When you serve your country in the armed forces, especially during times of duress, you discover many definitions of death. I list a few examples for the sake of argument:
the death of Manhood for not standing up in a fight.
The death of a Decision for fear of making a decision.
The death of Innocence—rosy replaced by reality.
It never occurred to me I was dealing with the latter. The onset of mental illness was a nasty shock to my system. I let that tough-guy macho thing disguise my feelings to the point of denying the truth. Exposure to the trauma of others has a cumulative effect. In the time, it produces a debilitating open wound in your subconscious until you inevitably break down.
I held on to innocence far too long. Then, thinking about the force of willpower reinforced by brandy, I could keep the best parts of me alive. But some things can’t be unseen no matter how much we bury them. And the corpse that is childhood is a funeral no sensible adult wants to attend.
Something happens when we die. The internal. The invisible. The irreversible momentary death of being someone we are not. Of being something we know is wrong. We move ahead for expedience. We step forward in deference.
Something changes the spiritual furniture. We become strangers in our homes. Daylight feels like an intractable foe. The night feels like a robe meant to hide transparency. Every word sounds like an unsharpened weapon. And former objects of desire are now soulless idols standing beside you in battle. You’ve traded sexual intimacy for a better-looking squad of soldiers.
It’s not wise to fight Death. Yet fighting is how I arrived in this world. Spun through mother’s womb a catacomb of miscarriage and mental anguish. My birth beat death and death has never let me forget it. A missed sniper in the Philippines. A plane crash in the Azores. A missed disaster in West Germany. Three appointments of death I have missed. Not from strength. Not from luck. Certainly not from grace.
Something happens when we die. We hear death as a clarion call to make better choices. We learn the old fight must end. And we finally see most struggles first start in the battlefield of the mind. And victory is an ill-conceived military term forgotten by those facing fear with conviction. And finding the courage to walk the long way home.
Mark Antony Rossi is a poet, playwright and host of the literary podcast “Strength To Be Human” where he creates episodes on art, creativity and working with depression. He is a Cold War USAF veteran.