Sacrifice

I know in our situation, my whole family has been affected by our adoption story.  I can imagine how hard it is to watch your children hurt and know there is nothing you can do about it.  I know as with many things, life experiences make you stronger and you learn and grow from them.  In my English class I took this semester, I wrote a story about my father and a story I learned about him in the last year.   I think it is kind of funny that I almost could not imagine that my parents had a whole other life before I was born.   I didn’t realize that my father had lived through his own tragic story.  Maybe that is why when he has told me it was going to be okay and this process work out I believed him.  There was a form of sincerity in his voice that was reassuring.  Since this is armed forces week, I thought I would give a small tribute to my Veteran…..my dad.

I was sitting around with my parents a little over a year ago when my father asked me to Google a friend of his from Vietnam named Joe.  We spent about an hour looking over the internet and not getting any hits with the name my dad provided.  My father decided we would pick back up sometime at a later date after he looked around to see if he could verify the spelling of his war buddies last name.  Ironically, we never did have to look up that name because my dad received a phone call instead….on his answering machine from Joe.  Two people who served in a war over forty years ago, across the globe, in a jungle far from home, just happened to decide to try and find each other at the same time.  And some people don’t believe in fate??

My dad’s old battalion had been looking for him for years.  Joe had come across a box with some of his stuff from Vietnam when searching for pictures for a reunion.  Inside the box was a cut off piece of cardboard with a name, address, and phone number scratched in black marker.  The information was my dad’s and he had handed it to his friend Joe as he boarded a train back to Kentucky and out of the service.  Joe decided that before he started a search for my dad based the information on the clipping; he would just call the phone number.  Maybe it was a small enough town that the person would be able to direct them on how to find my father.  The ironic part was the phone rang right into my father’s house and the voice on the answering machine was for the man he was looking for.  My dad had the same phone number as he did when he boarded that train in 1970. When you are from a small town…things don’t always change much!

My dad has spent the past year finally opening up about his tour of duty in Vietnam.  He was reunited with many of the men of his battalion last year and this year will travel again to a reunion. These men had lived together, ate together, fought together, and watched others die together.  They had run scared through a maze of jungles in the dead of night in balmy, muggy conditions.  Bombs dropped around them and an enemy had a constant target on their back.  There was an unbreakable bond forged between them.

In the Spring, my dad received a letter from one of his commanders while he served. I slid the letter out of the manila envelope and my eyes traced to the top of the page and I began to read.  I sat alone in the living room and read through the two page letter.  When finished, I let the paper drop on my lap, tears streaming down my face.  My dad walked into the jungles of Vietnam one humid day in May 1969 with 105 men present for duty and left the field 33 days later with the strength of 39 men.  The rest were casualties.  I can only imagine the horrors he must have witnessed but greater yet the miracle he even survived.

            My father has begun slowly to talk about his experiences he occurred.  He can’t tell them all because many he doesn’t remember.  This is a way for the brain to protect itself from drama.  We know now that there are times that when a car backfires he is reminded of the bombs dropping around him and no place of safety to run to.  When he works on our family farm in the livestock he can regress.  The smell of blood or feces reminds him of the smells he had in the field.  The air was thick and humid, as soldiers died around him; he was forced to lay with them in ditches until relief came.  The smell of death was one he would never forget. 

It is amazing to me how you can spend the majority of your life with someone and not realize the shear trauma that someone can live through.  I had pulled out a picture of my dad as a young soldier when writing the piece for my class.  My dad shared with me that the guy in the background was a bunkmate of his.  He never made it back to his family.  He was one of the fatally wounded soldiers that didn’t walk out of the jungle. My dad was awarded the Purple Heart for his service in Vietnam and his bravery in the face of war.  His story is finally being told, yet there are so many still searching for the courage to tell theirs. 

            Last week when I was at home visiting my parents, my dad received another letter from his commander.  My father placed his hands on my shoulders, laid his head in my back, and cried.  As a child, your parents have seen us cry countless times.  Yet, to see your own parents cry it completely different.  My dad dried his eyes and stated, “I was just doing my job….I was a soldier.”  In this whole adoption process, there have been many a day I felt sorry for myself and what we have sacrificed.  Yet, this was another moment to count my blessings.  There are people that sacrifice for us every day.  Soldiers that leave their families to keep us protected. 

Life is many times about making sacrifices to all of us.  Just remember, especially this week, that there are many that make sacrifices we may not be aware of.  To all the Veterans I know….THANK YOU!