Last week the city I call home was thrust into the international spotlight because of a heinous act of domestic terrorism. This sleepy, small Southern city is the last place I ever thought an attack on the US military would ever take place. This isn't a military town. Being raised not just in a Navy household but also by a Vietnam Veteran and growing up in places where the military was a real presence, you learn at an early age that your parent's "job" is dangerous. That when you say good-bye to your Daddy there is a very real chance you might never see him again.
I never really knew what my Dad's job was when he was in The Army during Vietnam. All he ever told me was that he "broke code" and then he would tell me stories about the Buddhist Monks he met, the art, the architecture, the food and the traditional way of life for those in Southeast Asia. He made it all sound like a fairy tale. Like the war was just a brief rain cloud hanging over a golden city. I would fall asleep to my bedtime stories of pet monkeys and descriptions of tropical flowers. I remember how heartbroken I felt when I was older and actually started studying the War. I didn't see everything my Dad told me a lies...but those tiny fragments of beauty that he described where what he held on to in his mind to block the true horrors. They were like the glitter in a shattered snow globe that was his youth.
When he is having a good day I might ask him where he was or basic questions like what one of his patches represents. He was frequently dropped via helicopter to locations without being told where he was or what he was going to be doing. He would be met on the ground and whisked away to the bunkers, abandoned warehouses, schools...where ever the ASA (Army Security Agency) was set up. I know for a while he was with 138th Aviation Co. He won't give me alot of specifics...and I don't probe. The few pictures he smuggled back to the states show him with long hair, never in uniform. He was always dressed in casual civilian clothes. Always surrounded by locals. If you didn't know he was Army, you could never have guessed based on the photos. For those who don't know my Dad, he has dark eyes & hair, naturally tan complexion...his ancestry is a hodgepodge of Apache, Scottish, German and a few other ethnicities mixed in. He could easily have passed, at first glance, in a crowd, for just a hippie Vietnamese kid.
My whole life I have seen him battle addictions. His quick temper, self destructive behaviors and general "craziness" was always just blamed on Alcoholism. Even while he was in the Navy, he was in and out of rehab. I remember visiting him at a hospital in Memphis when I was 5, right after he had joined The Navy. That's when I learned what addiction was...at age FIVE. I didn't understand any of it. At that time, the early 80's, PTSD didn't really exist in the medical community.
I know it's not uncommon for people when they reach their 20's or 30's to look back at their lives and blame their parents for how their own lives turned out. Sometimes it's justified. Sometimes it's just people not wanting to take responsibility for their own choices and decisions. When you grow up in a house with a parent who has a mental illness...you don't fit in either category. You become so in tune with human emotion, the fragility of the mind, the importance of holding on to the good...that you develop coping skills, empathy and a greater understanding of suffering than your peers. It's so incredibly overwhelming that it can turn into an excuse or become empowering. Sometimes it feels like you're the one who is teetering on the edge of sanity. Add being a military brat to that mix...
My Dad retired from the Navy in 2000. He didn't have a ceremony. He just retired and that was it. He slipped into civilian life. It was very hard for him. I was married to a Sailor at the time but living with my parents because my husband was on deployment. I saw my Dad have some of the worst days I had ever witnessed. The house backed up some woods. I would find him hiding behind trees. He started hallucinating more frequently. It was like he was transported back to the jungle. He became more and more violent. Finally he got the treatment and medications he needed and the true diagnosis of his issues...PTSD The fact that it took 30 years for him to finally be diagnosed and for PTSD to be acknowledged as a REAL diagnosis pissed me off. Why did it take so long for him to finally get some peace? (the treatment of Veterans by the US Government is a rant for another night)
I can't visit the local memorials for the fallen Marines and Sailor. I tried to go to the one on Lee Highway but I couldn't get out of the car. It's too real. As a Navy brat, the daughter of a War Veteran and friend to so many people who have been and are still in the military...I was overwhelmed. In my mind I've buried my Dad a thousand times. As I wrote earlier...when you say good-bye to your Daddy there is a very real chance you might never see him again...even in peacetime.
I didn't realize it until earlier today, when I was talking with Mom. but the anxiety and fear of the unknown I felt on the 16th brought back the same feelings from 9/11 and the weeks that followed. Of being on base lockdown and hearing news reports that the Norfolk area (where I was) was the next target. Being completely alone. Of being on the subway in DC when Anthrax was found and being stuck underground for hours until it was found the Anthrax was actually just Ajax some janitor spilled. Of the smell of decay that permeated NYC when I drove through there 2 weeks after the attacks and the giant hole in the skyline. And of my childhood and dealing with Dad's PTSD. Emotional Chaos.
I've seen the hollow stares of Soldiers returning from War. I've lived and witnessed the strain of military life on families. I've felt the emptiness of not knowing if someoene you care about is even still alive, everytime there was a lapse in communication while he was in Iraq...War fucking sucks.
My heart aches for the families but it also swells with pride at how this city has come together. I have NEVER seen a community come together like this. I think it is amazing all the pictures of people waving flag and showing respect for those men. But, it also bothers me that people are posting pictures on social media and showing them on the news of Veterans crying, of those men and women who are battling demons people without military ties will never understand. Let them grieve in peace...let them heal in peace.
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