Green Beret's Suicide Note: God has played Jenga with our lives

We can talk all we want about suicide awareness but never really say much at all. Making folks aware there are suicides within the military and veteran communities is one thing they already know very well. Keep talking about the obvious and the outcome is already known. Finding a way to stop blaming themselves is something they don't know. Telling them they are not stuck suffering is another.

Commentary: My stepfather 'did not deserve to die'
Army Times
By Grayson Ullman, Special to Army Times
July 13, 2015

Michael Bruce Lube, a Green Beret, committed suicide two years ago. (Photo: Courtesy Grayson Ullman)

On July 11, 2013, my stepfather, a Green Beret, donned the uniform he wore proudly for 18 years and scrawled a note on an index card.

"To the regiment, I have ridden my pathetic life about as far down the spiral as anyone should have to. I accept my dishonor and shame. I am a disgrace to the regiment, and willingly execute this, my last humble act. I am so goddamned tired of holding it together. There has been no end to it all. God has played Jenga with our lives. Goodbye and good luck.
- Michael Bruce Lube, Sergeant First Class, US Army Special Forces"

Then he picked up his favorite gun, a Heckler and Koch USP .45mm pistol.

I sent him text after text that morning. I told him that he'd be a grandfather some day. I told him that despite the tribulations we had gone through, we were strong; we were a family; we could struggle through. We could make it. We would find a way to alleviate his demons, to seek out healing.

I'll never know if he read them.

Late that morning, as a SWAT team shut down the highway outside our apartment and prepared to breach the door, he called my mother to assure her that this wasn't her fault. "I won't let the Army take my [Special Forces] tabs," he said. "I'm going to die a Green Beret."

He placed his green beret, carefully folded, far from where his body would fall, along with a picture of he and his mother and the collection of letters to loved ones he had just finished writing.

Then he pulled the trigger.

Michael's actions had horrific consequences that rippled throughout our entire family. The effects of his PTSD spread like an infection, subjecting each of us to his violent tendencies and emotional abuse. We all began to question our own choices — were we supporting him enough? Had we made mistakes? Was this our fault?
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