The first time I was shot at was after I got out of uniform. I was at a bus stop in Minneapolis, Minnesota, after my closing shift at the chocolate shop. I can’t recall if it was late at night or still daylight. I was seated on the wooden bench and the shot entered the glass shelter, just above my head.

The glass shattered. My head didn’t.


Related Posts

It’s Veteran’s Day, 2020

It’s Veteran’s Day in the United States. Armistice Day in other countries.

I wanted to this post to land at the 11th hour and the 11th minute, on November 11. In years past, that was when we would toast the veterans in the dining room. That was usually after the parade, the marching band, and the speeches, the endless speeches.

This year, I’m not sure there will be a parade, and I know that many of the celebrations of America’s veterans will be reduced and curtailed by the restrictions of the day.

A USA face mask.

As a woman who is a veteran, this saddens me.

I have a family that has long served this country in uniform. In fact, some go back to the men in blue during our Civil War. Union soldiers out of Pennsylvania. And there are family members who registered for WWI – and three out of four of my grandparents served in WWII. Paratrooper, Navigator, Women’s Army Corps.

The author’s grandparents on their wedding day.

Later, uncles served in Vietnam, peacetime, and then me, during Desert Storm so very long ago.

I’ve had the opportunity to meet people who served in all wars in the 20th century, and to meet those who have come back from recent stints. I’ve met people with missing limbs, bad backs, tinnitus, aphasia, all kinds of scars, physical and emotional.

Once upon a time not too long ago, I knew and loved a Pearl Harbor survivor. I knew a woman who survived the Holocaust and served the U.S. out of gratitude because we saved her and her sister. I still know many veterans, and I meet them with respect first, camaraderie second.

That’s not to say all veterans are good. After all, not all the apples on a tree will be ripe and pure. Some will be sour, some bitter, some ruined by worms. But you don’t condemn the tree for a few bad apples.

What I really want to say here is that if you know a veteran or are one yourself, it’s not just a day.

It’s an entire life.

You gave, and we all changed because of it. Saying “Thank you for your service” may not be big, broad, and bold enough to acknowledge the sacrifice you made in taking the oath to serve. It’s pretty scary when Uncle Sam suddenly has direction and control over your life. We can only hope that those in command lead honorably, with intelligence and compassion.

If you know a veteran, remember that what they did by serving was something most people are too frightened to do. Some are too selfish to put their lives on the line. Some are dismissive of those who do put the uniform on. Some still harbor anger over 50 years later for wars they didn’t agree with and administrations they didn’t respect. Some spat on those who served.

Don’t be a spitter. It doesn’t become you.

If you have the time, especially for our elder vets, ask them where they served, what they did. Many will tell you their tales. Of homesickness, lost loves, draft cards, letters from home. Some will speak of terror, HumVees, desert sands, berserkers, and nightmares. Some will still scan the horizon for snipers when they walk through their hometowns.

These are the people among us this day is for. Remember them. Pay your respects if you can. At the very least, thank them for their service.

No One Serves Alone

This is a speech I gave at the Yountville Veterans Home on November 10, 2017, in observation of Veterans Day.

Veterans Day Speech 2017

For 98 years, Americans have remembered those who served our country in uniform on the 11th of November – first as Armistice Day, and then, since 1954 as Veterans Day. In this 99th year of commemoration, the federal Department of Veterans Affairs is broadening that tradition of observance and appreciation to include both veterans and military families for the entire month of November.

I respect this acknowledgment and inclusion of military families because, for my own experience and observation, it has become increasingly clear:

No one serves alone.

I am a veteran who served in the U.S. Air Force during operation Desert Storm. I am the granddaughter of three World War II veterans and one non-veteran spouse. I am the niece of many a veteran, and the friend of scores more.

As a young woman I voluntarily took the oath to serve my country in a November long ago. I immediately became part of a community that stretched far and wide and forward and backward in the history of this country. The military became my family and we share a common bond with those who have served. One of those bonds is the willingness to respond to the call of duty. Whether it be a draft notice from the US government or an internal need to serve something greater than yourself, all who have worn the uniform have answered that call.

It is my honor and privilege to continue to serve by leading this veterans home in the capacity of acting administrator.

There is a meme going around on the Internet these days, no one knows who first said it, but it has been widely quoted and affirmed and I quoted here:

A veteran is someone who, at one point in his or her life, wrote a blank check made payable to the United States of America for an amount of  ‘up to and including my life.’

That “check” they’re referring to is the oath. Many veterans proudly state there is no expiration date on the oath they took, there’s no expiration on that blank check.

This is the kind of fighting spirit and commitment that has served this country well.

Training together and serving in some difficult and even horrific situations – these times bind us. This veterans home recently experienced an the event which I can only compare to being under siege. We were in the middle of what on the map looks like a huge fire sandwich. Many of us were here on campus throughout the Norcal fires, through the smoke, watching Blackhawks dip into the Hinman dam on our property, lift up and carry the water to douse flames nearby. We experienced a partial evacuation and the majority of our home members sheltered in place, for days. It was not an easy time for any of us. It was a reminder of the fragility of everything we hold dear – clean air, a safe shelter, the well-being of our loved ones, the continuation of our livelihoods.

I can tell you that this community weathered those challenges with an incredible spirit and grace. Many of us were immediately ready to respond to the best of our ability to the emergency. As I said, no one serves alone, and we were ready to help each other out, and many jumped in without being asked, without question.

What an incredible, fighting spirit we have here.

What an incredible community of veterans and military families we have here.

Recently I spoke with a lovely young woman who was holding a microphone and a camera was running. When she heard how we came through the last few weeks, she remarked “this is a community of survivors!” I have to agree. A veteran is someone who survived many things, some as simple as running in combat boots and heaving a 200 pound rucksack through hot weather, others as complex as dropping bombs on unseen villages or hunkering down behind the line. Some have survived worse, and I won’t focus on these things, only to say that military service is something unforgettable and that it changes a person. It is the reason the word veteran is poignant and meaningful. The person who “survives” is not the same person who went in to take the oath.

There is a veteran I know who, while in uniform, in heat of over 100 degrees with unbelievable humidity, dropped out of formation to check on another soldier who was in serious distress. This soldier, I should specify airman, this airman, helped the other airmen out of the ditch she was in and got her some medical aid. The airman who was assisted out of the ditch, who was in distress, was me. And I have been thankful ever since. These are the things we cannot forget.

Yountville Veterans Home
Flags at the Veterans Home, Summer 2017

Finally, I remind you that it is the national month for veterans and military families. I can think of no better month to have this commemoration, and is as it is the month Americans give thanks for the blessings they have received. I give thanks to all veterans and their families for this blessing, for the blessing of being here with you today.

I would like to close with some words shared on the 40th anniversary of D-Day, by Pres. Ronald Reagan:

We in America have learned bitter lessons from two world wars: it is better to be here ready to protect the peace, then to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We’ve learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments was an expansionist intent.

But we try always to be prepared for peace; prepared to deter aggression; prepared to negotiate the reduction of arms; and, yes, prepared to reach out again in the spirit of reconciliation.

–President Ronald Reagan

May we continue to be prepared for peace and for reconciliation. May that spirit continue to be part of the fighting, survivor spirit we have here.

Thank you for the honor of speaking to you here today.


Ursula Stuter, November 2017

Remembrance

The following is the text of a speech I gave at a Remembrance Service at the chapel at the Yountville Veterans Home on May 10, 2018.

Good morning, my name is Ursula Stuter and I am the Acting Administrator here at the Home. I have been acting in this capacity for a year now, and it has been quite a year. I have gotten to know your loved ones in the two years since I have joined the Yountville family.

One of the veterans we are honoring today was the first Yountville Home Member I ever met, even before I was hired to work here. He had a compelling story which, in the few details he chose to share with me, intrigued and impressed me.

He took great photographs.

Wherever there was something going on, he would be there with his camera. He was out rolling on his scooter alongside parades; he would nonchalantly roll into big meetings here on campus, such as when the former federal VA Secretary came out to the Home. Where there was something happening, there was our veteran, snapping photos.

In June 2016, I was sworn in at the Home as Deputy Administrator. I had to take an oath, one that I take as seriously as my wedding vows and my oath of enlistment. In all that hubbub, this veteran captured a moment where my kids could say–just by looking at the great photo he captured–their Mama was a badass. Pardon my language, please, but it warmed my heart that he gave so generously of his talents and time.

He later provided me photos of me at various events.

I would joke with him about those extra Yountville pounds around the midriff and how the camera was merciless.

He’d tease me back and say, well, he couldn’t change reality.

In the last year, whenever he saw me, which was weekly if not every few days, he would greet me always with a warm “Hey Boss”.

I can hear his gravelly voice in my head, and I don’t think I will soon forget that voice.

And I don’t plan to forget.

This Home has withstood a lot of losses over the years, but especially in the last several months. We’ve had our safety challenge by a ring of fire, where our neighbors and our staff experienced personal tragedies. We have had people leave, we have had power losses and flooding. Many of the events I describe are what we would call routine, but there have been a few that are not.

Recently we experienced an unimaginable criminal act on campus, one that invaded our serenity and resulted in the untimely loss of life. There is nothing routine about that type of loss.

We are, as a community, as a family, already moving through grief. We adapt to these losses and sometimes we talk about tragedy and trauma as life before and life after.

The loss of our loved ones, our friends, our veteran family, is part of that grief. But grief is something we experience and move through.

As Winston Churchill is often quoted as saying:

If you are going through hell, keep going.

Winston Churchill

That is how I view grief, a little piece of hell.

Many of our veterans have seen and lived through events that are, indeed, unimaginable. Indeed, a little piece of hell. But to compare the tragedies, to compare the losses, is not helpful. It may be that we are trying to connect by comparing what we have lost, but in doing so, we complicate things.

I recently read a meme on Facebook by Nanea Hoffman that I thought I’d share, because it is simple and it resonated for me:

Sometimes grief is a friend you wish you didn’t know
but that you have to spend time with
because
love brought them along to the party.
And the party was worth it.

— Nanea Hoffman

Grief doesn’t seem to come without love or caring going before it. It doesn’t spring from nothing. And, although Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross defined the stages of grief in her written works on death and dying, she later disavowed those stages, because people were being held to those stages. Allowing ourselves to grieve as we see fit, as we need, this is the only “healthy” way.

Friends and family use the stages of grief, sometimes, as a battering ram – what stage are you in? They might ask. Are you over it? Are you grieving in a healthy way?

And sometimes they tell us: get over it.

I have heard that very phrase in the last two months since we lost our colleagues here on campus. A friend I have known for many years said, perhaps unintentionally– well you need to get over it.

Get over what? Losing human life, losing the potential projects, more laughs, gatherings, serving veterans in partnership?

How can you get over what might have been? How can you “get over” what was?

The answer is, you don’t. You don’t get over it.

You get through it.

See, I like to imagine grief is like the ocean. High tide, low tide. Moments of storm, moments of calm. Sometimes it will deposit a polished gem on your shores, but often it will deposit the barnacles, the messy squishy bits, right at your feet. It may seem predictable, but if you get too complacent and swim in it too long, you could get pulled under.

And I am sure all my Navy and Coast Guard veterans can appreciate that metaphor. Yes, Virginia, the Coast Guard are veterans too.

You see we often quote specific specific biblical verses when we talk about death, when we talk about loss. Ecclesiastes is a favorite. Most of us know Ecclesiastes quite well. To everything there is a season…

It ties in loss with seasons and timing.

When you think about it, loss and death, just like birth and beginnings, is cyclical. You don’t just have one season of grief or one season where you lose something or someone, and nothing else ever happens.

You have seasons. The seasons come and go.

And grief doesn’t follow a recipe or a Google map instruction. You can’t say, well I got to this milestone, so I am free and clear. Well, I no longer cry when I smell the cologne my grandfather used to wear – so I must be done grieving. I no longer look out the window looking for my friend on her morning walks, so I must be done grieving now.

No, it doesn’t simply stop like that. It might lessen with time or subside, and then suddenly a song or a scent or a poem will bring it all back.

Sometimes we see a floating feather or a particular type of bird or a butterfly, and we think of the person we have lost. And this is okay.

Who told you to get over it?

I can assure you, it wasn’t me. I would never tell you to get over it. However.
What I can tell you is what I have been thinking about loss. When I remember a friend or a life cut short too soon or at least a life that ended before I was ready (because really death happens on the schedule of a higher power than me or mine),

I am reminded that I have a gift that I may not be seeing or acknowledging.
My gift, in all of this, is that I am alive.
I am still able to reach out to tell someone I love them.
To say thank you.
To enjoy the celebrations and gatherings of family, and of friends.
To wish on a star.
To hug my children.
To argue about politics and whether people should stand when the national anthem is sung. (For the record, I like it when you stand, if you’re able.)
I am still able to share my hope and my heart with you and with others.
I am still able to do these things. I have the gift of life. I am still here.
And no matter how messy life is or how challenging or how frightening or how I should be eating more vegetables or brushing my teeth after every meal,

I am alive.

This is our gift here in this room. Right here, right now. If you are seated next to a friend, family member, or love one, isn’t that wonderful? You have time. You have right now. You can still participate in life and express your thanks, your love, your wonder.
And yes, we mourn our friends and family.

In no way would I diminish that loss by asking you to remember where you are right now and to forget what was. No way when I ask you to forget what you had.

You are here. You are here in love. You are here in respect. You are here to say goodbye and to adapt to the changes, to adapt to the loss you have experienced. The loss you will feel, for as long as you need to in the manner that you need to. This loss, I feel, is part of the incredible gift we have been given.

I pray that you remember this gift and that you don’t squander it.

Help me today to honor our Yountville family by continuing to do what we love, by continuing to laugh over photographs that show us “in the real”, by continuing to discuss things that excite us, with passion and freedom.

Help me, by continuing. By grasping every last bit out of the life you have been gifted.

Help me to remember. Our friends. Our family. Our loved ones. Their brave service. Their courageous spirits. Their survival of war and of peace and all that they live through.

Yesterday I heard a great statement made by one of Yountville’s most loved and respected businessmen, chef Bob Hurley. Bob, in describing his education and career, said “I lived a lot of life”. Our veterans and home members we are honoring here today did just that, they lived a lot of life. And I lift my thanks to them for touching my life. For touching your lives. I am grateful for this gift.

Thank you for giving me the honor of speaking before you today and for listening.
And thank you for taking the time to remember those we have lost, but who, by remembering, we honor and respect.

Thank you.

–Ursula Stuter, May, 2018

Website Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: