A personal tribute to my husband Michael “Mickey” Sullivan—and every veteran who carried the unseen weight of service.

This Veterans Day, I want to honor my husband.

He is a quiet hero who served through wars most people have forgotten, during years when America thought the fighting had stopped.

He served through some of the darkest and least-remembered years of America’s military history. Between the Gulf War and 9/11, when the cameras turned away and the headlines quieted, our troops were still out there.

They risked their lives in missions that rarely made the news.

He began his service aboard the USS Forrestal during Operation Desert Storm and Operation Provide Comfort, helping deliver aid and stability to those caught between war and survival. He later joined the USS Constellation, where he took part in combat-readiness and recovery operations before transferring to the USS Saratoga for her final swims.

He was aircrew, the one responsible for his jet. Every launch, every mission, every landing, his hands and judgment helped decide whether that pilot came home. He did not just work the deck—he lived on it. He loaded bombs, fueled aircraft, checked every bolt, and gave the signal that meant, “You’re clear. Go.”

He worked in storms where waves slammed the hull, in heat that shimmered off steel, and under the constant roar of engines. When the jets went out, his heart went with them. When they came back damaged, he was the one who fixed what war had broken so they could fly again the next day.

In Iraq, he went from aircrew to ground pounder. He flew into missions that were supposed to be humanitarian, food drops for civilians starving under warlords. Then gunfire erupted on the ground. He fought back to protect the innocent, defending people who had nothing left but hope. Mercy and violence lived side by side.

Not long after, he was offshore during Black Hawk Down. They were close enough to hear the panic in the radios, close enough to help, but ordered to stand down. For men like him, those orders are their own kind of hell.

Then came the NATO missile tragedy known as the TCG Muavenet incident. A training exercise went wrong when two live missiles struck an allied Turkish ship. Sailors who were allies became casualties. He helped recover the bodies. He helped steady the crew in shock. For his actions and leadership in chaos, he earned one of his three Bronze Stars.

He also served during the war in Bosnia, flying missions from the Adriatic Sea in support of humanitarian operations. Our neighbors, Bosnian refugees who had lived through that war, found out that he had served there and thanked him.  It was beautiful to see his service come full circle as we watch their beautiful children grow, never experiencing what their parents had to endure.

In 1993, he was named Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department (AIMD) Sailor of the Year aboard the USS Saratoga, a recognition of leadership, excellence, and unwavering professionalism among the men who kept those aircraft flying.

Over his career, he earned three Bronze Stars, the Joint Meritorious Unit Award, the Southwest Asia Service Medal, the Navy “E,” and the National Defense Service Medal, among others, each one marking sacrifice, endurance, and pride in service.

Even after the uniforms were folded away, the war inside did not stop.

When he reached out for help, the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) failed him for years. His symptoms of PTSD were dismissed, his pain was minimized, and his injuries were ignored. He gave his best years to his country and was met with red tape and confusion when he needed help most. He carried everything alone for far too long.

I am so proud of him for never giving up. He fought the system when it would have been easier to walk away. He pushed until he got the care and benefits he deserved, not just for himself but for others. Even while healing, he helped fellow disabled veterans navigate the same maze he once faced.

His fight didn’t end with war—it became about justice, dignity, and making sure no one else was forgotten.

Our love brought light back in. Life had weathered us both, but we found each other later in life, when the healing had already begun. I am proud to be his wife, to stand beside a man who has served his country with such honor, courage, and heart, and I’m so lucky to have his heart.

Today, we have a strong partnership with his VA team. After years of fighting to be seen and treated, he finally has doctors and specialists who care, who listen, and who work together. He’s getting the support he earned decades ago, and it shows in the peace he carries now.

Every day, I see the difference. He is more at peace.

He does not need parades. He does not need pity. What he, and every veteran like him, deserves is to be remembered, respected, and believed.

This Veterans Day, I honor my husband. He carried it all. He gave his youth to serve others. He continues to show what courage looks like in healing.

Freedom did not only come from history’s big wars. It also came from those who served in the quiet years when no one was watching. They went anyway.

Written in honor of all who serve—and for the families who stand beside them.

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