I remember

I remember the fear and I'm angry. I remember the anger and I'm afraid. The faces , the places, the screams of pain and the death are blurred by time yet vivid enough to cause my muscles to tense and my fists to clench. That chapter of my life is long over but I can't completly let go. It churns inside me like boiling water and releases its steam at a time of its own choosing,totally independent of my will. I want answers that will nw\ever come. I want to make sense of the sensless. I want light and substance given to my shadows so that I might face them down and drive them from my mind. My memories are fragmented and less than clear. Where others recount battles, engagements, locations and and people with clarity my recollections of the war in Viet Nam are foggy at best. The fog is dense enough to mute the whole picture but not thick enough to keep the more disturbing fragments out. I see myself kneeling in the rain holding the hand of a dying marine. He's laying on a poncho,blood mixed with rain water pooling around him. I see the watch on his wrist clearly. I see his eyes, wide and unblinking. He makes no sound and I know that he's dying. I dont recall his name,his rank or how he was mortally wounded.I don't remember where we were or even what year it was,yet the scene will not leave me. The charred body behind the wheel of a burned out truck. The stench of rotting enemy bodies being exhumed from shallow graves for a reason I cant recall. The sight of arial flares illuminating a hoard of advancing enemy soldiers stepping on and over their fallen comrades. I hear the sound of mortar shells leaving their tubes knowing that I'm their target. I remember the boredom of laying in ambush all night, waiting in anticipation and fear of an unseen enemy that never came. The sounds of a fire fight, the distinctive crack of an AK47, leaders barking orders,returning fire,an officer crying loudly, his legs shattered by automatic weapon fire. The sudden end. The deathly quiet,the call for a corpsman,the order to regroup, the moaning of the wounded, the fear that attacks the body after the battle is over. I talk to pilots of spotter planes, phantoms and choppers. I tossed a smoke grenade and guided a medevac to landing. I felt the ground shake as jets strafed and bombed enemy positions a few short yards away. I remember,enough or too much I don't know but I remember and I always will. My son is a marine now. I,m damned proud and a little scared. I'm proud of his skill and devotion and frightened at the thought of losing him. I fear the possibility of memories,his memories, of battles not yet fought in wars not yet waged. I remember..........

I wrote this about 18 years ago. My son and I both alive and kicking, making our way in the world[ my son doing a much better than I, as it should be]. I dusted this off because the story isn't over. Different names and places same script. I'm neither pro nor anti war. War seems to be a fact of life generation after generation. Honor those who served especially those who gave all.
SAW