Moral Injury and Community and Healing Spaces

The answer had burst forth inside her. “This hut is holy ground. This hut is a sacred container of divine wisdom and love for ALL of our dusty bodies. The stranger is invited, and the stranger must be willing to enter with reverence, an open mind, and an open heart – permeable and ready to receive the gift of wisdom from this Sage. Utmost humility, sacred reciprocity, and love are present. Ahe, ahe, ahe, we must remove our shoes, for we have entered holy ground.”

Joel was meeting with Paula and Amy after work. Before he became a nurse, he had served in the army. Many roads had taken him on that path. He was a young child when he saw snatches of the horrific images of the 9/11 attacks on television. The adults around him tried to keep the tragedy of the events from him, but he remembered so clearly the level of shock and horror that reverberated through his home and his community. Even though he could not understand what was happening, it greatly impacted his life. He grew up admiring the men and women in uniform who protected and fought for his country, and when his family could not afford higher education, he took the initiative to go into the military. This allowed him to further his education and pursue a nursing career where he could serve others.

As an Army veteran, he had the experience of some of his peers who struggled with and even died by suicide. A few days ago, he had met with Walidah to talk about a curriculum for congregations she had created called ‘Ubuntu’. She told him the story of her son and how she had lost him. Joel needed to share her story with his friends …

When my son was nine years old, a minister told me that he was an “old soul.”

Have you ever stopped to ask yourself how you carry trauma? This is a question that I was confronted with years ago after the loss of my son, a veteran who succumbed to the invisible scars of war. When my son was nine years old, a minister told me that he was an “old soul.” Perhaps he foresaw his future. I am not sure, but his assessment was correct. Sa’ad cared deeply for humanity early in life. He loved and cared for his younger brother, finding ways to entertain and amuse him. Every Christmas he would dress up as Santa Claus, laughing loudly between the ‘ho-ho-hos’.

This was unusual for a child, but he loved doing it. His smile and laughter were infectious, and his practical jokes were, at times, irritating but always left us in good spirits. He loved learning, and by the time he was in his early twenties, he could speak five languages. This served him well in the military, particularly his fluency in Arabic. As a young child, he would lie under the covers and read by flashlight when the whole house was still and asleep. He was a consummate home chef and created interesting meals out of simple ingredients. He learned to love cooking from his grandfather. As the grandson of a WWll Montfort point marine veteran, it was not surprising that Sa’ad would join the military, as this was a life he had grown up around. He excelled as a soldier and knew that this would be a path to a future in law. However, his participation in the Iraqi engagement proved too much for him to carry. What has been seen cannot be unseen. Once your soul has been shattered, returning home to a society that doesn’t understand the military culture or the deep trauma experienced forces you into a world of silence. Who do you talk to, who can understand, how do you stop reliving the horrors you’ve witnessed? Working for the National Security Agency (NSA) provided no refuge; daily, he was exposed to the deep conflicts we are unaware of as general citizens. For him, it was too heavy a burden to carry. He was numbing the pain however he could, engaging in selfharming behavior, ultimately impacting his ability to function and straining family relationships. Seeking assistance from the Veterans Administration proved complicated because of his security clearance; this eventually would be the thing to change everything. December 2012 was the last time I would speak with Sa'ad, the light was gone from his eyes, and there was a deep sadness within him; we could not save him. In January 2013, my 36-year-old son decided to leave life. The aftershocks still reverberate.

This experience would reveal how my prior professional experiences were a training ground for my current work in addressing veteran suicide and the trauma resulting from war's invisible wounds, leading to the Ubuntu Curriculum. Once your soul has been shattered, returning home to a society that doesn’t understand the military culture or the deep trauma experienced forces you into a world of silence.