SPC Jason J. Welch

Jason John Welch came into this world on a snowy February 10th day in 1982.  J, as he insisted on being called was a very funny, yet mischievous, boy and remained that way through manhood.  If you ask former teachers, friends, and family members, they’ll always tell you that even when he was getting into trouble, you couldn’t help but laugh because he was a prankster, and you could never stay mad at him because he was so handsome and charming.

After graduating from Everett High School in 2000, J realized college was not for him and held various jobs doing manual labor until he decided to enlist in the army. In July of 2004, J went off to boot camp in Fort Knox Kentucky. I can still see him in the passenger’s side of his recruiter’s car as they drove off to the airport. He smiled and blew me a kiss just as he did the first day I left him at school. After graduating bootcamp and AIT training in Fort Carson Colorado, J deployed to Iraq. I remember him calling me from Kwait before heading to Iraq to let me know that he didn’t know when he’d have a chance to call again. We both remained upbeat during our conversation, but inside I was dying. I was having lunch with a couple of girlfriends that day, and I remember collapsing and breaking down after our call ended. A lot of the year that followed is blurry. I don’t know how I managed to hold down my job and finish school as my whole focus was to get home and wait for his calls or letters.

From Feb 2005 to March 2006, J served combat in the South Baghdad Province with an intense squadron mission schedule that resulted in tragedy and catastrophes.  J was the dismount, driver, and gunner on the M3A2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle and Armored Humvee and a member of the dismount team during combat missions.  It wasn’t until I was preparing for the speech I gave today that I really learned of the horrors my baby had witnessed.  J was honorably discharged from the army on January 28th, 2007 with a disability rating of 10%. Upon his return home, J developed an opioid addiction and began to spiral out of control.  He felt a change of environment might be what he needed so he packed up and moved to Florida in November of 2007.  While living in Florida, J reached out to the DAV for help in filing to have his VA rating increased.  He could not hold down a job and hardly ate or slept.  His Bradley commander and section leader wrote a letter to support Jason’s claims of PTSD and TBI.  I’ve had this letter for four years and was never able to read more than the first page.  I finally managed to get through it this week as I prepared to speak today at the dedication of the Hidden Wounds Memorial Bridge in Harwich, but I am not prepared to share the horrors it unvieled.  It took Jason four years to receive a 100% disability rating and every day since his return home remained a constant battle.

In 2009, I became hopeful that things would turn around for him.  He met his wife, Cintia and on May 13th, 2010 she gave birth to their daughter, Isabella, my only grandchild.  Cintia is Latino and never understood what PTSD is.  She tried very hard to understand, but it was overwhelming for her.  Cintia worked full time and J became the stay-at-home Dad.  They used J’s VA loan to purchase a home and J sought treatment at a methadone clinic and did well for a while.  However, the medications he was prescribed, and his PTSD interfered with him being able to care for Bella properly.  Eventually he became self-medicating and turned to alcohol to ease his pain and help him sleep.  These behaviors and many others that go along with addiction, led to them separating and sharing custody of Bella in 2016.

Jason’s mental and physical health declined tremendously at this time. Everything became overwhelming for him, he felt like a failure, and he became severely depressed.  He began to put himself in dangerous situations and had little to no self-esteem.  Neighbors and so-called friends labeled him as lazy, crazy, weak, irresponsible, and unhinged.  He began to believe he was all of these and he didn’t care what happened anymore. 

In February of 2017, Jason got into a situation where he needed to go to the hospital. He told me that they said if he didn’t stop drinking, he would be dead in six months. He quit drinking; however, it was too little too late. On July 6, 2017, I had to take my only child off life support and watch him leave this earth. At this moment, I began to understand a little more about the agony J lived with every day; Survivor’s guilt, feelings of hopelessness, everything being overwhelming, loss of focus, sleep and appetite. difficulty finding joy in almost everything, anger, loneliness, and an inner pain that nothing and no one can heal.

No one escapes war unaffected.  Some are lost in battle, some are physically wounded, and hundreds of thousands suffer invisible wounds.  All of these tragedies drastically change lives and families.

In 1865, Abraham Lincoln committed our nation to “care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow, and his orphan”.

Dedications and ceremonies like the one I had the honor of speaking at today help to educate our communities about the symptoms of invisible wounds, reduce stigma and allow us, the families and friends of those lost to invisible wounds, know that our heroes did not die in vain, but rather their loss brings focus to the suicide epidemic and can help to save a wounded soldier.

In closing, I want to share a brief poem I wrote for my son:

Though I may laugh less and cry so much more,

My pain can’t compare to what you had to endure.   

LTFOOY