Veterans Affairs Committee on Oct. 9th, 2025

[The Chair, Liberal, Marie-France Lalonde]

I call this meeting to order.

Welcome to the sixth meeting of the House Standing Committee on Veterans Affairs. The committee is meeting on its study of the impact of suicide prevention among veterans.

Before we welcome our witnesses, I would like to provide a trigger warning. We will be discussing experiences related to suicide and grief, which may be triggering for viewers with similar experience. If you feel distressed or need help, please advise the clerk.

For all witnesses and members of Parliament, it is important to recognize that these are difficult discussions, so let's try to be compassionate in our conversations.

I would like to welcome our first panel today. Thank you for joining us.

The next hour will look like this. I will start by giving each of you five minutes to present your opening remarks. Once those are finished, I will recognize different members of the committee to ask questions and follow-up questions of all of you.

We know this subject may be very difficult, so if you need to take a pause or you need us to suspend, please let me know. I am very capable of doing that. That is one thing I can do. I can allow you to have the time, so please let me know.

I really want to thank you for sharing your experiences and insights with us.

I will now introduce the panel we have today for the first hour. As an individual, we have Mrs. Sherri Elms. Also as an individual, we have Margit Simon, who is a transition trainer with the Canadian Armed Forces transition group. From the Homes For Heroes Foundation, we have Mr. Brad Field,, who is the president.

Mrs. Elms, you may begin with your opening remarks. The floor is yours for about five minutes.

Thank you.

[Sherri Elms, As an Individual]

Good morning. My name is Sherri Elms.

I'd first like to thank you for the opportunity to speak to this committee on the topic of suicide prevention among veterans. I would submit to you that suicide prevention in any military setting must involve families and, in fact, a duty of care is owed in service-related deaths. I hope that my story may help you understand this.

Almost 11 years ago, my husband, Brad Elms, died by suicide. At the time, he was a serving member of the Canadian Armed Forces, having served 34 years in the infantry. Brad's death was deemed to be service related. It was linked to his service in Somalia, from December 1992 to May 1993, and was exacerbated by multiple tours, including time in the former Yugoslavia, Haiti and Afghanistan, as well as multiple shorter periods in various non-SDAs around the world.

The year 1992 was a long time ago. That means he lived with an operational stress injury for over 20 years. He struggled with depression and various other complaints, such as memory loss, seizure-like activity and anxiety. He was extensively medically investigated looking for a cause.

After he died, I reviewed his chart. I found a referral from the medical officer to the psychiatrist. It simply began with the word “help”. She didn't know what to do. I found post-deployment scans, in which he indicated that he struggled with nightmares and anger control issues. I found a psychiatrist's report, in which she demanded that he bring me in. He simply stopped attending and was lost to follow up.

In the last three months of his life, things became so difficult that our marriage crumbled. He was under the care of a psychologist during that time, with his last appointment occurring just one week before he died. In the coroner's report, this same psychologist rated Brad's mood at four out of five and attributed his distress to, simply, the breakdown of his marriage.

Despite the breadcrumbs scattered throughout his medical chart, it seemed no one seriously considered that his struggles were related to his service. In fact, nowhere in the chart was there evidence of the turmoil that was our family life and no investigation of anger control issues nor mention of suicidal ideation. Had they asked us, his family, we would have known better.

In the aftermath of his death, it fell to me to fill in the blanks with the board of inquiry, DND and Veterans Affairs Canada. Both agencies found his death to be service related. Was it preventable? I don't know. I have no idea, but what I do know is that, from his record, it appeared that the cost of his service was never top of the diagnostic list, so he did not get the care he needed.

Not included in those records was the effect his career had on me and my two children. My children never knew a father not affected by service because they were both born after Somalia. My son was born during Somalia. They knew a father who, while at times was wonderful, became increasingly angry and short-tempered during his life. Without getting into too much detail, home was not a peaceful place. Each of us found our own way to navigate his moods and sometimes erratic behaviour. Because he never recognized his own disease, my family never received mental health support from the military. In fact, he prevented any family involvement to protect the illusion that he was, indeed, okay. “I wouldn't be deployable, and then I may as well be dead”, were his exact words.

At the time of his death, both my daughter and I were seeing a social worker, and after his death, all three of us were attending weekly individual sessions. I was initially told that these sessions could be covered by the Canadian Forces member assistance program, as the personnel at the transition unit, which was housing me as they would house a military member in that transition period, recommended I not change counsellors at that time—it was too difficult. However, six months later, after incurring thousands of dollars in bills for therapy, I was told that this was an error, a miscommunication between the transition unit and the personnel at the Canadian Forces member assistance program. We were not eligible for reimbursement. At this point, I stopped asking. Had we been in the VAC system, so to speak, this situation may have been avoided.

In the 11 years since his death, VAC has never funded any of our therapy, except for the three years when I was one of the few lucky survivors who were accepted into the veterans rehab program. I was then offered mental health support, not because of the traumatic grief I had experienced but to support me in my education journey. I finally had access to care in my own right, but for a very short time. I did, however, have to switch therapists, to a VAC therapist, to be eligible for care.

When school ended, so did the mental supports. I was still a widow of suicide, and I still, at that time, had a lifetime of trauma to unpack. That remains true to this day.

My children are now adults with third party medical benefits, and I have funding through the Canada Life retired federal public servants plan, which is generous, $5,000 a year, but this generous support comes at a cost.

When this plan was restructured years ago, it was promised to be cost neutral to both the Treasury Board and retirees. It's my personal conviction and belief—I have no proof of this, but I'm suspicious—that to pay for expanded mental health services, a greater portion of medication costs have been off-loaded to retirees, and funding for services such as physiotherapy were decreased. Again, my impression is that the entire public service is now, in effect, subsidizing what VAC has determined to be service related. The state of my family's mental health is directly attributable to my husband's service; thus, VAC owes us a duty of care in this regard.

In summary, as a spouse and as a family, we spent decades living with an undiagnosed operational stress injury. Not only was he untreated, but we were untreated as well. Had the military recognized my right to health care as a spouse, I may have been better able to help him and perhaps prevent his death. When a soldier serves, the family serves. Not only did he deserve better, but we as his family did as well.

Thank you for your time.

[The Chair, Liberal, Marie-France Lalonde]

Thank you very much, Mrs. Elms.

I would like now to invite Mrs. Simon to take the floor for five minutes.

[Margit Simon, Transition Trainer, Canadian Armed Forces Transition Group, As an Individual]

Good morning. My name is Margit Simon.

I would like to thank you for this opportunity to speak in front of you on this especially important and crucial matter.

I would like to start with a few words about our son, Private Jason Renato Simon. He is our son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, friend, soulmate, comrade, classmate and colleague. Jason is our second born. As he would say, he's a typical middle child, and I would call him our favourite middle child. He was born on October 10, 1995, and raised in Windsor, Ontario, where he completed his elementary and high school studies.

Jason was unique in many ways from an early age. He was caring and loving. At the same time, he was following no one but his own ideas. He was never the top of his class, but exceeded in topics and subjects he really cared about. He was not afraid to speak his mind and would even argue with people if he knew or thought what they said or did was wrong. Jason was not afraid to do things his way. Once, as a school project, he climbed up on our house’s roof with his guitar, a cymbal and sticks. His friend took a picture. Jason captioned it “Stand up and scream.”

Since he was four years old, Jason wanted to be a frontline soldier—you know, all parents' dream—but we knew there was nothing we could say or do to change his mind, nor did we want to.

Jason was very loyal to his family, friends, comrades and colleagues. Of course, that does not mean he would not give us a hard time here and there, as any young child would do. It was nothing out of ordinary, though. You see, he is not perfect, but he is perfect for us.

One of our favourite memories of Jason was when, after his first communion, Jason and two of his friends put on sunglasses and posed for pictures as the Men in Black. They looked really sharp in their little suits and sunglasses. One year when Jason was about seven, the kids were supposed to decorate the Christmas tree together. They did not know their dad had turned on the camcorder. When we looked back at the recording, we saw Patty, our daughter, eating chocolates; our youngest, Patrick, sleeping on the couch; and Jason happily dancing away and decorating the tree at the same time.

We are a close family, and the kids were raised to understand the true meaning and value of family. Jason loved to surprise us by driving all night from Ottawa to Windsor so that when we woke up, we would find him in his bed. It was always wonderful to have him home and to spend time together.

After graduating from high school, Jason moved to Ottawa to continue his education at Carleton University. He was majoring in criminology and his minor was history. He told us many times about how much he loved it there and how he enjoyed meeting new people and having new experiences at the university and outside of it. He said he wished he could relive first year university, as it was the best time of his life.

In June 2015, his childhood dream came true when he took the oath to serve his country, first as a reservist with the Canadian Armed Forces. Jason wanted to graduate early from university so he could pursue his dream as a full-time military member in the Canadian Armed Forces. The plan was that he would graduate early in December 2016. He was based with the 30th Field Artillery Regiment, RCA in Ottawa.

Jason was well liked and eager to learn. He was also volunteering at the base to restore old artillery guns. Since Jason loved history, especially World War I, volunteering was very close to his heart.

He and his regiment gave the gun salute at the opening of the Parliament in 2015. He was very proud of that.

One of his comrades wrote, “Jason was always laughing, cracking jokes and supporting me. He is what made basic and pat troop bearable.”

Jason was extremely outgoing. He loved nature, photography and travel. He was not afraid of new adventures. He travelled in North America and Europe.

After Jason graduated from high school, the English department took the students on a European trip. They had a blast. Before they left, the parents had to sign a consent form that allowed the kids to have an alcoholic drink as part of the cultural experience.

Jason took that seriously; they discovered in Europe that you can buy different alcoholic beverages from vending machines on the street. We know he did not break any rules, but one of his friends happened to be the teacher's own son. Nobody got drunk or hurt, but let's just say the teacher was not impressed.

He also would not leave London, England, without a top hat, or Firenze, Italy, without statue of David underwear. If you know the statue, then you can imagine the underwear.

Jason loved snowboarding, longboarding and riding his bike. He did snowboarding for a couple of years before he found out, in university, that he was doing it wrong. That did not matter as he had a lot of fun anyway. He played the tenor saxophone for five years. He would also drum with anything that was at hand. He loved music but disliked practising. My family and other parents usually found out at special events that our children were skipping practice. How we always ended up at the same table as those parents is still a mystery to us.

Jason loved—I mean loved—music. He also had 23 or 24 tattoos. Each and every one of them had a special meaning to it, so they were not some silly last-second designs. On one of his military identifications, they asked about tattoos and their descriptions. Whoever filled it out said “numerous” as it would have been impossible to write down all of them. He was our skinny minnie living canvas. I called him skinny minnie because he was very tall, towering over me, but at the same time very skinny. He also put on his ID that he was five feet tall. I asked him why he did not put his right height. He said, “Mom, I don't know how tall I am. All I know is that I'm tall enough to ride roller coasters.”

His favourite animal was the polar bear. He wanted to educate people to protect the environment so that these majestic animals can be saved. He also loved our pets: Trouble, our cat, and Cooper, our dog. He fell in love with his adopted kitty, Sockrates. Jason adopted him on the way home from the hospital on February 1, 2016. He absolutely refused to go home without adopting a pet. Now we are raising Sockrates. He is our grand-kitty.

Jason also loved to help people who were struggling, especially emotionally. He was like a magnet to those people and a sponge to soak up their pain.

Jason helped his friends, students or random people who he thought could use a bit of a helping hand and someone to listen to them. He even helped a couple of his high school teachers. One of them had cancer, and Jason tried to help her emotionally. They stayed connected until Jason's passing. One of their last conversations was about Jason's latest tattoo.

At Jason's memorial service, people came up to us to share how much they loved Jason, how much he meant to them. We heard many stories about how Jason helped them through their emotional and mental health problems and issues. He never said no to anyone who he thought needed a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on.

I have a couple of quotes from his friends. One friend said, “Jason always had my back and always managed to bring a smile to my face.”

Another said, “There isn't a single person I'd have rather gone on our east coast trip [with] or the one to B.C. we were planning. No way anyone could ever turn awkward silences to awkward laughs and smiles the way you could. Not a single person I could call a closer friend.”

One friend said, “Jason was one of the nicest kid[s] I have met in my life.”

Another said, “No words can describe what a nice, funny, caring guy you were.”

“Heaven gained one of the most beautiful, genuine, caring and stubborn people I've ever met. You pushed me to be a better person and always supported my endeavours even if it was with a laugh.”

Jason's favourite food was pizza; he could eat it day and night. He also loved pumpkin pie with a Drumstick ice cream on top, and buttered popcorn and Heineken beer. Jason loved to make funny and random voices. He made funny faces on almost every photo, including family photos. We used to joke that we would make a slide show and play it at his wedding.

Losing a child is heartbreaking, especially when there could have been help if someone would have listened. If someone would have believed Jason, then maybe he could have received the help that he so desperately needed and begged for. He was full of life and had wonderful plans for his future. He wanted to be a Canadian army officer. He wanted to live in a log cabin in the woods with a lot of dogs. He wanted to travel the world. A couple of days before he passed away, he looked for a new car and actually found one that he wanted to buy, a Mazda CX-5. There were many other dreams that he could not fulfill in his young life, but we know he did live his life the way he wanted and to the fullest until his mental health condition took over. He did more in his 20 years, four months and five days than a lot of older people can say.

Now we are left behind to pick up the pieces and to make sense of what happened, what went wrong, going through the what-ifs and whys. Even though Jason wrote in his last note that it is not our fault, we still live with self-blame and broken hearts.

Some people say when they lose a loved one that there is a hole in their heart. It is not true for us. Our hearts shattered into millions of pieces on that fateful and tragic day of February 15, 2016, but our love for Jason and our memories are keeping the pieces together very strongly. Jason was taken from us in a terrible way, but he will be forever loved and will be remembered always.

Now I would like to talk about our experience during Jason's last week of his life, the time of his passing and the aftermath.

We did not find out that Jason was suffering until around January 27, 2016, when Jason called me to let me know that he was put in handcuffs and was driven to the Kingston hospital the day before. He was driving on Highway 401 and had suicidal thoughts, so he called for help. He was put in handcuffs, as per safety procedure. He was released a couple of hours later when the police officer drove him back to his car and sent him home to Ottawa. The same night, Jason went to the clinic at the university, where an ambulance was called to bring him to the hospital. Again, he was released a couple of hours later. He went home and called me the following day to tell me what happened. I told him I would drive to Ottawa, as we still lived in Windsor at that time, but Jason said that he was feeling better and that he was coming home anyway soon for reading week.

On January 29, 2016, his soulmate, Brianne, contacted me and said that I should come to Ottawa because Jason had attempted to take his life. I drove right away and was able to see him in the hospital that night. I was sitting with him all day the following two days, and I was there when he was released after 72 hours of mandatory holding. He did not want to be released, as in that 72 hours not one doctor talked to him. Jason was in the emergency mental ward the whole time.

I asked the doctor why he was releasing Jason when Jason kept saying that he was not well. The doctor said that Jason just needed to follow up with his counsellor and doctor. I asked if the doctor could guarantee that Jason would not attempt to take his life again. The doctor's answer was, “Mrs. Simon, there is no guarantee in life.” I was furious, but at that point Jason wanted to leave when he saw there was nothing we could do. On February 1, 2016, he was sent home.

The doctor did not even tell us what Jason used when he tried to take his life. All we knew was that he had tried to hang himself.

The number one thing family and loved ones are told in a suicide attempt is to remove the tools that were or could be used. We removed everything that we could think of. We even took his roommate's scarves, but what we never thought of was the actual thing he used, the HDMI cable for his computer.

On February 3, 2016, Jason reported to his base for duty. He told his chain of command what had happened. They took action right away and drove Jason to the Montfort for assessment and help, only to be told hours later that Jason was not entitled to any service or help as he was only in the reserve forces. His chain of command tried everything, contacting authorities and getting help for Jason, but it was all denied.

At that point Jason was put on two weeks' leave without pay on the Montfort hospital's recommendation. Honestly, that is one of the worst things that can happen to someone in Jason's condition. Keeping them home with nothing to do and not getting paid is not ideal, to say the least.

Even though we supported Jason financially during his studies, he did not want to accept help and worked hard to be able to support himself. He also needed to feel that he was contributing to his unit. It would not have mattered if it were something to do in the office or cleaning the floors. People like Jason need to be kept busy.

Even after this experience, Jason told me that the most help he got was from his chain of command and unit. His chain of command and some of his comrades are still in contact with my family and keep saying how they wish they could have done more to help Jason.

We have also been part of an inquest the coroner requested in Jason’s death. The inquest was held in 2019, where many witnesses were called from hospitals, Carleton University, the Ministry of Health, CAF representative Dr. Jennifer Purdy and many others.

After the inquest, the jury accepted 37 recommendations. I have the Canadian Armed Forces' response to the items addressed to them. It was provided to the committee.

After Jason’s passing, I was introduced to a program within the Canadian Armed Forces transition group, called HOPE, Helping Our Peers by providing Empathy. HOPE was there for my husband and me during one of the most difficult times of our lives after our loss. What made the difference was not just the support but the compassion. Speaking with someone who had lived a similar experience gave us comfort and reminded us that we were not alone.

Because of the impact it had on us, I became a volunteer for two years and later a program coordinator for three years. In those roles, I witnessed first-hand how HOPE provides bereaved military families with something invaluable: understanding, connection and the strength to begin healing. For survivors, HOPE is not just a program, it is a lifeline.

In my current role as a transition trainer with the Canadian Armed Forces transition unit, I have the privilege of walking alongside members as they prepare for life after service. Sadly, some of the people we support are carrying very heavy burdens, including mental health challenges such as PTSD. Their courage in the face of these obstacles is a constant reminder of the strength within our military community.

What makes a difference, though, is the people I work with. The staff in our unit are compassionate and dedicated and truly care about every member who comes through our doors. Their leadership has been a source of strength. They lead with humanity, vision and heart. They always ensure that we have the guidance, encouragement, support and resources we need. They stand beside us and, because of that, we can stand beside those we serve.

Having said that, in both the Canadian Armed Forces and the civilian world, we still have a long way to go before we are where we should be. There is much work ahead of us, but it is meaningful work. It is work that we must continue together.

Thank you for listening and for getting to know our Jason so that you can picture him as a real person and not as a number or statistic. We hope this study will help people understand how serious mental illness is, and will help produce not only recommendations but also positive and actual action so that this tragedy will not happen to other people and families. Let this be our Jason's legacy. He just wanted to make this world a better place, one where people are kind and love each other, one where we pay attention to one another and one where we help those who are in need even if only by taking the time to listen and to talk to them.

Tomorrow is Jason's birthday. He would turn 30 years old, but he's forever 20 years young. We will visit his memorial tree and plaque at Beechwood Cemetery and bring 20 red and 10 white roses. The red roses represent the birthdays Jason celebrated with us on earth. The white roses represent the birthdays since he left us.

I would like to finish with a poem:

I miss Your laugh, the sound so dear
The way You joked, Your constant cheer!
If I could have just one more day
I'd beg You darling, please, please stay!
I'd wish You back but not in pain
I'd wish the rainbow not the rain.

As Jason would say, “Whatever forever”.

Thank you.

[The Chair, Liberal, Marie-France Lalonde]

Thank you very much, Mrs. Simon, for sharing Jason with us this morning.

Mr. Field, you have five minutes.

[Brad Field, President, Homes For Heroes Foundation]

First of all, I want to apologize for my sniffles and coughing. Every time I come to Ottawa, my allergies kick in.

Thank you, ladies, for sharing your very deeply personal stories.

Thank you for the opportunity to speak with you today. My name is Brad Field. I have the privilege of serving as president of the Homes For Heroes Foundation. Our mission is simple but urgent. It's to support the men and women who have served our country by ensuring that they have safe, stable housing and access to the resources they need in order to live with dignity and hope.

This past week in Halifax, I had the honour of spending time with one of our trusted advisers, retired general Walt Natynczyk. Knowing that I'd be speaking before you here today, we discussed the state of our veteran community, the struggles many face silently each day and the devastating reality that far too many are losing hope. During one of our conversations, Walt shared a moment that has stayed with me. He recalled crossing paths with a young Canadian soldier in Afghanistan. As they spoke, the young soldier asked a question that cuts to the very core of why we're here today: Does anyone know I'm here, and does anybody care?

That question is haunting. Sadly, it is also not unique. Too many veterans return home asking the same thing.

Do we see them? Do we care? At Homes For Heroes, we do. We believe no veteran should feel invisible in the country they served. We believe safe housing, mental health support and a community of care can be the difference between despair and recovery, between a crisis and a second chance.

Veterans do not need our pity. They need our commitment. They need systems that don't just react to a crisis but work to prevent it. They need housing, access to mental health care, job training and a connection to a community that reminds them every day that their service mattered and that they still matter.

This is not an unsolvable crisis, but it requires leadership, collaboration and sustained investment. Government, non-profits and communities must come together to build a safety net that no veteran can fall through. As a nation, we have a moral obligation to ensure that every veteran knows that they are seen, they are valued and they are never alone. Our heroes answered the call to serve. It's now our duty to answer theirs with urgency, with compassion and with resolve.

Thank you.

[The Chair, Liberal, Marie-France Lalonde]

Thank you very much, Mr. Field.

For individuals who are here for the first time, what we'll do is go along to each member, who will ask questions for about six minutes in round one. If you're in the middle of a sentence, I'll let you finish it, and then I may have to interrupt.

I urge my colleagues to be direct with their questions so they can hear more from the people here in front of us.

Mr. Tolmie, you have six minutes.

[Fraser Tolmie, Conservative, Moose Jaw—Lake Centre—Lanigan, SK]

Thank you, Madam Chair.

Thank you, witnesses, for opening your hearts and sharing your testimony. Normally, when we come in, we have a line of questioning, but sometimes when we hear testimony, we have to change tack because we hear more about your personal stories.

Ms. Elms, I would like to start with you. You mentioned something in your testimony about your husband saying, “I won't be deployable. I might as well be dead.” Could you please share a bit more about that?

[Sherri Elms]

That was a direct quote. The whole quote is, “Sherri, you can't say the S-word, because if you say the S-word to the army, I will be undeployable and then I may as well be dead.” These are the conversations you have with someone who's teetering on the edge.

The psychiatrist wanted to see me because he was.... It was probably five years before he died. He kept us from the system.

[Fraser Tolmie, Conservative, Moose Jaw—Lake Centre—Lanigan, SK]

One of the things we have seen was mentioned by Ms. Simon in her comments about one of her son's comrades saying, “Jason always had my back.” One of the things we hear about in the military is that comrades are supposed to have training and be able to recognize some of the challenges.

This is probably prior to your time, Ms. Elms. What I'm saying is that when you're in the military, as I was before I became a veteran, you go through training to recognize.... I think that when your husband was dealing with this, it was prior to the training that is given.

We have blind spots. You were dealing with someone who had mental health issues. How was it recognizable? How did you come to recognize that? Did you recognize that, or was it too late?

[Sherri Elms]

I am a pharmacist by profession, so I'm not unfamiliar with health care. I knew.

Brad was a super soldier. Someone said to me that he was the type of guy you put behind glass with a hammer that says, “Break in case of war”. He won an Ironman competition. Jaws dropped when he died by suicide: If it can happen to Elms, it can happen to anybody.

I knew, though. Our home life was awful. He was mean; he had a temper and he was erratic. He would jump out of the car on the 401 and say, “I'm not going anywhere with you guys,” with the kids in the van, and purport to walk home to Kingston.

He was a super soldier. He lied, and he was very good at it. There were three generals at the funeral. Their jaws were all on the floor. In the last week of his life, his friends said, “Watch out for Elms. He's going through a rough time.”

[Fraser Tolmie, Conservative, Moose Jaw—Lake Centre—Lanigan, SK]

This is heartbreaking to hear.

You said you had difficulties trying to get care. You were being shut out intentionally. This is a problem for us because we believe that if you're part of a family unit, you're also serving.

How was it that you were being shut out? Did you find out later that you weren't allowed to go to the same counsellor?

[Sherri Elms]

On the psychiatrist issue, he told me about it at the time. His reasoning at that time was, “I wouldn't subject you to that humiliation,” because to him, it was a humiliation.

I told his commanding officer, and I told his family doctor. Because I work with family doctors in Kingston, I had a direct import to her. She said that they couldn't pull him in until they put me in an interval house or made me safe.

I was the shunned wife at that point. He had left in July. He died in November.

I'm competent. I'm eloquent. I can work the health care system.

He was so good. He was a super soldier. Nobody listened.

He would be 62 now if he were still alive. He died at 51. There was a band of soldiers of that age who were lost to multiple deployments— Afghanistan, Somalia, Rwanda, the former Yugoslavia...the churn. You tamp down your humanity, and if you don't get it back, it's never coming back.

[Fraser Tolmie, Conservative, Moose Jaw—Lake Centre—Lanigan, SK]

I'm sorry; I'm going to run out of time, and I do have more questions.

Ms. Simon, I just want to say thank you for sharing your son's story and humanizing this for us. From what I've heard from the testimonies today, these are real people who seem like they're so full of life. To lose those lives, it's just touching.

Thank you.

[The Chair, Liberal, Marie-France Lalonde]

Thank you very much, Mr. Tolmie.

We'll go to Mrs. Hirtle for six minutes.

[Alana Hirtle, Liberal, Cumberland—Colchester, NS]

Thank you, Madam Chair.

Good morning, and thank you all for being here today and for sharing your stories with us. I know it's not easy.

Ms. Simon, I feel like I know Jason. He sounded like a great kid.

I'm wondering if we can switch gears a bit, Ms. Simon. Can you give us information about your role as a transition trainer? What are the things that you do to help veterans?

[Margit Simon]

We have different events and programs.

In my role, we provide career transition workshops, where we prepare the members for employment after release, including self-assessment, job search, résumé writing and interview techniques. It's very helpful because some of the members haven't written a résumé since forever, if at all. Interviews are totally different from what they're used to. It's a very helpful tool for them.

We also have the My Transition Seminar. Our partners who are part of the release process are there to talk to the members in a seminar setting. We provide all of the contact information for them. It's a one-stop shop kind of thing.

[Alana Hirtle, Liberal, Cumberland—Colchester, NS]

That's great. Thank you.

Earlier this week we heard from the Veterans Transition Network about the work that they do. They expressed concern on a range of issues and told us how they would like to be able to do more work to support veterans.

I don't know if you're familiar with them. I expect you are.

[Margit Simon]

Yes.

[Alana Hirtle, Liberal, Cumberland—Colchester, NS]

Can you help us understand how an organization like yours and an organization like VTN may differ, and how you're alike and if what you do complements each other?

[Margit Simon]

Yes. They're the main level, and then there are branches. We are part of one of the branches.

The whole program was another branch from the transition group.

[Alana Hirtle, Liberal, Cumberland—Colchester, NS]

Okay, that's great.

We've heard a great deal recently, and today of course, about the importance of support, both formal and informal, that comes from personal networks but also from other veterans going through similar challenges. Of course, that familiarity can promote support and paths forward. In your experience, how can those who are not directly related or not directly familiar with the realities of life in the armed forces, or life after the armed forces, support friends and neighbours when they perhaps don't have that first-hand experience?

[Margit Simon]

That's a very good question. It's a different life, for sure. It's not something that many people understand in the civilian world.

I would just say to listen without judgment. When you get some information, do the research. If you know that your neighbour friend is struggling and is in the military, you can reach out to the military if you see that there's something wrong. You can get as much information as possible and reach out. That would be the most important thing—

[Alana Hirtle, Liberal, Cumberland—Colchester, NS]

Yes.

[Margit Simon]

We are not professionals. We are able to listen and listen well and to recognize their pain and suffering, but we cannot fix it. That is why it's important to reach out to the right resources. Let's say my neighbour is part of the military. I probably would know where, so I could reach out. The public can reach out to the bases as well.