Freefall

I read the other day about a United States soldier, Daniel Pharr, whose first sky diving attempt narrowly sidestepped tragedy. His tandem partner and instructor, George Steele, suffered a heart attack and died, in midair, while strapped to the Private's back. It's hard to imagine a more terrifying situation. (Plummeting to earth, strapped to a dead man, nanoseconds to react; nope, that about does it.) Amazingly, the soldier was able to keep his head (literally), and maneuver his parachute to safety; once back on the ground, he even had the grace and presence of mind to attempt CPR on his already deceased partner, rather than reverting to the fetal position and abject whimpering.

I believe that Daniel Pharr is a hero, not least since he spared his mother the horror of smashing to earth before her disbelieving eyes. He himself has downplayed talk of heroism, and credits his survival to his army training. I admire this modesty almost as much as his strength. I agree that his training probably saved his life. That's the side of military life I admire; the grace under fire, the almost superhuman ability to remain calm and focused under outrageous pressure. The capacity to be a hero, and to shrug off the glory. (I am under no illusions about my own psychological reserves. My own staunch motto remains, "when in danger or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." In that soldier's situation--oh, who am I kidding--I would reveal state secrets, betray loved ones, and deny my own god to avoid being tossed from a flying airplane. But hypothetically, in a parallel universe, were I in that soldier's situation, my own last, fevered prayer would be that my remains be so thoroughly mangled that the coroner wouldn't be able to tell that I had both peed myself and voided my bowels before impact.)

But I can't help thinking about the shadow side of this indomitable strength. CNN reported today that soldier suicides are up; every day, it seems, beings new stories of divorce, and far worse, in army families. Our streets and VA hospitals are already littered with homeless and hurting veterans from this and past wars, stumbling through crippled lives. This is what happens when weakness is a stigma, when shell shock (or it's current, sterile incarnation, 'Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome') is denied. Refusing to acknowledge the profound schism between survival mode and civilian life does not mean that the schism doesn't exist. How does a person transition from constant alert and adrenaline, to playdates and PTA meetings? I think about our returning soldiers, and soldiers the world over, freefalling their way from war to peace. It scares me.