Preventing Veteran Suicide

Suicide hotline:  1-800-273-8255

Every day a veteran somewhere takes his life.  It’s one of the most tragic circumstances and often the deaths that hit us hardest when we get that phone call.

I’ve had four friends take their lives.  They all bothered me, but one in particular keeps coming to mind because he reached out to me years before and I feel like I could have done more.

Rob Kislow was a young private in my platoon when we deployed to Afghanistan in 2005.  I had only been the platoon leader for a matter of weeks before we deployed, and I had been in the Army for less than a year.  About a month into our deployment, our platoon was sent to support a special forces team in a rural part of Afghanistan along the Pakistan border.

My platoon was going to be split up into two separate units to run missions in the area and I took the mission that I thought was going to be the more dangerous one; I didn’t want to miss out on the action.  On June 10, 2005, soldiers from Bravo company 3^rd platoon got into one of the largest firefights of that entire deployment, and I was hours away on a separate mission…on foot.

When I think of the worst days in my military career, June 10^th is always near the top of the list.  I sat by the radio for hours listening to my guys get shot up, completely unable to do ANYTHING to support them.  I watched as helicopters flew over my position heading to the fight, trying to find a way to get there to no avail.

The fight went on for hours, and I could hear the 9-line MEDEVAC requests come in with explosions in the background.  One killed, two evacuated, several others injured but ambulatory.

SFC Victor Cervantes, a Green Beret just days away from going home, was part of the ODA team that came to join the fight in progress; he was killed by the enemy while clearing a wadi.

Rob Kislow was shot three times, once in the ankle, once in the wrist, and the third bullet penetrated his helmet and came out the other side, scraping along the back of his head.  Rob saw the guy that shot him, but because the Afghan soldiers didn’t wear a uniform, he hesitated before taking a shot to avoid friendly fire, and was blasted by a burst of 7.62 from the enemy’s AK.  PFC Collazo saw this and took the enemy out, thinking Kislow had been killed when he saw the helmet fly into the air.  Collazo began to administer first aid and Rob was evacuated, eventually making it to Walter Reed where they determined that his leg needed to be amputated.

When we returned from the deployment, the company commander, 1SG, myself, and my platoon sergeant went to visit Kislow at Walter Reed.  As soon as we walked in, Rob looked at the PSG and said, “Fuck You Sergeant!”  We all froze and the big vein in the center of my PSG’s head popped out immediately, Rob continued, “You can try to smoke me all you want! I can do flutter kicks all day!”  He began doing flutter kicks in his bed, the nub where his leg would have been flew up and down.  We all had a good laugh, some hugs, and sat and talked with him for some time.

I don’t remember much what we talked about that day, but I do remember him calling for the nurse.  He said something about “phantom pain” and “this fucking button isn’t working” referencing his medication dispenser, then yelled, “it’s a fucking TEN ok!”  He seemed to be in constant pain.

I didn’t know what to do or say.  I was a 23 year old kid and I had no training on how to deal with this.  What did he need to hear?  What could I say to help?  I didn’t know, so I sat there in silence, hoping that just being there was enough.

Months later I got a call from Rob late one night.  I was sitting on my couch watching TV when my phone rang.  I answered chipper, but Rob was in a bad place.  We talked for about an hour, most of which was me listening to him cry, “my fucking leg is gone sir!  It’s fucking gone.  I failed you guys.  I should have been there.  I came home too soon.”  He repeated that over and over, and again I didn’t know what to say.  I don’t remember what I said, but I remember hanging up and sitting there on my couch in silence.  The TV was still on, but muted, and I thought about my friend…but I didn’t do any more.

If I had known that was the last time that I would hear Rob’s voice, I might have gotten into my car and driven the four and a half hours to Walter Reed.  I was a single guy, I didn’t have much else going on in my life, I could have done it.

Rob battled with PTSD for almost seven more years after that phone call, but he never once contacted me again beyond an accepted friend request on Facebook.  Two years ago I was stunned to find out that he took his life and his fiancée’s mother’s life too.  I thought he was ok, I had no idea.

I’m not sure that I could have changed anything if I had been more involved, but because I wasn’t, that thought remains in my mind.  It’s the reason I’ve made an effort to get back in touch with my old buddies.  It’s why I have asked you to do the same, and it’s why I started this endeavor.

All the time, money, and effort put into making CONUS Battle Drills happen will be worthwhile if we can keep even ONE guy from taking his life.  If I can help a guy through the stressful transition time to start a career, bolster his relationship with his wife, and connect with his children, maybe I can show them there’s hope after all.  Maybe I can make it easier to take the time to deal with the demons in his mind.  If nothing else, maybe I can show him that he’s not alone, there are millions of us out there that will call him brother.

So if you are reading this, get in touch with someone and let them know you’re there.   It will be good for both of you, and if you have had suicidal thoughts, please call the number below and get help.  Life is worth it, it’s beautiful, and you shouldn’t miss out.

1-800-273-8255

 

 

 

 

-LJF