Column: A grieving dad opens up about his veteran son's death by suicide

Chicago Tribune

6 hours ago

'My son,' he told me, 'should be on that wall also.'
At the same time, as I found out later when Waddell and I connected via phone, the longtime North Aurora resident, who retired to Wisconsin in 2006, also understands why former U.S. Army Master Sgt. Michael Waddell's name is not included on the Illinois Fallen Wall among those who gave their lives in service to this country since 9/11.
Death by suicide is far more complex.
Far too hard to categorize in terms of cause and effect.
And there are far too many.
Twenty-two a day has been a call-to-action statistic, although the most recent data from the 2024 National Veteran Suicide Prevention Annual Report (using 2022 numbers) puts it at 17.6 veterans committing suicide per day, which is significantly higher than among non-veteran adults.
'Can you imagine,' asked Waddell, 'how long a wall it would have to be to contain all of them?'
And yes, when the Chris Patterson Memorial Foundation took over the Illinois Fallen Wall display a year ago, founder Bob Patterson – whose son, a West Aurora High School grad, was killed in 2012 in Afghanistan – noted some 'upset' feelings by loved ones grieving a suicide. But like Waddell, he noted, after some discussion they understood the reasoning behind the decision not to include those who took their own lives while in service or later.
Still, the pain Waddell feels more than two years after his only child shot himself is palpable. It's a pain that needs acknowledging, as does his son's service to this country.
After graduating in 1988 from West Aurora High School, Mike Waddell worked for a year in a warehouse, 'with no direction,' until his dad, a Marmion Academy graduate who worked for UPS, saw the names and addresses of those serving in the military printed in The Beacon-News, and encouraged his son to reach out to some and find out how they liked the experience.
Because the feedback was positive, Mike enlisted in November of 1989, and spent the next 22 years in the U.S. Army, including two deployments in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom where, according to his father, he suffered traumatic brain injury when his vehicle hit an IED.
The younger Waddell retired as a master sergeant in 2011 and worked for the Army Corps of Engineers until shortly before his death in Jacksonville, North Carolina, according to his father, but struggled with PTSD, which eventually impacted his personality and relationships.
Suffering from those invisible wounds, Mike became more verbally abusive, self-medicating on weed and wine, said Ron Waddell, adding that while his son would call the V.A. when 'having a bad day,' he never sought counseling, even with loved ones begging him to get help.
With his 30-year marriage crumbling around him, said the elder Waddell, Mike used a gun to take his own life on May 8, 2023.
'As a child, he literally passed out when getting a shot,' recalled the father. 'Imagine the mental anguish he was going through' to end his life in this way.
'Had his mother been alive,' he continued, referring to his wife Andi's death in 2014 after a long battle with cancer, 'it would have killed her.'
Waddell described their son as a 'good kid … a funny guy when he was not the way he was in the end.' And he was an excellent soldier, his father noted, referring to the many military commendations he received, as well as a flood of personal accolades from peers following his death.
'Your son was a good man … one of the best non-commissioned officers I have ever worked with,' wrote a fellow soldier who served twice with Mike during his service.
While Mike Waddell's career meant most of his adult years were long distance from his dad, he was buried with full military honors at Northwoods National Cemetery in Harshaw, Wisconsin, just 15 minutes from Ron's home. And that gives a still-grieving father tremendous comfort knowing his son is 'finally at peace.'
'I can't emphasize enough how impressed and proud I was of him,' he told me. 'I have so many memories, all good.'