SwiftVets.com

[Cazador]

Hi,

Warning, if you served, get some kleenex, you'll need it and God bless you!

If someone ever tells me about the medals that JohnKerry threw away really don't matter, I will send them this:


Yahrzeit '88
Submitted Anonymously

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
- John Keats "Ode to a Nightingale"

She put them up in a brass and stained oak frame. Against the
white satin background they didn't appear so ominous, and didn't
supply a hint as to the way in which they are awarded. A pretty
color, like that on the robes of royalty; pure and deep with
majestic allusion. On a weekly basis, she polished the frame,
keeping the brass as bright as a ray of morning sunlight. The
glass was so spotless that it was possible to see quite clearly
ones own reflection. She picked a conspicuous spot for them,
and fastened them to the wall in the hallway.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

But I didn't look at them. I didn't want to see the morbid days
and endless nights that caused their arrival. I didn't want to
face the face that won these prizes through violent means. But
she kept polishing the brass and glass, commenting "They are
precious metals" to those who asked about them. And they hung
there on the wall, passed each time a step was taken in the
hall.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

Each week she would clean them, and the evening sun would cast a
reflected light ray to the end of the hall. Each week she would
polish them with a tenderness as if they were children to be
held. She never said a word about them, but it was easy to tell
she was extremely curious about their origins.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

Any appeal to remove them was met with stern disapproval. She
wanted something to remind her of what had happened, even if she
didn't know exactly what that was. She never pried, but held me
gently on the nights I would wake up soaked in sweat and tears.
She never complained, and never wanted out; instead she would
shed tears for my fears, and cry for my sorrows. And every
week, she would clean and polish them, until like a beacon they
shone.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

The sleepless nights faded into the past, the weeks melted into
months, and the months passed into years. And each week she
would polish them, not voicing a bit of curiosity. She
understood the pain, because it was evident in her eyes each
morning after a dream of return had come. Her soft touch and
wavering voice exposed the silent melancholy her heart felt and
she tried so hard to hide. And each week, she returned to them,
polishing them brightly.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

The tenderness, style and beauty was taken from her in an
instant she never realized. I never had a chance to explain to
her the prize was one of immense sorrow. She would polish them
as if they were the most important thing in our existence. She
held them as tenderly as she had held me on the occasions that
it was needed. She understood that the key to my welfare was
locked in that frame of brass and oak, and the only way to
release the demons was to face the face in the reflected glass.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

Her funeral was a complete shock. The realization of death I
thought had died many years ago. Death was something benign,
something that didn't affect me anymore. Yet here she was, the
Joy, Beauty and Truth of my life, lying in grassy solitude. She
was no longer there to polish the brass and oak frame, so the
dust and tarnish collected, dimming the Light they reflected in
the past.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

What the war couldn't accomplish, I thought pills could. G-d
it's such a hard life! The pills: they can fix everything. If I
take enough of them.... And like a memory hidden by time, the
brass greened and the oak cracked.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

Waking up in the hospital, I was told death had been a breath
away. My first reaction was anger for failing, then anger for
trying, and finally settled into weeks of self imposed
isolation, purging the pent up feelings in emotional
self-abasement. The questions came faster than I could possibly
answer, and I closed myself off even further. Ignoring all life
around me.

And so they hung there, waiting. Waiting.

I got home with the feeling she had deserted me; leaving me in
not so silent agony. The first thing I noticed was they were
polished, bright as any day she had cleaned them. I asked who
polished them, and everyone said they didn't know. I took them
off the wall, excused myself and went into my private chambers.
For the first time I was able to look at them since they were
hung around my neck by the powers that warranted their action.
For the first time I was able to look at the face that won them,
and realize that it was a face of an ordinary man, and not a
maniacal killer. I held them and finally the tears came. The
tears that would begin to wash away the stench of guilt and
sorrow of the years past. The tears that would finally release
me from the unbearable torments of my dreams. As I moved to
wipe the fallen tears from the polished glass, I looked and saw
her face, as clearly as she was sitting there with me. She was
smiling a smile of extreme serenity, and lipped the words
"Welcome home. I love you." And just as suddenly, she was gone.
I knew then who returned the lustre to them.

And they no longer hung there, waiting. Waiting.

I took the medals and wrapped them in a bedsheet and boxed them
up. The box was taken to a family storage place, where they
will be safe and cool. The brass and oak frame that she
polished so persistently will be safe from corrosion and decay
until I decide to take them out again. But for now, they have
served their purpose. The Marines gave them to me for my
conduct. My wife gave them to me for my sanity.

And they no longer hang there, waiting. Waiting.

15 years ago I finished my SEA tour. 10 years ago my wife died,
taking that beautiful smile and that full life with her. With
this, the tenth anniversary of her death, I would like to let
the world know that she was with me when all others had given up
hope, and loved me when I didn't seem to love her back. So my
continuing love for her I express poorly in these words:

You were all of life to me. Yet when I thought that you had
abandoned me in death, you still managed to pull me through
life. You gave me back that burning desire for life I had lost.
Even as you could support me in life, you saved me in death. I
cannot offer anything other than the troth I pledged before, to
reaffirm before G-d and man to love you for all eternity.

# # #

Semper fidelis


From Seventh Annual NamVet Volume 7, Number 1 November 12, 1994

http://www.vietvet.org/nvetnew.htm

Footnote: Read the next story down on the above page about Martha Raye. Note the reference to Dan Rather. The article is real good too.

[Digger]

Aleah Ha Shalom ve Chatimat Tova l'zikaron tov b'Olam HaBa

Itgadal veItkadesh Shmei Raba
B'Alma di B'ra Kirutei veamlich Malkutei ve itzmach Pirkunei ve Karev M'shichei
B'chaiechon u'bIomeichon ub'Chaie d'kol Beit Israel b'agalah ub'zman kariv. ve Imru Amen
Ihe Shmei Raba Mevorach l'Olam ul'Almei Almeiah
Itbarach veIshtabach veItpa'ar ve Itromam veItnasei veIthadar veItalei
veIthallel Shmei d'Kudsho Barich Hu
Birkata veSirata Tushbechata veNechmata d'amiran b'Almah ve Imru Amen
Ihe Shlamah raba min Shamaiah vechaim tovim aleinu ve alkol Beit
Isreal. ve Imru Amen.

AM ISRAEL CHAI CHAZAK VE AMATZ
_________________
Hey swifty, I'm with you, Just watch you don't get "Kerry'd away in the propwash

Sgt. Maj. Seamus D.D. MacNemi R.M.C. Ret.