A Broken Life, Mended Through Wounded Warrior Project, a Veteran Learns to Love Himself Again
From a troubled childhood to the struggles of raising a young family, Army veteran Jesse Babson’s origins were far from idyllic. Though his was not an easy life, it was an existence he took in stride – until his Army career ended. Memories of his tumultuous deployment to Iraq mingled with the ghosts of his past, making him unable to acclimate to civilian life. Isolated and disillusioned, Jesse’s personal battle took him to his lowest point – and very nearly claimed his life. His downward spiral may well have continued, if not for a chance viewing of a Wounded Warrior Project® (WWP) commercial on TV.
A Rocky Start
Born in Grand Rapids, Jesse was raised in the Michigan countryside. At the age of 7, he was sent to live with his father in Florida, where he grew up getting into trouble and spending time in and out of juvenile detention centers.
Jesse’s troublemaking continued through his teen years, until his father sent him back to Michigan. Though he had expected his brother to pick him up at the bus station, no one showed. His first steps into adulthood were taken alone, and without a place to call home.
9/11, Following Duty
At 18, Jesse had picked himself up from the uncertainty of homelessness in a new town by working a job in fast food. He had a little money in his pockets, and he had Lisa, his new girl.
By September of 2001, his life had undergone a few changes. The 19-year-old had a job delivering furniture – and a girlfriend at home whose belly was big with their first child. On one particular delivery day, Jesse noticed that at every home he delivered to, families were glued to their televisions.
“I went back to the warehouse and put the TV on, and that’s when I saw the towers fall,” Jesse said.
His daughter was born eight days later, and Jesse began to feel the stirrings of a fighter ready to go into battle and defend his country. After his daughter’s first birthday, he went to his local Army recruiter’s office and announced he was ready to answer the call of his nation. After a few minutes discussing his background, he was turned away. Devastated, he left the recruiting station still a civilian, and he did not return for another year – this time as a young father of two.
“I walked back into that same recruiter’s office, walked up to the recruiter and said ‘This is America. I want to join this Army, and I know that I can do it,’” Jesse said.
Soon after, Jesse completed his training in Fort Jackson and requested to be added to the volunteer list for deployment to Iraq. Eager to begin his career as an Army mechanic, he deployed with the 101st Airborne Division, attached to the 505th Combat Engineer Battalion, a National Guard unit.
Shortly after his arrival at Ali Al Salem Air Base in Kuwait, Jesse received word that either he or his roommate would have to gear up and ship off to Mosul, Iraq. He volunteered.
“When I landed in Mosul, I met the first and staff sergeants, and they asked me how long I had been a mechanic,” Jesse said. “I told them ‘about five minutes.’ They looked at me and told me I was their new gunner.”
In his new role, Jesse was part of a Mosul security team, running missions to provide cover for envoys and equipment and protecting the engineer teams as they constructed roadways and checkpoints. While it was a high-risk job, Jesse said he never felt any actual fear until June 6, 2006, when a chain of improvised explosive devices (IEDs) hit his convoy. Jesse sustained a cut to the face and hit his head on the turret.
“That was when I realized this wasn’t a game,” he said. “I realized that at any moment I could be killed and never see my wife or kids again.”
Jesse pressed on following the attack – ignoring the persistent ringing in his ear, and telling no one of the near-crippling headaches that began to plague him.
“I wanted to be on the security team,” he said. “I was afraid if I told them what was happening, I would be replaced.”
Following the attack that tested his body, Jesse found himself on a mission that would test his soul. It started as a bit of boring and tedious duty, watching a northern road as his combat engineers built a security checkpoint for Iraqi police. As night fell, a pair of flatbed trucks pulled up, each carrying two rows of Iraqi soldiers. Once Jesse put on his night vision goggles, the sky lit up with gunfire from every direction.
“I will never forget the sounds of bullets passing my head and hitting metal, or the mere seconds in which I saw my life flashing before my eyes,” he said. “I just returned fire on the muzzle flashes. The whole scenario lasted only seconds.”
Jesse was ordered to escort medics in the aftermath of the quick attack. Amid the chaos, nearly 15 civilians lost their lives in the ensuing gunfire. The survivors were scattered in a daze – some sitting in cars, others lying on the ground. Those who were not stunned into silence frantically chanted prayers that he could not understand.
A Soldier No More
Jesse returned to Michigan with a laundry list of issues following his deployment. The IED blast left him with partial hearing loss, traumatic brain injury (TBI), and a ringing he admits still continues to this day. Damage to his back and knees left him in constant pain, unable to stand and walk or even sit for extended periods of time. Even sleep provided no respite from his ailments, as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) had rendered him a prisoner in his own mind.
“I can never forget the time I spent in Iraq, or the things we saw and did,” Jesse said. “I can’t sleep because of them. I close my eyes, and I see the faces of the dead.”
His difficult upbringing had done little to equip him with the ability to deal with people, and his experiences downrange only made things worse. He began to withdraw from his wife, children, and friends. He found employment at a tire company, securing a position that allowed him to be alone, the way he preferred.
“Anyone who knew I was in Iraq would always ask the questions,” he said. “What did you do there? Was it hot? Did you kill anyone?”
Jesse did not want to answer their questions about what happened in Iraq. He wanted to be in Iraq – and as far as he was concerned, the people back home were just a constant reminder of a world where he felt he no longer belonged.
“Life for everyone else was so normal,” he said. “They went to work, discussed bills, and bought groceries. They went out on dates and ate at restaurants. I wanted a chow hall. I wanted discipline. I wanted to load up for the next mission. But all that was gone.”
Without his fellow soldiers and without a mission to carry out, Jesse felt adrift and completely alone. Growing up had been a struggle, the demons he carried were a burden, and he had grown tired. One day as Jesse’s wife was out with the kids, she received a phone call from her husband, the message succinct and profound: “I’m sorry.” A surplus of pain medication and sleeping pills coursing through his veins, Jesse laid down with every intention of succumbing to the darkness that had come to invade his waking life.
Fate’s Other Plans
“I woke up one month later in a hospital,” Jesse recalled. “I had been placed in a medically-induced coma. I had no choice but to face my issues or they wouldn’t let me leave.”
Jesse played the role of patient, telling the doctors everything he thought they wanted to hear so he could be released. He was put on a variety of medications and sent home, where awaited the anger of those who could not comprehend what he did.
“They said I was selfish, that I didn’t think about my wife and kids, that I was a coward,” he said. “So now I’m sitting at home, even more depressed, thinking that I am doomed to this miserable existence. That’s when I turned on the TV and saw a Wounded Warrior Project commercial.”
Looking at the WWP website, Jesse began to read the many stories of injured veterans who had reached out to the organization. After signing up, he began to receive emails about events and activities happening in his community, designed to connect warriors with one another.
“At first I didn’t even sign up for any Wounded Warrior Project events, and then I even backed out of a couple because my anxiety was so high,” Jesse said. “But when I finally went to one of the outings, I was hooked. I was surrounded by veterans like myself, and I didn’t have to be nervous wondering what they were thinking of me. I was at peace.”
Connecting with fellow service members breathed new life into Jesse, and he began to look forward to participating in WWP programs like Soldier Ride®, which instilled in him a love for cycling.
“It was scary at first,” Jesse said of his first Soldier Ride. “I thought for sure I would fail – what’s worse, I would fail in that tight outfit. I was not only able to finish the ride, but I actually went back into a group of riders so I could motivate them to finish. And just that simple thing woke me up from my brokenness – being able to help someone else who needed it.”
Attending WWP writing workshops, Jesse learned to put pen to paper and articulate his feelings instead of keeping them bottled up where they could fester into more dangerous things. He enjoys knowing he has an open line of contact with the WWP outreach teammate in his area.
“He speaks from his heart, and he continues to be a presence even after you go to a connection event,” Jesse said. “I know he cares about veterans, and I know he loves what he does.”
At Peace
Jesse Babson is a man who has looked his own mortality in the eye on several occasions. More than once, he has made peace with dying. But nowadays, he finds he is actually at peace with living.
“My life has turned around,” he said. “My family is doing things together. I am a better father and husband who loves to see the smiles on my wife and kids’ faces. I am finding ways to cope with my day-to-day struggles. Most importantly, I am no longer pondering suicide like I used to.”
His love of biking motivated him to purchase his own bicycle. The writing workshops have inspired him to write a book and share the story of his life with the world. He has even taken up hockey – after a WWP workshop paired him up with a veteran who happens to coach a local team.
“I am happy with myself now and with what I have overcome and achieved,” he said. “But none of it would have been possible without Wounded Warrior Project. By simply watching TV, seeing that commercial, and then reaching out to them, I jumpstarted the path to a whole new life.”
To his brothers and sisters in arms still coping with the visible and invisible wounds of war, Jesse offers his story as a prime example of what is possible when a person reaches out for help.
“I promise you that you are not alone,” he said. “But the biggest and most important thing you have to do is reach out. And the best place to start is Wounded Warrior Project. You will open a network of resources for not only you but your entire family. There are people out there just like you, and they are waiting.”
About Wounded Warrior Project
Wounded Warrior Project® (WWP) connects, serves, and empowers wounded warriors. Read more at http://newsroom.woundedwarriorproject.org/about-us.
