Uncle Ed — The War Hero

Although it theoretically is marginally ethical, I frequently find myself performing a rudimentary psychoanalysis of people I have never met.

I usually find it helps to explain a life or an origin of suffering, or some kind of human empathy, and can bring peace or closure to the folks who come into my office — or the folks who are my friends.

It was a really good friend who told me on the phone today, “I thought of you this past week. My Uncle Ed died.”

His Uncle Ed had died in the midwest at age 95. The family had discovered, serendipitously, scribbled on the back of some inconsequenstial paper, that he had received both the silver star and the bronze star for heroism in World War II.

The family had been surprised, to say the least. Uncle Ed had never spoken at all about having been in World War II Europe, let alone having been in combat.

He had lived an exemplary life, founded an oil company, had been a pillar of his community. Why hadn’t he told anyone that he was a hero?

I told my friend that Uncle Ed had probably had post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

When he had been ordered into the European theater of operations during World War II, Uncle Ed had probably been under 28. It isn’t until about age 28 that the human brain becomes fully “myelinated” — that is, that individual brain cells grow the covering that permits them to really effectively transmit nervous impulses.

I always thought this had something to do with severity of pediatric PTSD. The people we send into battle are adolescent young men.

The carnage — well, I know from my veteran patients at various VAs it is beyond description. When Harry S. Truman said “War is Hell,” it was a minimization of the facts. Soldiers are “buddies” — this helps them survive. The watching out for their comrades in training is precious when they are in the field.

“Buddies” can die — horrible deaths — right before your eyes. In your arms.

Along with the nightmares and memories, which (hopefully) fade some with time, we have “survivor guilt,” the “why am I the one still alive?” that may plague the PTSD survivor.

Folks with PTSD sometimes find that they can avoid the memories of the event by not talking about it, which helps them not think about it.

Some folks actually avoid treatment because it makes them think about the event, betting (sometimes without knowing it) that they are more likely to feel good if time and avoidance bury the memory than if they receive formal treatment for PTSD.

If they have a busy enough life, they can repress their memories.

Uncle Ed founded an oil company and was a pillar of the community.

Curiously enough, although he never spoke with my friend about the “Great War,” he did tell my friend “don’t lose your wife the way I did.”

He probably had PTSD a second time. People who have had it once tend to get it again.

My friend was grateful for the explanation of what I thought had happened. I am glad folks from the military sent a detachment out to this military funeral to bury Uncle Ed with appropriate honors.