It's hard to imagine when the people we've known as mom and dad were young. On a wall in our home is my folks' wedding photo, taken when dad was stationed in San Antonio during WWII. Dad died at 91, two years ago on Father's Day, frail and worn out with the years. Mom is still pretty active, now at 92. Mom still has the photo albums of dad when he was in basic training, pictures taken of him with his Army buddies. Dad was scheduled to be deployed in the European theater during the war, but a routine physical detected a heart murmur that kept him stateside while his buddies went over the pond, some of them never to return.
One day about twenty years ago when mom and dad were visiting on Memorial Day, he and I happened to be watching a movie on the Turner Classic Movies channel. It was "The Fighting Sullivans," a film about the five Sullivan brothers who were stationed on the USS light cruiser Juneau in the Pacific. The ship was torpedoed during the action at Guadalcanal, and all five of the brothers were lost, along with 682 other sailors. As we watched the movie, I became aware of a snorting sound off to my side. I turned and saw my father in near total meltdown, sobbing like a little child. When I questioned him, he told me of boyhood friends who served and never came home. It was fifty years after the war, and as fresh as the day he first received news of his friends' deaths.
I've talked with other vets, one who had been a crewman of a WWII bomber that was shot down in Europe and became a POW in Germany. I asked him one day about how it affected him. He came home, raised a family, became a successful local businessman, and even mayor of our little village. He told me of nights when his wife would wake him up to stop his thrashing around from the nightmares he had thirty years hence.
We are more aware of the tragic effects of PTSD than people knew back then. Everyone then knew ex-soldiers who became alcoholics, abusive, suicidal, but no one seemed to make the connections until Vietnam. Now we are seeing (mostly) men coming home with injuries from which they would have died even thirty years ago to a VA system fraught with fraud and incompetence.
Today we salute our veterans, and I am grateful for my dad, and all the other fine men I've been honored to know through the years, men who answered the call of duty and served, bequeathing to us through their blood, sweat, and tears the freedoms we enjoy today. It is a gift easily squandered; may we instead value and guard it for the treasure it truly is.
No comments:
Post a Comment