Oath to the Souls Who Left Too Soon
This past Saturday in Baldwin Park, a large group of veterans, family, and friends gathered at City Hall to walk for the cause of preventing veteran suicide. We know all too well the shocking statistic of 22 veterans a day choosing to take their own lives. Some of us might even know a soldier or Marine who’s put on a 22-pound backpack and walked 22 miles a day for 22 days to honor these souls who’ve left us too soon. We hear from people who’ve lost sons and brothers in arms. Their stories can only be told quietly, one to one. Not for the public to know just yet, if ever. The pain is too raw, the grieving too deep and constant. For these survivors, there is no joy in daily living, but they’ve found ways to cope by volunteering. The word gets out, and guys on the edge call them, sometimes late at night. They ask questions like “when’s the last time you went grocery shopping?” They visit and check the fridge to make sure there’s food in there, not just bottles of whiskey. It’s not easy to know whether to call 911 or a priest. Pick wrong and they slip through your grasp, lost to the bottle or worse.
What’s the right thing to do? Show up, walk, shoot photos? Talk to somebody, let them talk, put people in touch with each other, grow the circle of people who care? All of the above? As with anything, consistency and devotion prove our sincerity. We must always prove ourselves, build our reputations, be there for somebody to count on when they think they’ve got nothing and no one to live for. We might not even know we made a difference. That’s what these walks are all about. Getting the job done, regardless.
There was music, and a car show, babies and grandmas, dogs, food, lots of tattoos. LA County Fire raised a huge flag over Maine Street. A state senator posed in a car for me. I kept her a bit too long, not knowing who she was, but she was a good sport about it. “I’m not a Senator or a Congressman, I’m just Louie the Lens,” I said. “Don’t sweat it,” she said, or something like that. We can’t all be VIPs.
A gentleman named Victor Valentino, complete with Steelers hat and connections to a multitude of people you’d want to know, took me around to meet some of those people, like the record guy and the True Pride car club president. If I could get myself to take some notes, I could be a real reporter someday, but as it is, well, you’ll have to do without the names, and maybe someone will fill in the blanks. I do remember Louie, the guy with the tattoo’d head. And Larry, a third generation low rider devotee. He’s got magazines from the 70s with his pop’s ride. And grandpa was customizing cars when he came home from the war.
Some guys come home and customize cars, others put a gun to their head. Does it make a mile of difference when we show up for a walk and a day in the park? I have no idea. But what I do have is faith in the bits of treasure we carry with us, the spark and inspiration we share. Take an oath to the souls who left too soon. Keep your eyes and ears open. Walk on.
The second thing we put off dealing with after procrastination
For my BNI networkers, and anyone else who cares to follow along, we’ll be taking on everybody’s absolute favorite area in need of improvement: follow up!
