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This was written in honor of those who suffer from PTSD as a result of being in battle.
It happened, again. I met a man who seemed to be a nice guy and to have his life together. There appeared to be a possiblity that we could develop a friendship. Maybe this time would be different. After a few minutes of talking with him, however, the truth came out, and the concerns began. He had fought in Vietnam. I have found that it doesn't matter which war it was. The experience is the same, no matter the war.
I learned of it from the family of a World War II veteran. He had answered his country's call as a young farmer. Fresh from the season's harvest, he had marched off to war full of energy, enthusiasm and dreams and had returned changed, forever. He had no visible scars or wounds. To most who knew him, he became a member in good standing of the community - one of the lucky ones who came home. Only his family knew that he often awoke, screaming, during the night - the shaking, sweat and terror just as real in his dreams as they had been on the battlefield.
I became friends with a man who had fought in Korea. We shared many evenings at an all night restaurant with tears streaming down his face as he described to me the horrors of that experience. He spoke of many but always returned to the agony of having to follow orders to bomb a village where he knew there were women and children. No matter how many times he told the story, he always sobbed as he said, "They made me kill the babies, they made me kill the babies." This handsome, intelligent man,with so much to offer the world,spent the rest of his life trying to make peace with what he had done.
Through the years, I have met many men who served in Vietnam who still carried wounds that couldn't be seen. One could not go any place where there were many people - too much fear of not being able to control the situation. Another couldn't go where there were bright lights. Flashbacks happened. One drove his car the wrong way down a busy thoroughfare in an effort to escape as - back in Vietnam in his mind - he yelled, "Get down. They are coming! They are coming!" This flashback was brought about by the arrival of a police helicopter at an accident scene.
There are many other stories I could tell that would show how these men left us as young boys full of hope and plans for the future and returned to us as men whose innocence and peace of mind were left on a battlefield many years ago.
Even knowing these things, I dared to hope for a different ending with my new friend. Surely, in all this time, someone would have found a way to help them. Surely, they no longer had to live daily, and nightly, with the agonizing memories that took them back to the times of terror. Much to my sorrow, I found that, while the rest of us have gone on with our lives, these young men - many of them now old men - still wrestle daily with the memories of things they did, or saw, that left them changed, forever.
I have yet to meet any of the young men and women who have fought in our recent wars, but I know down to my core that many of them, too, have been changed in ways the rest of us can not even imagine. I pray that someone will find a way to eliminate the memories that cause such distress in these good and decent people. I pray it will happen soon.
To all of those who were put in harm's way and were never able to free themselves from those memories, I say thank you from the rest of us and offer up this prayer on their behalf. Dear God, bless those who fought to keep us safe. Give them back their peace of mind. Please, God, help them have a good night's sleep.
Patricia Grace is a retired teacher, mother of four and grandmother of nine. She has a BS in Psychology and an MS in Early Childhood Education. Many of her stories were "field tested" on her kids, grandkids and students. Although she enjoys writing in many different areas, her favorite is writing for young children. She, especially, likes to write stories that teach a lesson through the use of animals and subjects that appeal to very young readers. Her primary reward for the writing is the way small faces light up when they "get" the point of the story.
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