My caregiver? I'll call her a caregiver. Since I sat down here, my caregiver has given me this glass of water, and she has brought me this box of Kleenex. Clearly, I have a better caregiver than Bruyea. Also, when this conversation is over, she's going to spend the next two hours talking me down from how wound up I am as a result of participating in this.
You can google “roast Peter Stoffer” or “Peter Stoffer roasted”. I was the MC of that roast. I put body armour on him and gave him a name tag that read “Stoffer PD”, and I picked a trade for him—“SD1”. That stood for “shit disturber 1st class”. Pardon the vulgarity, but that's what we need. We need people to go into the corners after the puck. We need people to say that not only is the veteran spiralling out of control, but he's dragging down with him somebody who he stood up with in front of 150 people and who he said he would love until he was dead. He's dragging her or him down with him. That's the problem.
Now, I realize that we're standing at the bottom of a mountain looking at the top, and it's going to be a very tough job to get there. We had the one-stop shopping that Sean was talking about. It was called the Stadacona Hospital, and everything a veteran needed was all in one building. They gradually....
Sorry, Mr. Chair.
Just get in corner after the puck and, above all else, pick up the phone and take the time. It's empathy, as Tracy said. Just empathize. I don't want your sympathy. I want your empathy.