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Two Junes
I so clearly remember the morning my husband left. June 1971. He left before dawn to catch his plane and I can still see the tail lights of our '68 Mustang disappearing around the corner. Our 14 month old son was asleep in the next room. I'd be a single parent for a year. Could I do it? Weeding the yard before he left, my husband had handled poison ivy. The rash had spread all over his body. He'd been miserable for weeks.
The Wall was wet. When I put out my hand to touch it, my palm print left an impression. Lorenzo, Bill, Fred, Holden, John under my hand. So many names, one my friend.
We couldn't sleep, so got up at 5:45 a.m. to see the replica of the Wall. June 2018. We'd seen the Wall in Washington in 1985 and found it oddly peaceful and cleansing. As we drove, the feelings and emotions of the day my husband left resurfaced - anxiety, pride, weariness. Humidity hung in the air as we approached the Huey. It was damp with dew as I regarded it. How many missions? How many bodies? One like it had medivacked my brother from the jungle 3 months before my husband left, his leg hanging open from an AK-47 round. I patted the helicopter. Thank you, brave pilots and crewmen.
The MN State Capitol is beautiful and made a fitting backdrop for the Wall. As we walked, we smelled flowers and heard birds. The lawn in front of the Wall was intensely green and dew-covered. Half way across, I did what I knew I would do and started to cry. Vietnam marked my generation forever. So much lost: innocence, illusion, men and women.
The Wall was wet. When I put out my hand to touch it, my palm print left an impression. Lorenzo, Bill, Fred, Holden, John under my hand. So many names, one my friend.
The few people there were mostly like us, 60 or 70-somethings. One man in a Vietnam Vet t-shirt. One in a red, white and blue cap. Women accompanied, some came alone. Those left behind then, like me, have their own feelings. And I think we also served.
As we walked the Wall, a small miracle occurred! A monarch butterfly had lit and was sunning itself. It had chosen Luis Conception to light on. I hope Luis felt blessed and gladdened by the little creature. I hope when he died, Luis felt he'd sprouted mulit-colored wings.
Ken Gardner, St. Paul
Butterfly on Vietnam Memorial wall in St Paul (6/23/18).
The year my husband was gone was often lonely, but not a waste. I learned to take care of the car, did household repairs and lit the barbecue. I took care of our beloved son. My husband missed his emerging language and development skills. He missed the Snoopy cake for his 2nd birthday.
Typing this now, hours after the visit, I feel the Wall in my body. It's a heaviness, but not unmanageable. It's a sadness, but not overwhelming. It's a privilege to pay one's respects and say thank you. God bless you all. Your memories live on.
Biographical Details
Submitted From: St. Paul, MN
Story Subject: Family
Story Themes: Grief, Memorial, The Vietnam Wall, The Wall That Heals
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