I am very excited to announce the release of my newest book, No Peace After War!
There may be no experience more horrific, no personal trial more challenging, than a soldier facing the ravages of war. But for many members of the armed services, returning home after combat is only the beginning of a new, very different set of challenges. Facing isolation, lingering traumas, and unspeakable fears, these brave men and women struggle to find peace long after their physical service is done.
As the wife of an Iraq veteran and a volunteer who has worked with armed service members, author Claire St. Hilaire has heard a number of these heartbreaking, often complex stories face-to-face
In No Peace After War, St. Hilaire shares a collection of short stories and poems that give voice to these dark and difficult realities—exploring haunting memories, society’s treatment of veterans, and the true definition of honor.
No Peace After War is available now on Amazon in Paperback and Kindle format.
Reviewers are free to contact me at claire.m.sthilaire@gmail.com for a complimentary digital copy.
Art is self-expression, self-exploration and often self-healing. This healing becomes more powerful when a community unites to create something beautiful, lasting and deeply meaningful. Elder Heart & Mission 22 are doing just that – uniting communities through artistic expression in order to heal the wounds and save the lives of the men and women who voluntarily subjected themselves to the horrors of war in order to shield a nation from tragedy.
To illustrate the dangers facing veterans returning home David Guttenfelder, a war photographer, took his camera to a new battlefield. After spending two decades photographing war torn countries such as the Congo, Kosovo, Gaza, Liberia, Iraq and Afghanistan, Guttenfelder visited the places where more American service members die than on any other battlefield – their own homes. A devastating 22 veterans commit suicide every day. This means we are now losing more of our nation’s heroes at home than we are on the battlefield. This must stop. And Elder Heart & Mission 22 are answering the call.
They are accomplishing this goal through individual community engagement resulting in public works of art. During this process an Elder Heart Chapter brings together veterans, community members, artists and local politicians to engage in a unified effort to complete a project that not only builds the foundation of long-term healing through relationships and teamwork, but also creates a lasting monument that this community is taking a stand to support and fight for their veterans at home.
Elder Heart’s Mission 22 takes the fight to a national level by using social media to promote awareness and create a national support network. They invite us all to “claim a 22” by taking a picture of 22, found anywhere, and posting it on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram with #Mi22ion to show our vets we have their back. They also use Google Hangout sessions to connect veterans with other vets who are successfully battling PTS or TBI.
Finally, Elder Heart is currently in the planning stage of building a national monument to honor those who have become casualties of suicide. The monument will consist of a circle containing the silhouettes of 22 actual service members who have been lost to suicide. These silhouettes will appear and disappear with the sun as a reminder of the 22 lost each day.
Elder Heart & Mission 22 are on the front lines battling PTS, TBI and Veteran Suicide, but they need the support of individuals and communities to ensure our service members are safe in the home they sacrificed to preserve. You can learn how you can get involved in the links below. A community empowered to make home safe for their veterans, artistic expressions of support, hope and victory proudly displayed in public and veterans helping veterans through another difficult battle – these are the incredible outcomes of art created through Elder Heart & Mission 22.
He sat down to write the letter. This was not his first letter, but each time he hoped it would be his last. Words never came easily to him. The blank page lay on the desk, innocent of the words he was about to assault it with. And still, words remained chambered in his mind, waiting for pen to touch paper.
He dropped his forehead into the palm of his hand. He tapped his pen against the paper in agitation. He glanced around for inspiration – a green cot, a desk and chair, a refrigerator and a grey locker – nothing to write home about. He finished off the warm water left in a crackling plastic bottle and began staring blankly at the wall.
His mind wandered to the recipients of the letter. Dad would probably be catching a train to Boston. He would be sitting down in a worn seat on the isle, offering the conductor his ticket, and then taking out his tablet to catch up on the news before a long day in the financial district.
Mom would be eating breakfast before heading to the community college. Maybe she was finishing up a few last minute grades while trying not to burn herself on a second cup of coffee. Looking out the window she would sigh as the loosening blossoms from a nearby cherry tree floated by on the breeze. This letter wouldn’t be the first they had heard of their son. But it would be the most personal.
He set the pen down, ripped the U.S. flag from the right sleeve of his ACUs and turned it over in his hands thoughtfully. He’d been here eight months and had dreamed about home so often he wondered if he had made it up in his head. Maybe home was like heaven. You hope and pray its there. You work your ass off to get there. But you actually live – and die – in hell.
Enough philosophizing. He slapped the flag back onto his shoulder and forced himself to write the first lines:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Smith,
I am deeply saddened by your loss. Please accept my earnest and personal condolences for the loss of your son…
A personal exploration of autism from a brother’s perspective, including family relationships, philosophy, neuroscience, mental health history and ethics
