Anthony Cusimano

I served with the 814th Engineer Battalion, 1st CSB. Right out of basic, I was deployed to Iraq—not for my MOS as a bridge crew member, but as the lead gunner on the Mk19, running CST and escorting officers between bases. One day, I spotted contact in my lane, fired a pin flare, and engaged. The rounds tore into a vehicle, which turned out to be a VBIED. It detonated close to us, and I felt the shockwave pass through my body.

We returned to Al Asad Airbase, but by the next day I had to be medevaced to Germany—I was bleeding from my eyes, ears, and nose in my sleep. After some time, I was transferred to BAMC, told I could no longer serve, and was sent home. I struggled for years with alcohol, but I eventually got clean, got married, and now have four kids I’d give my soul for—if I still had one.

Recently, while working an under-the-table job, I got pinned between a tractor and a building and ended up with broken ribs. I was raised to believe a man should never ask for help—that he should provide for his family no matter what. But the people I’ve spoken with at Guardian are helping me feed my family until I’m back on my feet. They’re also helping me move from 70% to 100% disability and connecting me with real brothers—people who truly understand what I went through, not civilians with a PhD who can’t feel the rage I carry daily.

I am truly grateful, and I vow to remember this. I will return the favor for the help they’ve given my wife and kids.