THIS IS AN UN-EDITED LETTER GIVEN TO ME FROM A DESPERATE MOTHER– –SHE SENT THE ORIGINAL TO THE VA

I am writing this letter on behalf of my son. I am hoping that you will realize what dire need he is in and admit him into an inpatient program. I fear that if action is not taken immediately, he will harm himself. Since he has returned from Iraq, he has been on a roller coaster that has recently gone steadily downhill. He has been in the psychiatric ward of the VA in Cleveland twice. He is in no better condition now, years later, than when he 1st returned. He is in so much emotional pain that he self medicates with alcohol and pills. The alcohol and pills are only a symptom of a much darker illness that remains in the form of painful memories of war that haunt him daily. Recently he has spiraled so far down, that I cannot bear to see him. Though my heart is breaking, I can no longer enable him and watch him slowly kill himself. My help has only been in the form of small patches of a large wound. It is way beyond my scope. You are the only ones that can help him. I am begging you to see the seriousness of this and please give him inpatient treatment. He is about to be homeless. He has a pending DUI. He has no phone, car, transportation, or food. I have helped so much in the past that I can no longer afford it. He was once a proud young man, willing to sacrifice his life for this country. But he is about to become one of this areas broken, homeless, mentally ill, bums. But that is not my biggest fear. My biggest fear is that the war we thought he survived will ultimately claim his life. Please help him. Please don’t let him die. His family knows him better than any doctor could. And we all agree he needs serious help and intervention. I love my son more than life itself and will not give up the fight to get him back.

BELOW ARE THE LYRICS TO JOHN PRINE’S SAM STONE:

Sam Stone came home, To his wife and family After serving in the conflict overseas. And the time that he served, Had shattered all his nerves, And left a little shrapnel in his knee. But the morphine eased the pain, And the grass grew round his brain, And gave him all the confidence he lacked, With a Purple Heart and a monkey on his back.

There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes, Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose. Little pitchers have big ears, Don’t stop to count the years, Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios. Mmm….

Sam Stone’s welcome home Didn’t last too long. He went to work when he’d spent his last dime And Sammy took to stealing When he got that empty feeling For a hundred dollar habit without overtime. And the gold rolled through his veins Like a thousand railroad trains, And eased his mind in the hours that he chose, While the kids ran around wearin’ other peoples’ clothes…

There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes, Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose. Little pitchers have big ears, Don’t stop to count the years, Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios. Mmm….

Sam Stone was alone When he popped his last balloon Climbing walls while sitting in a chair Well, he played his last request While the room smelled just like death With an overdose hovering in the air But life had lost its fun And there was nothing to be done But trade his house that he bought on the G. I. Bill For a flag draped casket on a local heroes’ hill.

There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes, Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose. Little pitchers have big ears, Don’t stop to count the years, Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios. Mmm….