by putting ourselves out there publicly to succeed or fail, we’re making a difference. If we can reach just one, then it’s so worth the risk. 

Stories Series Episode #4: The Greatest Honor

Meghan Stewart

20, May 2014

As a teenager, I felt ridiculed, judged even, when I told people my parents were in the military. After September 11, 2001; people looked to me for advice, for support, for help. My parents met while stationed at Fort Monmouth, NJ. After returning home from Germany, after I was born, my dad switched from soldier to stay-at-home father while mom went back into the service. Two years and another kid later, they switched roles permanently.

We moved from state to state, post to post, concrete walled house to concrete walled house. This went on until we moved to Michigan when my dad made the move from Active Duty Army, to Michigan National Guard recruiter. In Michigan, there is not a big military presence. September 11, 2001; I remember being herded into a dark room with fifty other 8^th graders. Teachers were quiet, trying desperately to hide the fear, the concern they felt while we all watched the news. What always stands out to me about that day was my peers’ reactions to what was going on. I didn’t really know what the Twin Towers were, or why it was so important that they were targeted, but I knew it was significant. Every one of my fellow students knew something was wrong and I was the one they asked about it. “What’s going on, Meghan?” They knew my dad was military. And for some reason, I was the new expert about terrorism for the 8^th grade class of Linden Middle School.  By 10am, my mom called my sister and I out of school and brought us home. The three of us waited impatiently for word from my father. We knew the dormant lifestyle we had become accustomed to was endangered now. It wasn’t until 2004 that the other shoe dropped and my dad was deployed to Iraq.

I used to hate the military. Both parents deployed to war, I felt like my family was cursed. It wasn’t until my dad returned and I met the men that served side by side with him for 14 months. I realized then, I am blessed. I was terrified that I would lose a family member and ended up gaining sixty more. Those men and their families became my family. That’s what happens in the military. If you are serving, the men or women who stand side by side with you, they become your blood, closer ties and relationships than with your actual blood relatives. I was lucky to get my dad back. Other families were not. Ten years after their deployment, the men of my dad’s platoon still have stronger bonds than anything you could imagine. They’ve all gone their separate ways. Some out of the military, some spread out to new units. But one thing will always keep them in contact. Their service together. The 14 months they spent together will ensure that our families will always be one. The lesson I’ve learned above all else: the military is a blessing. It may be hard to see at first, but it truly is the greatest honor, for the person in the military and their families. 

Stories Series Episode #3: A Dog Named Lewis

Brandon Turnbull

10, April 2014

We are honored to share the story of Brandon Turnbull and Rex, a military dog he came in contact with during his deployment, Brandon's difficulties readjusting after returning home, and how a dog named Lewis is the reason he's alive today. Thank you, Brandon, for sharing your story with us. 

We only had Rex with us for one mission, we were pulling QRF (quick relief force) in the Balad Ruiz area just north of Baqubah in the Diyala providence during the elections. Our tour was from 2009-2010 with Attack Company 5th Battalion 20th Infantry Regiment 3rd Stryker Brigade 2nd ID, the Army's first Stryker Brigade. 

I honestly don't have some amazing story where Rex physically saved my life, but I can tell you because of his handler and that dog, they were inevitably the reason I got my own dog upon returning home from Iraq. 

We lost two of our stellar soldiers from our company one night in early September and that memory hurt me for a long time. I was home for almost 9 months, and lost everything because lack of able to pay bills. I got into alcohol and became addicted to prescribed drugs like Xanax to cope with the emotional pain, it was mind numbing. I finally started to lose a grip on reality and contemplated suicide multiple times. It almost became a daily thought. 

That's when a good close friend of mine went and picked my dog Lewis up for me for my 25th birthday (he's adopted but don't tell him). He's honestly the best thing that ever happened to me. He's not just my best friend but he's my son. He kept me fighting, he never gave up on me, I never let him down, he always supports me no matter what I'm going through in life, he always has my back and he will always love me. 

My dog is the reason I'm alive today. He not a registered service dog but he's the answer to my PTSD and everyone sees that, he goes everywhere with me and never leaves my side. So I guess really the impact that Rex left me ended up saving my life in the long run. They say everything happens for a reason, I'm just glad I got to meet Rex because it resulted in me finding my soulmate and my best friend and if I didn't have that I don't know where I'd be, if even alive today.

I joined in 2007 as a 19 Kilo tanker. I was the platoon guide through our basic training/AIT at Fort Knox. After basic I got sent to the army’s first Stryker brigade under Attack company 5th Battalion 20th Infantry regiment 2nd Infantry Division. I was a team leader from the time I was a PFC. I received a DUI in Washington State for a .09 in a .08 legal state limit, about a month before our deployment. I plead guilty to deploy with my soldiers and delay my sentence until I returned.

September 2009 came around we’re a couple months into our deployment. We were on QRF (quick reaction force) on FOB Warhorse in Iraq when we get mortared. I was the senior gunner in our LT’s vehicle. We roll outside the wire, and we lost communications in the palm groves so they called out our secondary QRF. One of their vehicles drove off the side of a blown up bridge and KIA two of our soldiers. Some had to pull security while others had to rescue the other soldiers from the vehicle. 

I remember hearing their call signs over the radio and how silent everything instantly was. Even down on the ground it seemed like the world paused while we were already mourning inside. I couldn't even bring myself to so see them honorably sent off the base in black hawk home to their families. I sat in my room and cried night after night for months, which eventually turned to years. 

Upon returning home from Iraq as Sgt Turnbull I was generally discharged for my DUI from prior to my deployment. I returned home in April 2011 a broken changed man and severely depressed. I instantly went on a 4 month drinking binge where I drank every single day and popped a 1000 MG Vicodin or a 2 MG Xanax for up to nine months. Eventually I lost all will and motivation to live because I was so depressed. I always blamed myself and wished it was me instead of them. It even got to the point where I would dry fire my glock .45 against my temple just to see what it would feel like to be free of the world. 

That’s when a friend of mine got me my dog Lewis, a puppy mill rescue. He completely changed my life. Since Lewis, I have stopped drinking and consuming drugs. I got offered a job in Columbus, Georgia to be a laborer for a road construction company out of Detroit to do work on Fort Benning. I ended up returning back to Detroit and became apart of the Michigan Laborers union. I’ve spent over 2 years here with Lewis putting in new runways at the Metro Airport. Detroit is a beautiful and amazing city. Lewis has been here with me every step of the way. 

He’s been like a son to me or a companion, he’s never left my side, and as single male I’m happy living out here with Lewis knowing we are making it together surviving and no matter what we’ve been through nothing can stop us from accomplishing goals in life. He saved my life. I realized my dog had a soul and as awkward as it sounds it matches mine, it’s like we were meant to be together. Everything happens for a reason and people can change, life is beautiful.

This is my story, I hope its ok.

Stories Series Episode #2: What Haunts Me

CJ Heim

1 April, 2014

It was June 4, 2005 when I made a decision that has haunted me for years.  As usual my squad was on site at Al-Nasir Police Station on Route Bravo.  Route Bravo was a divided road with two lanes of traffic on each side of the concrete divider.  Nasir was a dangerous station as it was deep in the city and was the lowest building around.  However, the real danger at Nasir was getting in and out of the station.  The parking area was completely enclosed and could only be accessed by a sliding door in the front right of the station.  The parking area had covered areas to the left and rear and was full of Iraqi Police vehicles.  The only way to get the armored trucks inside the parking area was to stop traffic on Route Bravo and back the vehicles in the station.  This street was always packed with cars and people as it was an access point to the Sadr City Market. 

By June, I had done this a thousand times and became comfortable with the danger level.  As always, my vehicle was the lead vehicle.  I would have my driver and gunner mount up in the vehicle while I would walk out in the middle of traffic to halt the flow.  Most of the time I would not even need to raise my weapon to stop the vehicles. On this day in June that was a different story.  The first two lanes of traffic stopped immediately so I continued across the concrete divider and into the other two lanes.  As I looked to the right, traffic began to stop except for one vehicle.  I raised my hand and shouted “Awgalf”, the Arabic word for stop.  The vehicle kept coming.  I raised my weapon and again shouted “Awgalf” but still the vehicle kept coming.  I switched my selector level from safe to semi and heard the metallic click.  I can still feel my heart beating out of my chest as I slide my finger over the trigger.  The vehicle kept coming.

The seconds that passed seemed like hours.  I aimed at the driver’s windshield and gently pulled the trigger to the rear.  I don’t remember hearing the weapon fire.  The only thing I remember is the metallic click the weapon made when I released the trigger.  Before I even looked down the barrel of my weapon at what had just occurred my mind caught up with my body.  Something felt off about what had happened.  I knew subconsciously that my mind made a decision my body could not.  It was as if my body was in the fog of war and only knew how to react.  At the same time my mind was clear and was still able to act upon the morals buried deep inside me.  There was something very different about this incident, I just didn’t yet know what I would soon find out.  I looked at the vehicle down the barrel of my weapon and it had veered off onto the sidewalk stopping in the middle of pedestrian traffic.  By this time my squad leader was standing next to me and we moved out with a fire team to do damage control as the crowd flocked around the vehicle.  I was the first to see what had happened.  The driver of the vehicle was a small boy.  I didn’t have to wait for the interrupter to tell me what had happened as I could already see.  The boy could not reach the brake pedal and that is why he could not have stopped.  My round was off target as it was a child and not an adult driving the vehicle. 

This event still gets to me, if it wasn’t a boy in the truck but a man with a truck full of explosives and I didn’t take the shot, me and my men would be dead.  If it was a six year old boy who couldn’t reach the brake pedal and I did take the shot, I just killed an innocent young boy.  I cannot answer why my shot was off.  I also cannot justify why I waited so long to pull the trigger.  I should have had enough time to fire a shot into the grill before the windshield but I hesitated.  This hesitation could have caused me my life or the men in my squad their life.  I still constantly think about it.  There are other days that haunt me in my down time and in my sleep but I will not subject you to all of my horrors.

           In my years since deployment I have struggled with how to handle some of the things that haunted me. I wanted to share what has worked for me in the hopes that someone else would read this and maybe it could work for them. The method I used was writing out the scenario that haunted me including every detail. I would right the scenario much like a movie script as capturing every detail was not an issue for me. As I closed my eyes the movie began and I could remember it like it was yesterday. This is not easy to do and I understand that but once you get through it the healing process can begin. Once you have written your story do some relaxation technique. I have an excellent 15 minute CD that relaxes my entire body and mind. The next part is the hard part and for me I used someone I trusted to help me. I would place a large rubber band on my wrist. Then I would read the story aloud to the other person in the room. The other person’s job was to watch my reaction and listen to the tone of voice. Once it started to become where I was getting aroused the other person would snap the rubber band on my hand. This immediately stopped my thoughts of the story. However, I would have to do the relaxation exercise to bring me back to reality. After the first few times I was able to practice this on my own. This was a long process but it has allowed me to control my thoughts instead of the thoughts controlling me. I will never be able to forget my experiences but I can put them in the closet and close the door. I chose when the door opens now. I will admit at times the door surprises me but I used some of the tools I have learned to put it back into the closet.