A Vietnam Veterans Tribute

The Sedalia Democrat hosted a Tribute in honor of the 50^th Anniversary of the Vietnam War. Leading up to the event, Latisha Koetting tracked down family member to tell the stories of the men whose names are inscribed on the Vietnam Memorial on the courthouse lawn. I’ve been saving the newspaper stories because the stories of these young men tug at my heart.

During the course of the event, three local veterans told their stories. James “Smitty” Smith told about adopting a daughter while serving in Vietnam. He spoke of his struggles to go though different embassies and how surprised he was that he had to take the baby out of the orphanage. He found a place for them to live until eventually he sent the baby home with another soldier. His daughter Teresa, who works for homeland security, was present and spoke about how she owed her existence to the Vietnam War and how grateful she was to her mom and dad.

Jim Clark told a humorous account of his time in Vietnam although he had serious injuries. He said that he liked to tell tall tales sometimes so he told a friend one time about the day he was injured. He was in a field without cover and he spoke of trying to hide behind a watermelon. His story was that he took out his knife and cut the buttons off his shirt. “Why did you do that,” he said his friend asked. Clark’s answer, “So I could get lower to the ground.”

The final speaker, Gregg Davis, spoke of living through the loss of his legs and other injuries. He told of how his men ripped up their shirts to make tourniquets for him and another wounded Marine. Gregg was vocal about the damage caused by Agent Orange and the government’s lack of response. He spoke of the name-calling and how the Vietnam Veteran’s were treated after they came home.

It was Gregg’s story that made me think of Jim. I’m sure Jim would have agreed with Gregg’s views a hundred percent. I can’t remember who said it, but one of the speakers said a veteran told him, “I died in Vietnam; I just didn’t know it.” I believe that is true for a lot of the Veterans. I know the war was a big transition for Jim, and he was a different person when he came back.

Jim’s picture was included in a tribute video along with more than sixty Vietnam Veterans who have died since the war. Latisha Koetting made an observation that it seems like the Vietnam Veterans are dying at a younger age that previous veterans. This agrees with my own thinking. I’m afraid we aren’t going to see many old Vietnam Veterans. I can’t help but wonder what part Agent Orange had to do with Jim’s physical problems, and I know that PSTD had everything to do with his depression and emotional problems. It only leaves the question as to whether the war had anything to do with the rare form of early-onset dementia that Jim had.

These thoughts and the tribute must have been the reason I had a dream about Jim last night. I dreamed Jim wore a brown sweater that was much too big for him. He pulled the sweater across his chest one side over the other. “I don’t feel like me in here,” he said, with his hands over his heart. I straightened the sweater and buttoned it for him. I put my arms around him and held him close to me. “Now do you feel like yourself?” I asked. He smiled and said, “Yes, I do.”

When I awakened from the dream, I felt like I had been holding Jim while he slipped into the world of dementia. The feeling of loss was as strong as ever, but the unbearable thought was his loss of self.

The tribute was sad, but it was also long overdue. Jim would have appreciated the tribute, but he would have left before “Taps.” The sad tune always made him think of funeral duty during the year after he returned from his tour of duty in Vietnam. The war changed everything for Jim and for our family. I think he died there, but just didn’t know it.

Copyright © Oct 2011 L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Airplane Crash Survivors

I’m not a frequent flyer, but I fly often. When I clicked on the headlines of the US Airways crash, it was one of the strangest sights I had ever seen. The jet rested on top of the water with survivors standing on the wings waiting for their turn to be rescued. I immediately Googled the crash to see what else I could learn. The miracle story just seemed to get better and better. Then I saw a YouTube of an Airbus Crash. Wow! That was quick.

I clicked on the video and watched a plane getting lower to the ground. I was disappointed as the plane went out of sight because I wanted to see the water landing. When I thought the video would end, the jet exploded and a plume of smoke and flames shot skyward. Wrong video.

It did give me pause. Why did one jet crash and burn and the other land in water and float long enough for all passengers and crew to be rescued? What separates victims from survivors?

Why are so many people terrified of flying while others, like me, get no more excited than stepping on an elevator? It has nothing to do with bad experiences, but seems more to be something hard-wired in our brains.

I’ve had a few harrowing experience aboard aircraft, but it hasn’t interfered with my love of travel. When I was eighteen, I flew to Hawaii where Jim and I planned to marry while he was on R&R from Vietnam. My first flight was a non-stop out of Kansas City to San Francisco. After a breakfast of eggs benedict, the flight attendants (called stewardesses back then) picked up our trash and made sure everyone’s seats were in an upright position and seatbelts securely fastened. The plane began a sharp descent and we came in for a landing.

As the plane barreled down a runway seemingly in the middle of nowhere, police cars, taxis, fire trucks and ambulances followed us. As soon as the plane stopped, an announcement came over the speakers, “Exit from the nearest exit and get into the taxis.” We were herded into a building and stood beside our luggage as it was searched. Our emergency landing in Denver was a precaution because someone (“do any of you know someone who would have done such a thing?”) phoned-in a bomb threat specifying our flight and destination. In 1986, about two weeks after the Challenger explosion, I flew back to Hawaii. That time a TWA plane came so close to us that my sister swears she saw the shocked look on the pilot’s face.

It is not so much experiences as our personalities that determine how we feel about life’s challenges. Some of us are survivors and expect to continue moving forward with our lives. Others feel like victims and expect more catastrophes in their future.

Those of us who have loved ones with Alzheimer’s, or lost loved ones to the disease, know the only survivors are the caregivers. We are the pilots who land the plane on the water and wait patiently on the wings with knowledge in our hearts that we will endure, overcome, and continue forward with our lives.

My next scheduled flight is to the Alzheimer’s Association Public Policy Forum. During these hard economic times, we need to ask for continued fast-track research to find a cure for the 5.2 million Americans with Alzheimer’s. It is unthinkable that all my friends with dementia are on a plane that will crash and burn. We need to adopt a survivor mentality for those with Alzheimer’s, and not lose hope that science can bring them in for a safe and miraculous landing.