Ray probably saved my life.

I had seen enough killing and dying before returning home. Ray had never been to Southeast Asia but he was a hospital corpsman at Balboa Naval Hospital. He tended the wounded. In his trauma ward, wounded seems inadequate. Some Marines lost legs and/or arms in combat. Some experienced skin-melting burns. Many felt continuous teeth-gritting pain. Ray tended them all without complaint.

However, my unscarred body only contained a wounded spirit. Thirteen months of killing and loss leeched my sanity.

Ray, this young lifesaving lad, accepted me without reservations. Oh, he obviously had his own problems but we laughed together. Moments with Ray eased my spirits. His enthusiastic embrace of life kept me from killing myself.

I slipped into years of drug abuse and degradation. Occasionally, I would find my way back to San Diego and Ray would treat me as those I never left.

Ray served the Navy for four years. Then he became a civilian employee of the Navy department for more than a decade. Like most of us, he had periods of unemployment but he also worked as a civilian on a Navy contract, taught school and managed computer networks.

When my life could not get any worse, I lived in a veterans' mental ward for six and a half months. Hospital reports gave me little hope but "the system" continued to give me help. Eventually, my life became bearable. Today my lifestyle gives me joy and provides returns for my community.

For Ray, years of tending the wounded and dying caused bouts of depression. Since he never served in combat, "the system" could not help him.

One year ago, Ray shot himself. At first, I shed many tears for our loss. Now, my pain continues to diminish but oh, how I miss my lifesaving friend, Ray.