This article was written to honor our military men and veterans, especially the Vietnam era vet. And, may be to help the citizen to understand.
Country Stolen, Honor Lost, What Happened to U.S. ? !
Don j. Beaulieu, 10-13-07
This is an opinionated quandary on what I think, you think ,or maybe did think, about war, veterans, society, brotherhood, love, honor, pain, sacrifice, fear, ptsd, choices, and agony but not defeat! (By a Vietnam Vet.)
I sit here in this lonely place I call home. Do you remember when I asked you, “I wonder where all this pain, anger, and fear from war will flow to when I have to let go?” (see poem titled, “How Fast Can You Run,” by this author) Well now I know. The beers I do not drink still help, but now it’s an image to an idea. It’s an idea from my imagination and my mind, which finds a thought were none use to be. Perhaps, it’s a nightmare or a dream. It’s like trying to create something from the invisible. I had to find all of the pieces in order to let it go. I just did not know how to do it. Did you? Was it a secret, or did I miss the point again? Like dramatic irony, did you see it coming, but as usual not me? Could you feel my pain? Did you understand? Did you know of death and pain or as usual, did I miss it?
Did you know where God was all the time I was looking for Him and not tell me? My soul is still MIA, but not so my mind, so I do really care. However, I wonder if you do or did? I got the feeling I was the only one running. I seemed to be all alone with my fear. I often wondered if society saw it too, but just did not care. I never noticed them reach out to us, veterans, in kindness, nor see a tear, or feel a hug. The only message they sent me was disgust and fear! Did you reach out to me, or any veteran, and me not see – was I blinded in the binding of a spell?
I remember being spit on. Do You? I remember having cigarette butts flicked at me. Do You? I remember being called, “fuck’n baby killer.” Do You? Have you ever had to fear for your life hour by hour, sometimes split-second by split-second? Ever know that your next movement could put you in front of a bullet. Choices – yah we had choices and often a billionth of second to make them in. Do you care? Was it you? If not, then who? Am I just a Vietnam War scapegoat to be ridiculed? I think so.
Are you wondering what happened when I let “it” go? When I let the pain, the agony, the anger, and the forever stream of silent tears that trickled down my cheeks -- go? How come you never noticed? How come it had to be me? How is it God had forsaken me? How come I lived and so many did not? How come I had to create collateral damage and not you? Yet, you seem to have all the answers. Yah, you, who drove drunk and killed my baby boy. You, who miss-diagnosed, and my aunt died. You, who could not be bothered to do your job and my mother passed into God’s light. Guess what – my dad cried when he had to live alone. It’s called a broken heart. And, you, Miss Driver who just “flipped me off” what gives you the right? I did my job as best I knew how. I did not “flip any one off;” I kept my wits about me; made no mistakes, mine were built in, they call it war. What’s your excuse my friend?
And, herein lays the rub, the real irony, the paradox. I was defending you and your rights. Yah, I’m the one who helped you stay free so you could drive drunk, so you could kill a child, so you could “flip me off;” so you could spit on me; so you could use me to flick your butts at; so you can be lazy at one of the most important professions on this earth and be a lousy doctor. What about you, dear teachers, one of whom said, “I could never be more than marginally functioning”? She was nun.
But, I do apologizes. Yes, I managed; I got through it all. Thank you, dear people, for giving me the chance to serve you. Thank you, God, for allowing me to live so I could teach your children and theirs with all I had, day after day. Thank you for allowing me to stay in the country that I fought for. I gave you back an architect, a director of operations, a world class designer, a genetic engineer, an FBI agent, and Anastasia –who plays in heaven, and oh, yah—God gave you back me.
YES, you are correct, I’m an angry man filled with pain and agony. But, that was a second ago, now –I let “it” go! I’m free now, I let “it” go, but you did not make it easy for me. How come you knew and wouldn’t tell me?
Here is the best of it my friends, my readers, my sons, my daughters, my students, my associates, and all the universes –when I let it go, my dear earthly friends, it became a blue Morphos butterfly. Is there anything as beautifull or as intricately designed as the sparkling powder of a butterfly’s wings, or the powerful metamorphosis and the spirit of gossamer wings?
NO, there is not !!
Me, Dream Waver, Author, a perfect creation of God, but imperfect in the eyes of man. Me, I’m perfectly imperfect and I can live with that. djb
No part of this article may be reproduced or copied
in any form without written permission from the author. Published at Author’s Den 2007