This is a continuation from and conclusion to my last post PTSD Awareness Month. As I mentioned there, I wrote the reflection in 1993 and this is the rest of that writing. I repeat the last paragraph from the previous post to connect the two:
As I grew up, the mystery of Vietnam continued to grow in my mind as explanations for Dad’s changed behavior never surfaced. Dad drank heavily during the rest of my childhood. I instinctively never approached him about anything, let alone ask him why he was so different from the man I had known before he left for Vietnam. So I grew up concealing my hurt and avoiding confrontation, knowing that someday I would have to find my own answers if I was ever to be at peace with Dad or myself. My answers would only come as I learned more about the Vietnam War. The search has been a slow and sometimes painful process.
The Rest of the Piece
So far (as I wrote at the time of the writing in 1993), I have only taken small steps toward broadening my knowledge about Vietnam. Initially, all I could handle were Hollywood’s representations in television shows like “Tour of Duty”. I would watch the unit in “Tour of Duty” sleek through the jungle in their green fatigues, black army combat boots, and green helmets. As they crept along, they carried their rifles and gear. All I could think of is my Dad being one of them. The sweat pouring off his face. The careful placement of his feet. The watchful eye for a trap or wire that could blow his leg off or mutilate his body.
Not everyone made it back to camp on the show. Not everyone made it back in real life. I am thankful my Dad did come back, and step by step the answers to my buried questions have begun to surface.
Finding Some Answers
Some of the answers and understanding came a few years ago when, after my parent’s divorce, my mother gave me a box filled with papers, notebooks, and other army information that belonged to my Dad. The box stayed under my bed for a long time. Finally, one afternoon I sat down with it and began going through the papers. I came across a small green notebook which contained notes written in Dad’s handwriting. I sat there holding it, feeling the roughness of the texture, knowing it had been in his hands and carried in his pocket as he walked in the land of Vietnam.
In the back of the notebook, carefully printed, were the names and addresses of the men in his unit. On other pages of the notebook were notes about what he was responsible for doing from day to day. Things like “have the latrine dug” and “weapons inspection today”. But what touched me were entries like “notify family” and “investigate POW rape”. I came away from those items with a sense of compassion for the man who had lived under those circumstances. For me it was a powerful beginning on my way to knowing my Dad.
Progress
My insight and understanding into the shaded area of my mind continues to grow. As I learn more about what it was like to have been in the midst of the Vietnam War, I believe I will learn more about why the change took place in my Dad. I was angry for a long time because I couldn’t understand why I was left to find the answers myself. I was angry because Dad had become a stranger and I wanted to know who or what was responsible. I didn’t really know my Dad when I left home at 17. I didn’t begin to know him until I began my search for answers five years ago.
Today, I am closer to him than I have ever been since he went to Vietnam. My road to peace grows nearer the closer Dad and I become. I truly believe that one day soon I can ask him those questions I wanted answered my first Christmas without him.
Last Christmas I stood in his living room and asked him to explain to me the significance of his medals in the display case hanging on the wall. As I stood next to him, I watched as he pointed with a hand that was missing half a pinkie finger. I listened as he carefully explained each medal and pin. I could not touch the medals like I had touched the insignia pins on his uniform when he had held me in his arms as a 5-year-old child, but he put his arm around me, and my heart swelled with a love I had felt before, 25 years ago.
The Story Continues
That was how I ended the piece in 1993. The story continues from there though. Our relationship from then on only continued to grow and he was my rock for the rest of his life.
Not long after that writing, as a gift to him, I sorted through all the records, training certificates, letters of commendation, reenlistment paperwork, old identification cards, and souvenir type items that I had in that box from under my bed. I also organized it all and put the items in a binder. Things that he might not have ever seen again had Mom not given them to me. I think he was happy to get all of that back. I have the notebook back now that he is gone. From time to time I still look through it with great pride.
The Rest of the Story
My Dad retired from the army in 1970. This is a photo of the newspaper clipping from his retirement ceremony.
My Dad put down alcohol and cigarettes in 1988 and never again touched either one (man, I wish I had his willpower). He determined then and there that he wanted to be around for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. For his sisters, brothers, and his lovely wife, my step-mom. Daddy lived to be 83 years old, and for the rest of his life, he attended every family gathering and every celebration we gathered for throughout the years. He became involved with the Army Chapter of the Chosin Few and attended yearly reunions. He grew wonderful vegetables in his garden, fished, continued to beat all of us at poker, loved his family, and gave us all a wonderful gift of continuing to live for as long as he could. I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. The patriarch of our family.
PTSD Awareness
My Dad was not perfect, and he had a hard road to travel after returning from war. Many people did and still do. I am grateful for the time I had with him and thankful that he worked to overcome the horrors he experienced and faced in Korea and Vietnam.
Please reach out to others you may know who might be suffering from PTSD. I reiterate from my last post: “During PTSD Awareness Month, and throughout the entire year, help raise awareness about the many different PTSD treatment options. You can make a difference in the lives of Veterans and others who have experienced trauma. Everyone can help” (“Help Raise PTSD Awareness”).
“Help Raise PTSD Awareness.” PTSD: National Center for PTSD, VA.gov: Veterans Affairs, 31 May 2018, www.ptsd.va.gov/understand/awareness/index.asp.