Scars of war run deep, but local veteran Tyron Lincoln says ‘I loved serving this country’
I can see that you want to hit me," said the psychiatrist.
Yes," replied the soldier, feeling his anger rise once again.
Any time you're ready."
The soldier, Tyron Lincoln, measured the situation: his shrink was also a military man. Could probably handle himself.
Lincoln thought: OK, Ty. Just take a step back.
That was then: nearly 10 years ago, when the mental health bill came due from Lincoln's experience in the military and, in part, his childhood.
This is now: Wednesday morning, Lincoln stands next to the cenotaph at Burlington City Hall, where a stone column is topped by a bronze statue of a soldier from the First World War.
It is 24 hours before the moment of silence on Remembrance Day, a ritual established 102 years ago to mark the armistice that concluded the war to end all wars," and honour those who fought and died in a conflict that cost everything and accomplished little.
Lincoln has given a lot of thought to cost.
He posted a quote on his social media, one that resonates with him like a rifle shot: The truth is that all veterans pay with their lives. Some pay all at once, while others pay over a lifetime."
The Burlington resident served three tours in Afghanistan, where 158 Canadian soldiers were killed, and also in peacekeeping operations in Bosnia in 1997, in the unstable postwar aftermath in a country littered with 750,000 landmines.
In Bosnia, at 24 years old, he was ordered to assist returning bodies of civilians killed in ethnic cleansing" atrocities to villages for burial.
Drinking was how Lincoln and his colleagues coped during the R&R that followed: get drunk, get in trouble.
I was just a helper; you move this from there, give it to these people,'" he said. You could tell the smaller (body) bags were kids. And (the bags) stunk. Maybe 10 per cent of us could handle it, but the majority of us got wasted. We were hurting. And then it comes back on you later, like: what was I doing?"
Lincoln, 48, grew up in Trinidad and immigrated to Canada when he was 10. His grandmother, his role model and inspiration, raised him most of those years.
His grandfather was born in Panama before moving to England and serving in the Second World War as a medic.
In his teens, Lincoln lived in Toronto's Regent Park, an economically depressed area scarred by violence. His father, who worked hard to support his family, died when Lincoln was in his 20s, and struggled with alcoholism.
When Lincoln neared the end of high school in Toronto, he was hanging with the wrong crowd. A guidance counsellor gave him advice: go as far away as you can to continue your education.
He had never ventured north of the GTA, but took a bus by himself 1,300 kilometres to Thunder Bay. There he attended Confederation College in aircraft mechanics.
After graduation he worked for Bearskin Airlines, and to pay off student loans and capitalize on his education, he joined the Canadian Army.
His engineering expertise meant he could work with any branch of the military as a Geomatics Technician. His postings included Cold Lake, Alta. with the 441 Tactical Fighter Squadron.
In May 2015, six years after he returned from his third and final tour in Afghanistan, he retired as a sergeant.
I probably shouldn't have done the last tour, it broke me down quite a bit, I was doing too much," he said. War is not a nice thing, right? But you have to do your job."
In 2012, a military psychiatrist diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
PTSD is a mental illness and anxiety disorder that may develop after exposure to a traumatic event. It was first defined as a diagnosis in 1980, in part as a result of treating U.S. soldiers who had returned home after fighting in the Vietnam War.
The more horrific the experience, the more likely PTSD will develop, and prolonged or prior exposure to violence, such as childhood trauma, increases the risk.
Symptoms can include overwhelming feelings of guilt, anger and fear, plus an inability to cope in everyday life.
Lincoln experienced extreme anger, sleep apnea, and claustrophobia.
The psychiatrist prodded him to go beyond his life as a soldier, and talk about blood-soaked childhood memories from Trinidad.
Before he turned 10, Lincoln saw an alcohol-fuelled knife fight at a bus stop, where a man was stabbed in the chest. He witnessed one of his older brothers chop a man's hand off with a machete.
It's crazy, but that was the place I came from, and these were regular occurrences."
Lincoln wondered if some of it helped him deal, at least in the moment, with gunfights in Afghanistan, like a type of inoculation.
What upset him most was seeing fellow soldiers injured and killed. It made him angry, he started asking questions about what they were doing there.
The psychiatrist helped him understand that his childhood did not numb or desensitize him to the impact of violence on his mental health, it only served to perhaps delay it.
At the time I hated my shrink," he said. He would drill down, dig deep, and I'd be so angry after our meetings. But my wife would tell me that he's just trying to get to the bottom of it. And he went pretty far. I'm happy he did, I felt good by the end of it."
He married Natasha in 2014 and she was critical to his recovery. He has spoken with veterans who lacked such support.
They have two daughters, and he works for the Department of National Defence as a project manager and compliance officer, while Natasha is a human resources director for AmerisourceBergen pharmaceutical company.
He continues his PTSD therapy, and with a medication regime sleeps better at night.
Nothing really triggers me now, I'm good, I have it under control. The military stuff, the pain and anguish, it's part of my life, but when I go back to it, when I share, I feel better."
Over the years, Lincoln has given talks to young students about his experiences, especially those in neighbourhoods similar to ones where he grew up.
It's important to reach out to Black kids, so they have representation, and understand they can do anything in life."
He has never lacked for motivation.
I call it the hustle inside," he said. That motivation came from growing up with my grandmother and sister. We used to sell antique glass and bottles at the side of the road (in Trinidad) when I was six, seven; make some pocket change."
He volunteers with Gallant Knights, a group that raises money to provide veterans with specialized sports equipment to help improve their physical and mental state.
He competed in the 2017 Invictus Games, for veterans living with physical and mental wounds.
Lincoln believes passionately in the importance of a mind-body balance, but his body does not always hold up its end of the bargain.
He has had surgeries on both his knees, back, and most recently his shoulder, owing to wear and tear from military service.
Years ago, he suffered a concussion when an inactive bomb that was loaded onto a plane dropped on his head, fracturing his skull, leaving him with recurring headaches.
On Wednesday morning, one of his daughters drove him downtown for a photo shoot. He can't drive with his arm in a sling for six weeks from the shoulder procedure, in which a permanent rod was inserted.
He walked from bright sunshine into the shade of Veteran Square on Brant Street, medals pinned for the occasion to his Team Canada Invictus Games jacket.
Names of old battles are inscribed on the cenotaph, among them Passchendaele, Vimy Ridge, and Ypres; also Afghanistan 2001-2013" and Peacekeepers."
Two years ago, Lincoln represented Afghanistan veterans at a Remembrance Day parade here. He was the youngest old soldier taking part.
Small stones lie at the base of the cenotaph, each painted with a poppy.
What immediately comes to mind when he reflects on the sweep of his military service?
That I would not change anything," he said. I'm happy I did it. I loved serving this country."
He won't be at the cenotaph Thursday morning, instead he'll be at the fracture clinic for work on his shoulder.
Perhaps at the 11th hour the place will fall silent, and his mind will wander to distant lands.
What he hopes is, in that moment, others will pause to think not only of soldiers long dead, but also the living.
Some of them are forgotten, or homeless, and fighting a darkness," he said. We have to think about the ones suffering right now. They get missed. Remember them."
Jon Wells is a Hamilton-based reporter and feature writer for The Spectator. Reach him via email: jwells@thespec.com
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