The next two speakers already have me choked up without saying a word. I have heard this story before, and it isn't pretty.

Jeffery Lucie served in Iraq in the US Marine Corps and returned home a drastically changed man. Jeffrey told his mother that he only wanted to help people, and his parents now only aim to do the same.

On 20 March 2003, Jeff wrote in his journal that the reality of the war had finally hit him. In letters home, Jeff hinted at what demons he would carry with him the rest of his short life. Jeff was throwing up every day, seeming distant, having nightmares, and wearing the dog tags of men he had killed around his neck. He found college to be quite difficult; he couldn't pay attention or focus. After being prescribed antidepressants, the mixture of prescription drugs and alcohol started to hurt him more and more; Jeff had PTSD. After answering in the affirmative that he had had suicidal thoughts, he was still discharged from the USMC. A suspicious car accident in June, in hindsight, may have been a suicide attempt and his behavior became more and more reckless.

[The cracking in Mrs. Lucie's voice combined with the knot in my stomach are almost too powerful right now; I feel like I lost Jeff, too . . . in a way, we all did.]

Jeff's parents sanitized their house of whatever they thought he could harm himself with, but still felt helpless.
The room is quiet as Mr. Lucie reads the note that Jeff left for his family when he took his life in the cellar of their house. We pause to listen to the song that became such a metaphor for Jeff's young life. Hearing, Investigation, Event . . . there are many things you can call what we are doing today, but, if this doesn't change one mind or even on policy, you can go ahead and call this therapy for so many here who relate to the pain in Jeff and the loss in the hearts of his parents. Looking around the room, I don't see any of the words I used before, I just see a family gathered together, trying to overcome so many things together.

Kevin Lucie was surprised when his son finally let it all out about how angry he was with the country, and the war, and the VA, and the pain. The next day, Kevin found his son hanging from the rafters in the cellar, a garden hose around his neck. Jeff had fallen through every crack, even with all the most obvious warning signs. As an institution, the VA has still not implemented a single recommendation from the 1980s VA report of PTSD. We won't find Jeffrey Lucie on any list of OIF/OEF casualties, but he and others like him are the forgotten veterans and forgotten casualties. 120 veterans take their lives per week while the government does one study after another without any real change.

Kevin asks, "Where is the rage?" When are we going to truly honor and support our veterans? How can we support our troops when funding for PTSD was stricken from the 2005 supplementary budget?