Hate is a good thing and Sadness is a far cry from Depression.

Mixed emotions going on here.

On the high side of mixed emotions, let me say that I'm most thankful for the care I have been given at the VA and for the resulting ability it has given me to properly classify a number of emotions we all have. Hate is one of them.

Until recently, I hated a Captain from my days in Vietnam and I hated him more than any other human being on the planet. In 1971, in the midst of supporting black ops during the Cambodian Invasion, I threatened to kill him and I meant it.

I left the Army because of him and I knowingly did that at the cost of flying the twin rotor, Chinook CH 47, a transition course I  had already been approved for. Hatred sometimes has a huge price tag and sometimes it lasts a lifetime. I carried that with me for 47 years and I never spent a single year of freedom from that level of hate.

On the low side of mixed emotions, I've lived to see some things that have taken me to the pits of sadness. There's a long road between sadness and depression but whether it's the death of a loved one or something as simple as the death of a pet, I know the difference between sadness and depression.

I say these things because I discovered something today that makes me very, very sad.

For the first time since World War II ended, the governments of Germany and Japan are re-arming. That's right. Things have changed so much, no one can depend on their ally to come to their aid in the event they are attacked. That's one hell of a decision to make, especially from Countries that experienced the death and destruction that comes when you make the wrong decisions.

When I think about my father and mother, I think about the move they made from Shreveport to Camp Beauregard, Louisiana during the 2nd World War. They worked like dogs until the War ended and they were able to go home. Uncle Woodrow went to Chicago with the Navy and his brother went to New Guinea.

When I think about my Uncles, they were incredible and fought in every Theatre of the war. Uncle Earl's job was killing Nazis in U Boats off the east coast. He was hunting subs for the Coast Guard and spent many nights in the cold, dark Atlantic trying to kill them before they killed any more of us.

Uncle Charles was with the Army Air Corp and his brother, Uncle Joe, fought against Irwin Rommel and the Afrika Corp where the Muslims captured him, turned him over to the Nazis, and he spent the rest of the war in a Nazi POW camp.

Uncle Wayne fought his way from Normandy all the way to Mathausen Concentration Camp where he was the first U.S. Army Medic to walk through the gate, look at the starving, emaciated Jews that were imprisoned there awaiting death in the gas chambers, and then he told them "We are Americans, we've killed all the Germans and we're here to liberate you".

On the day after D Day at Normandy, Uncle Parker, Uncle Morris Ray and a personal friend, Eddie Joyce, left Hawaii on board U.S. Navy ships and began the long, deadly trip through the Pacific Theatre, all the way to Tokyo via Guadalcanal, Saipan, Tinian, Okinawa and Iwo Jima. With today's news, I have to ask myself, what in the hell happened to the things they fought for?

I don't believe my sadness should be viewed as any kind of weakness whatsoever. It comes from a true sense of love and admiration for the true heroes from World War I (Uncle Shirley Hebert) and World War II. It also includes my USMC brother Leland who lived in "Rocket City", Chu Li, South Vietnam and my son, Tim Jr. who spent his tour in the Persian Gulf aboard the USS Enterprise, a most famous aircraft carrier.

When I add all of the officers and men who helped me along the path of a helicopter pilot that flew Nighthawk Gunships with the 199th Light Infantry Brigade and the 11th Armored Cav and then transitioning into OH6s to fly Scout missions with Hunter Killer Teams, I assure you, we all took our turn in doing our duty.

You might ask how I've managed to be sad instead of depressed. I'll tell you. More than anything, during 4 years of study in the PTSD and Suicide Prevention Department at the VA, I've taken a 12 week long, very intensive course of instruction that focuses on "emotions" at the VA hospital.

Thanks to Roger Flatt for that and thanks also to everybody else there who has been so supportive in helping me along the long path that comes after TBI, brain surgery, chemo, radiation and all of the little gifts that keep on giving when those treatments are finished.

Thanks to Guy Kinnebrew, Dr. Phillip Haddad, my niece Paige, a great nurse, thanks to Becky, Waylon, Lisa, Doctor Barnes, Rosie Mason, my patient advocate, Dr. Khakani, who has worked wonders on my Agent Orange issues and Vincent in the Cat scan Department. They aren't the only ones.

Outside of the VA, there are lots of guys that I flew with as co pilot and Pilot in Command. There were gunners, crew chiefs, one former jeep driver and members of the Mustang Motorcycle Club that showed up in Houston to lend support during the emergency brain surgery.

Thanks to Tim Jr and Kristin for leaving the Enterprise and allowing me to live with them from the time of the wreck in June of 2009 until January 1st, 2011 when I managed to move from their home and begin to live by myself.

Thanks to Jay, Woody, Hubert and Richard for keeping me on the payroll until December of 2010 when the mandate to retire was made. Tons of people giving tons of help have allowed me to stay "Intellectually Engaged" and not allow the current set of circumstances to overcome me.

In the words of Bernie Diable, let me say this: "Pay attention to detail". When you do that, you'll see that history repeats itself and when it does, sometimes it gets really nasty. Keep that in mind and remember that a guy with half a brain, one eye and a 4 year long history of being in "The Mental Health Clinic", told you so. I'm sure that there will be more on this later. History demands it.