Reflections: Faces From Nam
By William "Easy" Smith
Introduction
Once I was asked why did I want to open a can of worms, referring to my inquiries regarding my time in Vietnam. Well, the answer to that is a simple one. For it has taken years on a journey that has led to a healing process that started long after I left Vietnam.
Of the things I held onto were the memories of the men I shared foxholes with, forced marches and firefights with the Viet Cong. There were some memories of good times when we were allowed to laugh and have a moment of fun. Yet, even in those times the knowledge of knowing that the jungles that often drenched with rain and blistered with the hot sun crawling with the enemy would be there waiting for our return.
I for one soon blocked dates and places. I learned that friendships were not to be made. And that there was no room for self-pity or weakness of any kind. At least, you couldn't show it.
But, like many I found friendship hard to avoid. And I became friends with one George D. Wallace (aka Wally). It was the kind of closeness where we found that we had some things in common and we could talk to each other. But. Wallace was killed on June 3, 1967 and I received a serious warning from our platoon sergeant (SSgt Kenneth D. Black) not to make friends because I took Wally's death real hard and I was sad and depressed for awhile afterwards.
In the meantime, there were others that I came to know and in some cases develop a closeness. The problem was that I tended to take heed to the words regarding making friendships and at the same time ignored it because we needed each other and that meant something more than being friends. It meant watching each other's back. It meant being together as a unit. It meant having someone to talk to that understood. And it seemed that only those that were right there with you understood. Something that carried over into post Vietnam as well.
So, I did my time in Nam and after being wounded the 2nd time I returned to the States after a stay in a hospital in Japan. It was then that the haunting memories of the men I served with took it's heaviest toll. I didn't know who was alive and who wasn't. It was then that I took on the task of finding anyone who made back to the World. And considering I came home seemingly alone on the flight back to the World, I felt a sense of guilt that my buddies were still there and I got to go home.
Initially, I attempted to find out the events of my last day in Nam (September 4. 1967). During my search I was given the name of Captain Williams and that I needed to contact him for any details of that date because I was informed that I was recommended for the Silver Star. My search turned up empty. I got to the point that I didn't believe that he existed over the years.
In addition to looking for Captain Williams I tried to find others but all I had to go on in some cases were last names. There was Gary Shifflette ( the point man who I pulled from a canal when he was wounded). There was Sgt. Riley the last face I remember seeing ( I was wounded trying to pull him to safety during an ambush on September 4, 1967). But, there were others some I was close to like Clarence Dunmore, Luther Igram, Donahue, Pops, Gault, SSgt. Black and General Tilson,
For years I had all but given up on ever finding any of them much less anyone else who served with my outfit........1/27th Wolfhounds. Yet I clung to this hidden hope, this hidden faith that one day I would find them.
In the meantime, I found that one niche to hold onto and that was helping other veterans. I learned to pass on the tools or coping skills I picked up in the PTSD and other programs and groups. I started extending my hand more and becoming more visible.
I started participating in once avoided Veterans events like parades and became more active in the Veterans community and would attend reunions in hopes that I would find just one of the men I served with.
I would look at old photos and just remember what I could and try to remember what I couldn't.
Above all, I found renewed faith and hope and never gave up!
easy!!!!!
September 4, 2003
Book 1
PART I --ANOTHER STORY UNFOLDS ANOTHER STORY IS TOLD
I arrived in Viet Nam on about the 16th of February 1967. I still recall some of those initial visions I had as I left Washington, D. C. for Oakland, California.
I remember what I was doing to this day when the letter came announcing that I had been drafted. I was working in a grocery store as the delivery boy. I went home for lunch and there it was that letter. My mother was home that day and we were going to have lunch together. Some lunch. I recall going into the bathroom and opening that letter and and just before that first thump into the toilet there I was just me and that letter and this awful feeling. And I recall yelling as loud as I could to my mother "I've been drafted!".
And on August 24, 1966 I was on a bus headed for Ft. Bragg, N. C. for Basic Training. Eight weeks later I was en-route to Ft. Jackson, S. C. for AIT. What followed has become a nightmare for many veterans of the Viet Nam War.
Shortly after arriving in Nam and no longer burning shit ( a standard introduction to Nam for some) I gather I was considered ready for battle and sent to Chu Chi and assigned to Co A 1st Bn 27th Inf 25th Div 2nd Platoon. I don't recall getting a list of rules. I don't recall being told anymore how to survive than I had been told back in the states. I do recall and still do not understand never being in a war zone before filling up with this balance of instant fear and an instinct for survival that is difficult to explain.
I burned some more shit and washed some more dishes and before long I was no longer just I, "we began to have more meaning in my life than ever before as we became the guy standing next to me; we became the squad; the platoon; we became the WOLFHOUNDS-THE TROPICAL LIGHTNING! "
Though our stories began before we ever met, each of us from different places on the map, though we became we somewhere back in the recruiting station; or maybe it was basic training; maybe it was AIT or on the flight over or when we woke and found out that depending on each other was a new reality.
For me that fear and survival instinct melted into another reality.....would I live or would I die! The sound of friendly and enemy fire was totally different from the ghetto sounds of bullets fired by the local law enforcement chasing the bad guy; it was totally different than the sounds of fireworks on the 4th of July; no longer was the sound of bullets noise coming out of the television nor was it the sounds heard when we played cowboys and Indians and made sounds with from our mouths to imitate gunfire. THIS WAS REAL!
There seems to be no one way to tell the whole story. To see the "total impact" of the big picture. To know the truth you need only look around you. You need to take a second peek at the man or the woman or the child standing next to you. Look at the memorials, the books, the movies, the merchandise being but a fragment of what happened and you still or shall I say we find the question still remains, "Why?"
Which brings us to a new reality which immediately found tools for survival. A host of feelings that many got to experience and know about and understand them as these feelings were made present in their lives began the task of burrowing deeper and deeper into the depths of my inner self until it was as if they were no more. Feelings as we know them today, just stopped! Well, not completely. I was allowed feelings of anger. I was allowed feelings of fear. I was even allowed feelings of sadness. Oh yes, and a great deal of false bravery. But, no kiddy stuff!!!
All this and I still was not called "man". I was still a taste away from what was to be my manhood. And as I look back I still see those faces of the guys being sworn in in the recruiting station. Some looking for a back door to escape. See the reality of going to war was still somewhat of a fantasy. The men were about to be separated from the boys.
I still see the faces of the guy on the buses. I remember the look in their eyes. That look of disassociation. That look of farewell and goodbye. One could almost picture the image of the loved ones standing in front of them waving, waving, waving for the last time.
I still see the faces as we entered deeper and deeper into the reality of war. I still recall the war games coming to an end as we got closer to the reality of war. I still recall the day we entered the reality of war.
Remember, there was a time when it may have been easier to disclose the experience of war. But, one by one the returning Viet Nam veteran met obstacles of misconceptions and rejections from society that all we could do to withstand yet another reality was to shut down, and in many cases give ourselves up to alcohol and drugs to forget!
See, society wanted to hear, but didn't want to hear. After all, the place we returned to was "fully" understanding of what we had been through, fully understanding of what we were like, fully understanding of the what it was like for us in Viet Nam to the point of not just understanding .....but knowing our deepest darkest feelings. Feelings I took even deeper within 2 days after returning to the states. Feelings that have been buried for 30 years plus. Feelings...hell, I forgot how to feel.
How did society understand the Viet Nam Veteran? How is it that the question still remains after all this time, "Why?"
The moment of truth and new realities became clear once I got my orders to go to Nam. I remember that long bus ride after AIT back to Washington, DC.. Where I would have to face family, friends and America for what might be the last time. In all my newly acquired fears, not being able to tell exactly how I felt about going to war stood out the most.
People protested. There were marches. Demonstrations. Draft dodging. All kinds of feelings being expressed and acted out against the war in Viet Nam. My family never really let me know all their real feelings either. I know today somewhat why that was. I know today the fears they experienced associated with my going to Nam. I know today, that it was truly hard for them to talk to me about it. I know today the role love played in not persisting that I talk about it. It was probably the thing that made it harder for me to say goodbye. None of us knew exactly what to say...so my family did what I did in reality...they shut down and hid their feelings too! But, I saw past some of those walls just as they saw past the wall I built around me.
As for the rest of those in my surroundings. There were cries of celebration for the soldier. There were the cries of encouragement and inspiration at the bottom of every glass at the bar. It too, was a sad goodbye. Still, they celebrated my going to war. Why?
I hooked up with a friend, Lonnie Upchurch those last days in D. C. We had orders to report to Oakland in 30 days. It was the beginning of the longest goodbye ever in my life. Yet it became easier, since I didn't have to do the D. C. thing alone. The D. C. thing being a period of drinking like I had never drank before. A period of finding myself at times alone with just me and a bottle and some music. Feeling nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I thought of fleeing to Canada. then I thought with my luck, I'd be the first one they caught. Once committing a crime came into play. but, most of the time I was too drunk or lost in the feelings of going to war that all I could deal with was living or dying.
Our 30 days got extended. Well, we overextended financially. We were late. But, knowing that we were late became somewhat of a joke. I recall once riding around the streets of D. C. and we were pulled over by the cops. Before we could pull out license and registration we informed them that we were going to Nam. We further informed them that we didn't know if we were coming back. And somehow they understood and let us go. There were other times when this new line we found "we're going to Nam and we don't know if we're coming back" worked. Hell, it worked every time we were stopped. It also became an excuse to get lost in myself and the bottle.
However, we knew eventually that we would have to go. Only problem was that we were out of money. As I recall, my brother worked at Fort Myer, Virginia (he was in the reserves then). He went to his warrant officer and got us some new orders cut and some new money. No longer could we elude the fact that we were going to Oakland. See, going to Nam hadn't fully set in yet. Well, for me, I still had not fully accepted the truth, but, I was on my way.
I remember arriving in Oakland and my first shock was the weather. I arrived dressed in short sleeves and it was cold in California that day. Once we finished our little stay in Oakland we were on a TWA flight to hell. I had left behind all that felt good in life......even being alive!
I was not flattered by being given a M-16 with real bullets. I was not amused by the fumes in the air from all the shit burning; rockets and bombs; and a feeling in the air of death surrounding us on all sides. And the horror of war was there all around us.
The time had come. The introduction to Nam was over. They prepared us for war. I was in the war. And I became what I had to become to survive. No attitude adjustment was necessary.
This was real!
I still don't know "Why?"
I do know I was in Viet Nam!
PART II -- PURPLE HEARTS
The last firefight I was in in Viet Nam was on September 4, 1967, at approximately 1730 hours while on a search and destroy mission near Tay Ninh.
I don't recall how long we had been out. But, we were approaching an open field when we were ambushed by Charlie as soon as we left the tree line into an open field. We were in another firefight with an enemy barely visible.
You gotta remember, Charlie could hide his small frame of a body behind a bush or a tree, pop off a few rounds at a time and pin down a whole platoon for days. This was done while he puffed on a cigar or a joint and ate handfuls of rice and raw chicken.
On this day he hit 2 of our men. It could have been more, which was difficult for me to tell. All I know is that there was heavy fire being laid out in front of us and the gun ships and artillery didn't make it any easier to comprehend the entire situation.
What I do know is that these 2 men who were hit were in my squad. I think one was Sgt. Joe Riley(still not good on complete names) my friend. I knew I had to do something.
The way I remember it was I looked at the man next to me and yelled, "gotta get my friend!!!!" and took off to the open field. I don't remember if I took my weapon with me, I doubt it since it was a M-60 caliber machine gun.
I took off keeping low as possible. I was able to pull the first man back to the tree line to await medical evacuation. I don't recall who I pulled back first. I got back to the open field and put the second man across my shoulder and headed for the tree line. I didn't get far before I felt myself releasing him.
As I released the man I was carrying and not by choice, I got this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I fell. I don't recall making a sound at that moment. I stared into the heaven above. I could hear and feel the gun fire and rockets all around me from the firefight that was taking place. I couldn't see the man I was carrying just seconds before. I felt like lying there had been forever. I was overcome by this empty feeling over my entire body.
As I lay there I could see visions of loved one---my mother--my daughter and my then wife. I was - I was - I was immobile. I was hit. I took a round from a rocket . I couldn't feel anything in my legs. I didn't know if I was alive or dead. A a scare set in. A fear set in. I was angry. I was worried about everyone else. I was out of the battle.
I had been wounded before. And I returned to the battle. But, this time I couldn't return to help my comrades. I had this feeling I had let them down by getting hit. I wanted to be with them. It was not like in the movies when a buddy walks over to you as you lay on the stretcher and says "hey may, you're going home!" Instead one of the guys said they're going to give you a Silver Star. I never saw him again. This was not the movies. And I encountered a feeling of guilt. I had learned to fight. I had become a warrior. And I didn't feel like a hero. I was doing my job!!!!
The picture is vague of the chopper lift off. It took so long to get there as it was difficult to land because the LZ (landing zone) was hot. It felt like forever and I left the field that day without being able to say , "Goodbye!"
PART III -- NAM ONE DAY, HOME NEXT DAY
When I left Vietnam there were, as I am sure many had, memories planted on the brain some kind of photographic recall of what the wife looked like? What the kids looked like? What mom and dad looked like? What the rest of the family, friends and the environment looked like? Personally, I had planted a never changing world that I had left behind less than 9months earlier in February of 1967. And my vision of what to expect when I returned.....was clear to me!
I was treated for my wounds received on September 4, 1967 at the 45th Surgical Hospital and transferred to the 93rd Evac Hospital on September 5th and woke up on September 14th in the 249th General Hospital in Japan. I recall waiting for those familiar sounds: check your gear, we're moving out at 0:800; clean your weapon; we're going to the Hobo Woods or some other familiar sounding battle zone. I recall the faces were not the ones I had become familiar with. It was just another reality in the long line of situations I found myself in since being drafted and going to Vietnam and returning to the World.
I would eventually realize that I was no longer on the battlefield. There would be no sudden awakenings in the middle of the night to the sound of enemy bombing and bullets and rockets to duck. There would be no more saddle up, lock and load once we left the wire. There would be no more counting off from front to rear. I wouldn't be sharing a foxhole. I would no longer freeze in my space when a rocket landed next to my foxhole with a big "thump" and not explode! There would be no more patrols. No more search and destroy missions. I would not be with my comrades out there in the rice paddies and rubber plantations. I wouldn't be worried about where I stepped. No more bobby traps. I would not be fighting Charlie.......at least not at that moment in time. At least, not in Vietnam so to speak.
I was no longer in Vietnam, physically. Instead, I was to find out even before leaving the hospital, that the battle would be fought from with the depths of me and it would last for many years to come.
My stay in the hospital was lonely and depressing. It was almost frightening. Especially, when I considered the fact that I felt more at home on the battlefield at times. I met a couple of other wounded warriors who made life a little less difficult to deal with. But, the haunting that went on inside was slowly building to the unexplainable. My actions, were new to me. I became a different person right before my own eyes. I could put my finger on some of the madness that occurred as it related to the war. However, there was a change taking place that was not easy to accept. Thus, the question of the day became, "Why?"
Why am I waking up in the middle of the night? Why did I have the same nightmare over and over? Why did the battlefield visit me sleep or awake? Why am I alive and friend is not? Why am I so sensitive to sound? To the touch of another human being? Why did I feel unsafe? Why was I in Nam in the first place? Why? Why? Why?
There was a time when I took a chance and left the hospital ward with the others. I went out, don't remember exactly where; considering I didn't have much money and purchased an outfit for the evening. Three of us had planned to steal into Tokyo. So, I found me a pair of pants for about $5; shirt $3; sock $1; shoes less than $10....I was ready!
We hit the town. We were not supposed to be out medically speaking. We were a sight to see. Two of us had catheters and we still had our stitches. Remember what I said earlier about fleeing to Canada..."I'd probably get caught." Well, I got to one of the clubs and had a great time. Danced like I never danced before. Monday morning when the doctor came in, don't remember his name (we nicknamed him "McNamarra" because he looked like Defense Secretary McNamarra) he had with him a copy of Stars and Stripes in his hand. There I was on the front cover dancing. He was not too happy.
There were not that many good times to be had. I was filled with the feeling of loneliness for the comrades I had left behind. I wanted to know what as going on. How were they doing? Who was still there? Who went home? Who was alive? What happened to the men I pulled out when I was wounded? No answers. Always questions and no answers. It was devastating.
Sometime in November I heard I was getting orders and I was being sent to Korea. I was angry and submitted my protest. I was told that's where I was going and said , "Send me back to Nam!" My protests were meaningless. Feeling I was in a no win situation I decided to give up. I had no where to turn. One of the guys on the ward with me who also had been told he wasn't going home. He and I went to the store. We each got a bottle and found us a curb where we sat and drank until I passed out. When I woke up I was back on the ward and the nurse and the attendants were watching me as I sat under a cold shower.
The next day, hangover and all I went back to where the orders were being cut and was befriended by a Sargent who seemed to understand what was happening to me even though much of it I didn't understand. I got new orders and was on my way back to the World. I was overcome with this great joy. Yet at the same time there was this sadness that filled my heart. For just an instant...I still wanted to go back to Nam. Yet, I was going back to the World. Back to.......?
I don't recall much of the process once I got my orders to return to the United States upon my release from the hospital in Japan. I do remember getting this free phone call and I talked as long as I could to my family. I was able to let them know that I would be home to Washington, D. C. before returning to my next duty station which was Ft. George G. Meade, Maryland.
There was all this apprehension and anxiousness. I wanted to see my family. I wanted to hold my daughter. I tried to picture what she looked like, how her mother looked and how my mother looked. All those visions I had planted of what to expect returned.
In all fairness to myself, I had this fear. It was a fear that became one of those unexplainables. I would learn to understand these feelings, at least some of them many years later. i don't recall who met me at the airport. What I do recall is giving my mother a big hug and a kiss. I remember that my sister, Gloria snatched me from the small gathering a said, " I'm kissing my brother on the mouth!" That was probably the most immediate welcoming I remember. I recall putting up a little resistance because, we didn't do all that hugging and kissing stuff and besides....I was a man. Maybe, the boy who left could have handled it, but the man that came back from fighting a war wasn't going show any such emotions. And he sure wasn't going to show acceptance of such "fuddy-duddy." She won. I was so happy to be home and that's all that mattered at the moment.
I was in a space I never thought I would see or be in ever just months prior. But, there I was transported from the battlefield. I was reunited with my daughter and her mother( my wife at the time). My first day went by quickly, I just know there was a celebration. I was able to avoid the questions and talking about my experiences in Vietnam. I didn't want to talk about it anyway. After all, where does one begin to tell family and friends about the horrors of war? Like I said it was easy to avoid the issues that first day due to all the celebrating for my return. But, my initial feelings of joy and happiness as they related to being home were sharply and abruptly ended on the second day I was back in the World.
On the second day of my return I took the family to my favorite neighborhood tavern for dinner. The place was called The Manhattan Café and it was a staple in the neighborhood. The owner Mr. Curtis prepared the best hamburger around and it was one of those items I really missed. It was one of the first things on my list of things to do. While I was waiting for the meal and talking to friends at the bar. I was being pumped with questions about the war. There was one thing I noticed as I look back on that night. I didn't have to answer the questions as long as the drinks were being served. Another thing was that the answers were coming from those doing the asking. Still waiting for the burgers while my daughter and her mother sat in the booth, Mr. Curtis called me into the kitchen. My first thoughts were that he would do his own personal welcoming and celebrating in private. He did express being glad I was home.
Mr. Curtis all expressed his concern about what had I become by saying and asking: " I have seen a lot of the guys come back. I've heard that most of the guys are crazy. What about you? Are you like these other guys?" I look at him and replied "I'm okay!" And at that moment I knew I wasn't okay!
As a matter of fact, that was when I actually remember shutting down and withdrawing and not seeking of Vietnam or wanting to talk about or hear anyone else talk about the war for the next 32 years. I became something of a nightmare to live with. I was became an angry man. I learned to hide my feelings very quickly. I learned how to get lost in myself and to hide in plain site. I found a way to forget, if only for short periods of time. I did not like the person and saw in the mirror. I didn't like what I was doing to family and friends and to myself.
I didn't like this new reality........but, I was back in the World.
PART IV -- POST VIETNAM SYNDROME AND YEARS THAT WERE TO FOLLOW
It wouldn't be too long after my return that I was able to give my situation, my state of mind, my attitude, my behavior, a name: Post Viet Nam Syndrome.
Post Viet Nam Syndrome became an excuse for my anger; it was a way to define in three words the condition I was in during the early stages of my return home. It defined my loneliness. It defined my feelings of grief and loss. It was an explanation for my feelings of being back in the Nam. It defined the friends and comrades I left behind. It defined the friends that didn't make it.
Almost immediately I recognized how the Army or shall I say the Nam had created a different person someone I later knew as a monster to family and friends and even to self. In the beginning when I returned it was the big things that got my attention, well not really. It was the big things that once made sense and now had no meaning atleast..in my life. And though I have never flat out admitted to being suicidal, I know today that I committed many suicidal acts behind feelings of survival guilt and a new emptiness that could only be fulfilled with thoughts or actions of "war". I was reacting to situations in forms of violence. I became homicidal and there were times I no longer felt I belonged in the society that I returned to. After all, it was not what I had left behind.
Now, there are some things in life that are black and white. For example one day you are born and one day you will die fact. Then there are some things in life that are not so black and white yet in reality are normal situations you can expect to happen on a daily basis in our society. For example: one out of every 2 million Americans will buy a car daily; get in a near or fatal accident; possibly face charges for being under the influence and is incarcerated. But, what about the not so black and white. Not everyday do we call our young to go to some foreign land to fight in a war that in it can not be explained? I suppose the question would be: Are we awakened every day, given less than 5 minutes to shit, shower and shave; grab some ammo; grab your weapon; put a pack on your back with one change of clothes to last for who knows how long; get a couple of meals of c-rations and march off into some unknown location to to kill or be killed?
I know today that in between life and death for me something devastating and traumatic has happened. In the beginning when I came home from the war I attempted to accept my behavior as normal. Now, this despite being in some kind of denial that something was seriously wrong with me. However, whenever I had to deal with my faults I would point the finger at the wife, the job or society in general. How could I tell anyone what I was really feeling inside? Even the soldiers I was stationed with prior to my discharge didn't even talk about the war.
When talking to another Vietnam Veteran ( and we called ourselves that while we were still in the Army) the conversation got as far as where you were stationed, who you were with and yes or no to the question of whether you were wounded or not. I really thought for a long time that I was the only one suffering from Post Vietnam Syndrome!
My last 9 months were at Fort George G. Meade, Maryland. I was allowed to go home most evenings and weekends. I didn't have a car and this added to the anger and frustration I experienced because if I didn't get a ride I didn't get to go home at times. Additionally, public transportation was available but not the best for the schedule.
My duty assignment was in the post laundry. I worked at the laundry for about 3 weeks. There was a fire and I was never given another assignment so the only time I had to report was payday; unless called in for something like an emergency. I made a couple of friends while stationed there. There was Lambert and Ronald Campbell from the 1 ST Cav who became my best friend.
Lambert became a buddy who would give me rides home and to the post when I couldn't catch Campbell. Only problem was we were always running late. I recall one time he was driving so fast that he blew something in his Camero and we had to call for a ride to Meade.
Campbell and I were like shadows. He was a proud one and he set the tone for those who would be around me for years to come. By that I mean, if you weren't a warrior, if you were not willing to risk your life for a comrade, if you were afraid to pull the trigger, take some serious chances, hell if you didn't give a damn if you lived or died....... you probably wouldn't be hanging with me!
Life lost some meaning to me.... I was very self-destructing. My family life was slowly going down the tube......it wasn't about not loving..it was about not understanding and being misunderstood. But, I still did not know what was wrong with me. I knew I had changed drastically. I became very abusive and withdrawn. I had no where to go to get the answers. And when I did question what was wrong with me the answer was usually: " There is nothing wrong with you. You've been in a war and you'll be alright!" or " All of our guys experience the same thing, it's perfectly normal!"
If what I was experiencing was normal I often wonder why I didn't see these same things happening to others who had been to Nam. One thing was certain, no one was telling the other about the personal battles related to the war. Nor was the Army offering any suggestions or recommendations for seeking help. So there I was again facing myself in the mirror day after day with more questions.
I often wondered why the Army just turned me loose. No thank you. No nothing. When my time was up....my time was up! Just one more reality in the life of a Vietnam Veteran in search of answers.
What happened to good friend Lonnie Upchurch? What happened to those I left behind? Would I ever see any of those I served with in Nam again? Why, was it that if I knew something was wrong with me did the government not know? More questions and no answers.
Realizing these new realities the question that stood out most was: "If I knew something was wrong with me upon my return to the world, then why didn't the Army recognize something was wrong with me? More so, why was I just left to be? What was to come of me? Why was I not offered any help from the military system of government?
Book 2
PART I -- THE HEALING PROCESS -LET IT BEGIN FOR ALL
IT'S A PROCESS AND IT DOES NOT START IN THE SAME PLACE NOR DOES IN START IN THE SAME MANNER FOR ALL - FOR SOME IT STARTS WITH ONE VET "TALKING" TO ANOTHER VET; FOR SOME IT'S WHEN WE REACH OUT FOR HELP FOR THE FIRST TIME; FOR SOME IT'S THAT FIRST TRIP TO THE WALL OR A HOME TOWN MEMORIAL; FOR A VAST MAJORITY IT TAKES PLACE WHEN WE REACH OUT FOR HELP AND ACCEPT IT AS WAS IN MY CASE; FOR MANY THE JOURNEY IS JUST BEGINNING; FOR MANY IT HAS NOT BEGUN. THERE ARE THOSE OF US WHO ARE STILL OUT THERE IN THE COLD--- LOST--- LEFT WITH THE FEELING OF BEING FORGOTTEN..BUT, WE MUST NOT FORGET.
I have attempted in the past 34 years to bring myself to grips with each new reality that has manifested in my life, since returning home from the Vietnam War. Yet the task has not been so much dealing with these realities in different situations, rather each and everyday life situations. The task that has presented itself to me and other veterans has been to identify the problems or shall I say the primary cause of my past and immediate dilemma.
Another important factor is dealing with the questions and answers presented regarding our experience in Vietnam (or other wars). The gist of this writing is to deal with "What to say?" when approached by those who want to know not so much about our experience in the war rather " what has happened to us and why are we like we are today."
It comes down to at times attempting to "explain" ourselves. In all honesty I owe no man an explanation. And yet, I will do my best to explain at times "what's going on with me." However, these explanations mostly short and to the point are not always met with understanding or accepted.
After all, how do you explain to someone something that is going on inside you that you can't explain yourself. See we find that denial became just another survival tool. It was one thing to be in denial regarding our circumstance and it was another thing not being able to identify or put a name on the condition.
It was quite some time before I faced the primary cause of all that was happening to me. It was quite some time before I reached deep within and confronted the various ever present demons that took me on a road of self destruction. It was quite some time before I unmasked the person hiding within this shell of a man. It was quite some time before I realized that I was not alone in my quest for a simple thing known as "peace of mind" and the desire to live like a normal human being; moving through life as a productive member of society. It was quite some time before I found that there may not be a cure; but there is a solution.
I left Vietnam in 1967. This is 2002 and my debriefing just began a few months ago (and it just may be a lifelong process). This debriefing is not coming at the hands of the Army as it should have been instead of being turned lose to roam carrying such untapped feelings of grief; loss; anger; depression; isolation; unconfused loneliness and false pride all these years. There were feelings masked so well and that I was able that they were numbed beyond recognition.
However, I am being treated in a VA facility for *Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This as part of a discharge plan I agreed upon and committed to only after spending a total of 11 months in a VA facility acquiring some tools and coping skills that would hopefully contribute to me learning how to look at the war and eventually get on with my life. Little did I realize then that it was all part of the (1)healing and later to be identified (2) debriefing process.
Group therapy is just one source; a beginning. And the beginning of the healing process is different for each of us who returned back to the "World". The tragedy is that we had to be prepared for our debriefing since it has taken so long to come and once prepared who better qualified (specifically in the case of the Vietnam veteran) than one who has shared your experience.
But, real debriefing is coming from one veteran helping another veteran. This debriefing is in the form of stories from other veterans. It is in the form of weekly and sometimes daily exchanges often in group therapy. It is in the form of being connected to the veteran community and a willingness to help a fellow comrade. The debriefing, is an ongoing process essential to the healing. It comes from the courage in understanding that I am on a journey. For with each new piece of the puzzle we face the same and sometimes amplified psychological often traumatic experience accompanied by all the triggers.
The healing happens when a veteran in Florida calls a veteran in California who calls a veteran in St. Louis who calls a veteran in Denver. The healing happens when a letter or an email or a phone call manifests a voice or a face from the past. The healing takes place when the Vietnam Wall and other war memorials are visited by veterans of all wars. The healing takes place when two buddies reunite after 34 years.
The healing begins, there is no ending. The road back can be a haunting and traumatic journey. We have had to find ways to live in today and we've had to do it one day at a time. We've had to do it knowing of some who made it and some who didn't. We have had to face our past in a way not like others as our condition is as it relates to the Vietnam veteran.
We are to some a strange breed. We have been singled out at times as the "crazy bunch". Why?
How do you walk up to another, especially one who does not understand and talk about the horrors of war. After all, we were not a welcomed lot as we returned home. And consider this, many of us returned not with the comrades we fought with; not with the friend who went with us to Nam. We seem to have developed and not overcome the fears attached to feelings surrounding our situations encountered in Vietnam.
For many of us the mere mention of the word Nam stirs up memories we'd like to forget. We have built around us survival mechanisms learned during our time in the war zone. We find it is easier to avoid various situations because we have not acquired the skill or the confidence to allow ourselves to "just feel" to "just deal with". And more sadly, we look for explanations and answers and when we can't find them we look for someone or something to place the blame for our behavior.
Overcoming these ever present obstacles for the veteran community as whole will not be accomplished overnight. However, taking a look at them one situation at a time can sometimes become overwhelming, simply because we have a tendency to allow one situation to be intertwined with another and another. Just as the horrors of war become one big picture, so does the healing process.
And when we look at the healing process we find we have to turn to the same bureaucratic system that initiated all our problems in the first place.
Hence, the issues of trust and dealing with authority just to name two come into play. But the real question after all these years comes down to "Do we want help?"
Some of the questions were about to be answered. Some of the pieces of the puzzle were about to placed into the blank spaces. Some of the people were about to be reunited. My life was about to take a turn in the road that would lead directly to the UNFORGOTTEN !!!!!