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Just last night

Discussion in 'Off Topic Threads' started by vmthtr in green bay, Nov 11, 2011.

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  1. vmthtr in green bay

    vmthtr in green bay Member

    Joined:
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    My Dad is a Vietnam Vet and sent this to me.



    A Vietnam Veterans Letter
    -

    "I Was There Last Night"
    By Robert Clark
    *The High Ground*
    P.O. Box 457
    Neillsville, WI 54456


    A couple of years ago someone asked me if I still thought about Vietnam. I nearly laughed in their face.

    How do you stop thinking about it? Every day for the last twenty-four years, I wake up with it, and go to bed with it. But this is what I said. "Yea, I think about it. I can't quit thinking about it. I never will. But, I've also learned to live with it. I'm comfortable with the memories. I've learned to stop trying to forget and learned instead to embrace it. It just doesn't scare me anymore."

    A psychologist once told me that NOT being affected by the experience over there would be abnormal. When he told me that, it was like he'd just given me a pardon. It was as if he said, "Go ahead and feel something about the place, Bob. It ain't going nowhere. You're gonna wear it for the rest of your life. Might as well get to know it."

    A lot of my "brothers" haven't been so lucky. For them the memories are too painful, their sense of loss too great. My sister told me of a friend she has whose husband was in the Nam. She asks this guy when he was there. Here's what he said, "Just last night." It took my sister a while to figure out what he was talking about. JUST LAST NIGHT. Yeah I was in the Nam. When? JUST LAST NIGHT. During sex with my wife. And on my way to work this morning. Over my lunch hour. Yeah, I was there.

    My sister says I'm not the same brother that went to Vietnam. My wife says I won't let people get close to me, not even her. They are probably both right.

    Ask a vet about making friends in Nam. It was risky. Why? Because we were in the business of death, and death was with us all the time. It wasn't the death of, "If I die before I wake."

    This was the real thing. The kind where boys scream for their mothers. The kind that lingers in your mind and becomes more real each time you cheat it. You don't want to make a lot of friends when the possibility of dying is that real, that close. When you do, friends become a liability.

    A guy named Bob Flanigan was my friend. Bob Flanigan is dead. I put him in a body bag one sunny day, April 29, 1969. We'd been talking, only a few minutes before he was shot, about what we were going to do when we got back in the world.

    Now, this was a guy who had come in country the same time as myself. A guy who was lovable and generous. He had blue eyes and sandy blond hair. When he talked, it was with a soft drawl. Flanigan was a hick and he knew it. That was part of his charm. He didn't care. Man, I loved this guy like the brother I never had. But, I screwed up. I got too close to him. Maybe I didn't know any better. But I broke one of the unwritten rules of war.

    DON'T GET CLOSE TO PEOPLE WHO ARE GOING TO DIE. Sometimes you can't help it.

    You hear vets use the term "buddy" when they refer to a guy they spent the war with. "Me and this buddy a mine . . "

    "Friend" sounds too intimate, doesn't it. "Friend" calls up images of being close. If he's a friend, then you are going to be hurt if he dies, and war hurts enough without adding to the pain. Get close; get hurt. It's as simple as that.

    In war you learn to keep people at that distance my wife talks about. You become so good at it, that twenty years after the war, you still do it without thinking. You won't allow yourself to be vulnerable again.

    My wife knows two people who can get into the soft spots inside me. My daughters. I know it probably bothers her that they can do this. It's not that I don't love my wife, I do. She's put up with a lot from me. She'll tell you that when she signed on for better or worse she had no idea there was going to be so much of the latter. But with my daughters it's different.

    My girls are mine. They'll always be my kids. Not marriage, not distance, not even death can change that. They are something on this earth that can never be taken away from me. I belong to them. Nothing can change that. I can have an ex-wife; but my girls can never have an ex-father. There's the difference.

    I can still see the faces, though they all seem to have the same eyes. When I think of us I always see a line of "dirty grunts" sitting on a paddy dike. We're caught in the first gray silver between darkness and light. That first moment when we know we've survived another night, and the business of staying alive for one more day is about to begin. There was so much hope in that brief space of time. It's what we used to pray for. "One more day, God. One more day."

    And I can hear our conversations as if they'd only just been spoken. I still hear the way we sounded, the hard cynical jokes, our morbid senses of humor. We were scared to death of dying, and trying our best not to show it.

    I recall the smells, too. Like the way cordite hangs on the air after a fire-fight. Or the pungent odor of rice paddy mud. So different from the black dirt of Iowa. The mud of Nam smells ancient, somehow. Like it's always been there. And I'll never forget the way blood smells, stick and drying on my hands. I spent a long night that way once. That memory isn't going anywhere.

    I remember how the night jungle appears almost dream like as the pilot of a Cessna buzzes overhead, dropping parachute flares until morning. That artificial sun would flicker and make shadows run through the jungle. It was worse than not being able to see what was out there sometimes. I remember once looking at the man next to me as a flare floated overhead. The shadows around his eyes were so deep that it looked like his eyes were gone. I reached over and touched him on the arm; without looking at me he touched my hand. "I know man. I know." That's what he said. It was a human moment. Two guys a long way from home and scared sh"tless.

    "I know man." And at that moment he did.

    God I loved those guys. I hurt every time one of them died. We all did. Despite our posturing. Despite our desire to stay disconnected, we couldn't help ourselves. I know why Tim O'Brien writes his stories. I know what gives Bruce Weigle the words to create poems so honest I cry at their horrible beauty. It's love. Love for those guys we shared the experience with.

    We did our jobs like good soldiers, and we tried our best not to become as hard as our surroundings. We touched each other and said, "I know." Like a mother holding a child in the middle of a nightmare, "It's going to be all right." We tried not to lose touch with our humanity. We tried to walk that line. To be the good boys our parents had raised and not to give into that unnamed thing we knew was inside us all.

    You want to know what frightening is? It's a nineteen-year-old-boy who's had a sip of that power over life and death that war gives you. It's a boy who, despite all the things he's been taught, knows that he likes it. It's a nineteen-year-old who's just lost a friend, and is angry and scared and, determined that, "Some *@#*s gonna pay." To this day, the thought of that boy can wake me from a sound sleep and leave me staring at the ceiling.

    As I write this, I have a picture in from of me. It's of two young men. On their laps are tablets. One is smoking a cigarette. Both stare without expression at the camera. They're writing letters. Staying in touch with places they would rather be. Places and people they hope to see again.

    The picture shares space in a frame with one of my wife. She doesn't mind. She knows she's been included in special company. She knows I'll always love those guys who shared that part of my life, a part she never can. And she understands how I feel about the ones I know are out there yet. The ones who still answer the question, "When were you in Vietnam?"

    "Hey, man. I was there just last night."
     
  2. Bernie K

    Bernie K Member

    Joined:
    Jan 29, 1998
    Messages:
    687
    God Bless you and sleep well...you said it well.
     
  3. locdoc

    locdoc Member

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    Messages:
    874
    Location:
    Antrim, NH
    Amen.......... great perspective...... thanks.

    Doug Whiton, P/W dealer/dist

    RVN 1966
     
  4. det131

    det131 Member

    Joined:
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    Messages:
    502
    Want to respond, can't find the words, been there so many nights myself.

    Well done

    Jim
     
  5. Itchyb

    Itchyb TS Member

    Joined:
    Oct 19, 2011
    Messages:
    133
    All heroes to me. Thanks to my step-brother Dale for serving there. May the horrible dreams stop.
     
  6. slipping into darkness

    slipping into darkness TS Member

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    Very Powerful, God Bless.
     
  7. Bill Roberts

    Bill Roberts Active Member

    Joined:
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    1,237
    God bless you brother. It's so sad but it's nice to know others feel the
    way I do.
    I don't talk about, probably never will. I did talk to a shrink once and all
    she said was I can't believe you aren't more messed up.

    Bill Roberts
    "Big Red One" 67-68 Black Lions
    First To Fight!
     
  8. abbfan

    abbfan Member

    Joined:
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    Messages:
    39
    First I would like to give a heart filled thanks to all the Veterans out there. To the ones that are serving for our great country and for those who have served and the ones who gave thier lives fighting for the freedoms that most people take for granted.

    Being born in '66 my memory of the Vietnam War is my Dad watching the news in the early '70's as he got out in '62. When I got older, History teachers were doing lessons on the past wars and the Vietnam war always sparked something. I talked to my uncle who served in Korea and Vietnam, which he retired from the service and went on to work at the V.A. in Murfreesboro Tn. and retired from there also. A great man who loved his country dearly and passed away Nov.12,2010, giving a speech at his local High School about the Veterans and what Veterans Day meant to him. If God picked the right time for him, it was it. Talking about something that was so close to his heart. I guess the love for my country and the respect for the Veterans started with him and my Father and grew from there.

    The told me of things he had seen and heard. I cannot even imagine the things that the great men and women went thru over there. I respect all the Veterans deeply but the men and women who served there have a special place in my heart.

    I wished that the men and women had gotten the respect that they deserved when they had gotten home from thier tours, instead of the horrible things that they had to endure.

    Sorry for the long post but my heart goes out to them. Again for the the things that they lived thru there....the things that they lived thru when they got home and the things that they still go thru everyday.

    When you see a Veteran with his or her hat on, the tattoo on thier arm...don't wait until Veterans Day to tell them Thank you.....Tell them Thank You then.
     
  9. The Stive

    The Stive Member

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    WOW!! John
     
  10. Bob Merkov

    Bob Merkov Member

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    I know! Well done...

    Bob M.
     
  11. Barkingspider21

    Barkingspider21 Member

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    Location:
    Semonole County Florida
    I guess I must be lucky, I spent 3 tours of duty in Viet-Nam, one with the Marines and 2 with the SeaBees, I went to bad places, saw some bad things and I can truthfully say "I have seen the elephant" I have never lost any sleep over anything I did because it was just a job to me, I lost friends and I put a few into body bags too, I just never let it get to me, I guess I must be "different"???. I have reached the age of 72 years and every morning when I wake up I have a plan for the day, sometimes it's a vague one but never the less it's a plan so all I can suggest is live for the present and the future and thank God you got back from it all,at the present time I am looking forward to a 3 week trip to N.C. where I hope to shoot a few rounds of trap at Fort Bragg, then on to Va. for a day or 2 then on to Conn where I intend to shoot trap again with my older brother after that it's time for some lobster then back to Va. and NC and back here to Fl and wait for January and the Grand at the Silver Dollar followed in March by another Grand and the State shoot, the point I am hoping to make is don't dwell on the past but don't forget it either, enjoy what's ahead, shoot often and shoot well. Woody Sullivan
     
  12. det131

    det131 Member

    Joined:
    Mar 25, 2009
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    Paul:


    Try the following links, they may get you on the right track. I am sure you will be able to hook up with someone who will be able to help.


    http://www.1cda.org/


    http://www.1cda.org/12th_cavalry_links.htm


    http://www.ranger25.com/


    http://www.ranger25.com/memorial%20B%202%2012.htm



    They list five KIA for 14 Oct 67 if I have the right unit.


    Cpl. Woody Joe Frost, Cpl William R. Henry, Cpl Kurt B. Pearson, PFC Robert VanBallegooyen, Sp4 John D. Williams


    May god be with them.



    Jim
     
  13. birdogs

    birdogs TS Member

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    I am so sorry for your pain. By now it is probably more like a dull ache which never fully goes away. I'd like to say that I feel your pain but in reality I can't; no one can. That only makes me feel more indebted to you and to the others who served and continue to serve. God bless you and your family. You all paid a terrible price.
     
  14. chiefjon

    chiefjon Active Member

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    Location:
    El Dorado Hills, CA
    I think this is probably one of the best descriptions of PTSD I have ever read. I have studied the subject, suffered my own version and feel the pain of sufferers. Anyone who does not believe PTSD is not a "real" war injury is far beyond crazy. God Bless each of you.

    Jon Schorle
     
  15. birdogs

    birdogs TS Member

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