I had a close friend who was a medic in a Dust Off unit in Vietnam. I met him about ten years after he served. He was smart, darkly funny and though it wasn’t always apparent, he was tortured by his memories. We were close through several of his romantic relationships. They all ended the same way. Just when he seemed happiest, his mood would change and he slowly drove the woman away, never being the one to say “we’re done”. Over time the same thing happened with many of his friends, including myself. Fifteen years passed of us barely seeing one another when he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He refused treatment although it would have likely extended his life. Through a mutual acquaintance he reached out to me and a small group of past close friends for support. The last weeks of his life we took turns staying with him. He was clear minded and lucid up to two days before he died. I can’t say we made up for those fifteen years in those weeks but we reconnected and he opened up about the war and how he sabotaged his own happiness over the years. He told me stories I hadn’t heard before, not so much a confessional as it was a lightening of the load.
In 1982 I went with him and another Vietnam Veteran friend to Washington for the dedication of the Vietnam Memorial. In general I’m a bit suspicious and cynical when it comes to memorials but to me that memorial reflects the gravity and sacrifice of war more than any other. As surely as the names on that wall, my friend, and many like him, was a victim of that war. If only sacrifice added up to peace.
Godspeed, David. I cannot imagine serving in that war and NOT being haunted. My father never ever talked about it. Ever. But after he died, all his buddies did.
You honored your dad well here. My daddy Jim Bailey served in the Navy, arriving in Pearl Harbor post-bombing. Scariest parts for him were seeing a buddy almost get his leg sheared off when a cable flipped back as they launched a plane off their aircraft carrier and then having ship break down, making it a sitting duck. He refused to be called a hero: “I was a greenhorn 18 year old who thought I’d kill a few Japs & save the world. Thought war was romantic & noble but found in reality nobody really wins.” He did not mind being called a patriot. He & mom divorced when I was 6; he died of esophageal cancer at 70. Started smoking in the Navy. My father-in-law Roscoe Taylor, a Marine, survived being bombed at Pearl Harbor. Refused his Purple Heart saying only his men who died or were injured worse than he was really deserved it. Later accepted a Purple Heart after being shot in Korea. His fellow Marines compared him to John Wayne. He also refused to be called a hero and seldom spoke about either war.
My dad, precisely. He accepted the medals, but he never made the differentiation between people who'd served in combat, and people who served stateside. He never bragged. He was a wsoldier.
Well said, Godspeed Sgt. Campbell.....
I had a close friend who was a medic in a Dust Off unit in Vietnam. I met him about ten years after he served. He was smart, darkly funny and though it wasn’t always apparent, he was tortured by his memories. We were close through several of his romantic relationships. They all ended the same way. Just when he seemed happiest, his mood would change and he slowly drove the woman away, never being the one to say “we’re done”. Over time the same thing happened with many of his friends, including myself. Fifteen years passed of us barely seeing one another when he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He refused treatment although it would have likely extended his life. Through a mutual acquaintance he reached out to me and a small group of past close friends for support. The last weeks of his life we took turns staying with him. He was clear minded and lucid up to two days before he died. I can’t say we made up for those fifteen years in those weeks but we reconnected and he opened up about the war and how he sabotaged his own happiness over the years. He told me stories I hadn’t heard before, not so much a confessional as it was a lightening of the load.
In 1982 I went with him and another Vietnam Veteran friend to Washington for the dedication of the Vietnam Memorial. In general I’m a bit suspicious and cynical when it comes to memorials but to me that memorial reflects the gravity and sacrifice of war more than any other. As surely as the names on that wall, my friend, and many like him, was a victim of that war. If only sacrifice added up to peace.
His name was David.
Godspeed, David. I cannot imagine serving in that war and NOT being haunted. My father never ever talked about it. Ever. But after he died, all his buddies did.
Unconditionally loving someone is a real love, you know their flaws accept them and love the person.
He was an imperfect man and the perfect father for me.
Beautiful
❤❤❤
Bless you on this Crispus Attucks Memorial Day for those who died in service to this nation.
More on the hero, Crispus Attucks: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72AU81SifDg
Amen.
You honored your dad well here. My daddy Jim Bailey served in the Navy, arriving in Pearl Harbor post-bombing. Scariest parts for him were seeing a buddy almost get his leg sheared off when a cable flipped back as they launched a plane off their aircraft carrier and then having ship break down, making it a sitting duck. He refused to be called a hero: “I was a greenhorn 18 year old who thought I’d kill a few Japs & save the world. Thought war was romantic & noble but found in reality nobody really wins.” He did not mind being called a patriot. He & mom divorced when I was 6; he died of esophageal cancer at 70. Started smoking in the Navy. My father-in-law Roscoe Taylor, a Marine, survived being bombed at Pearl Harbor. Refused his Purple Heart saying only his men who died or were injured worse than he was really deserved it. Later accepted a Purple Heart after being shot in Korea. His fellow Marines compared him to John Wayne. He also refused to be called a hero and seldom spoke about either war.
My dad, precisely. He accepted the medals, but he never made the differentiation between people who'd served in combat, and people who served stateside. He never bragged. He was a wsoldier.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=L_G4eq9Fudc
Ah. This is really kind of perfect. When I hear this one, I think of my dad (taught me sacrifice and bravery...): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9d8SzG4FPyM