Just Writing Through: Memorial Day, the fallen, and Rod McKuen

Memorial Day, the fallen, and Rod McKuen

I’ve listened to so many veterans – countless veterans – share their stories. I’ve sat as active duty military members gave accounts of situations I wouldn’t dare to imagine. War is unthinkable. It wounds the heart and tramples the soul. It leaves images that haunt those who serve our country for years. It is sacrifice. It is the cost of freedom.

In its wake, it has left countless fallen men and women and still more who returned home plagued by fear, guilt and questions. It is those men and women who stand up and who refuse to let those who have offered the ultimate sacrifice in the name of freedom be forgotten.

The Wall that Heals made a stop in my county this Memorial Day weekend. I have come to know many a name upon that Wall. I have researched several men from our county, thanks to a dear friend. I recently researched and wrote about one of those men from my town. These men all gave their lives … and left sorrow and inconsolable grief on the hearts of families, friends and fellow brothers and sisters.

One man, who isn't from our county, but whose name appears on The Wall, is Stephen Gari. He was a friend of my friend. I wouldn’t have known him from any newspaper clipping. He wasn’t from around here. I wouldn’t have read about him in a history book. There is no movie on his life.

But my friend is a man who won’t let Gari's memory fade. And so it was that I went with my tattered, pen-and-pencil scribbled list of well-researched numbers and dates on a worn and slightly crumpled piece of ledger paper – the list I had compiled of men whose names I wanted to find on the Wall – men whose sacrifice was life itself.

As I looked at the list, I approached panel 2, line 4. There, at the highest point of the wall was the name of a man that I would never know -- but whose name forever will be in my memory -- etched in metal. He was a member of the Military Police, an Army Specialist 4^th class. I’ve read that he enjoyed a cold beer, a good game of poker and poetry of the Rod McKuen variety.

“It’s nice sometimes

to open up the heart a little

and let some hurt come in.

It proves you’re still alive.”

~ Rod McKuen, Listen to the Warm

I’ll admit, I had to research Mr. McKuen; my pop-music acumen isn’t fabulous. However, I read this poem and felt it quite fitting… as Vietnam Veterans approach The Wall, how carefully and, often, how timidly they open up their heart to let in a little of that hurt.

Oh, the hurt is great – but the release of some of that hurt, the strength to mourn and the courage to heal is even greater.

So I stood there at that Wall. I saw Mr. Gari’s name up at the highest point. I wanted to make an etching of his name for my friend, but I didn’t know how I could reach it. I asked one of the volunteers who actually helped me round up a tall-ish gentleman and his young son, and we asked if they might be willing to help me get this rubbing. The boy – who must have been around 8 to10, willingly climbed up onto his father’s shoulders, and did an incredible job on the first try. It felt right – teamwork had played a role in bringing this rubbing to my friend just as teamwork had created such a strong bond between these two men, living hundreds of miles apart, who served together in the U.S. Army, in a land so foreign to both of them.

As I walked back to the parking lot, I ran into a few more Vietnam Veterans, two of whom spent about a half-hour sharing stories of their lives with me, reminiscing about friends made, talking about aircraft carriers and mess halls, sharing stories about the children they raised, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and referencing friends on the Wall. One gentleman said it had been fifty years ... and he finally felt like he was home...

Honor often yields healing. When these men and women serve as volunteers at the Wall or come to spend moments of quiet in front of the Wall, there is healing. There is a sense of honor that fills that space.

To those who gave their lives … "thank you" never will be enough.

To those veterans who honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice … thank you for wrestling with both the visible and invisible wounds of war. Thank you for having the strength to do what you do. Thank you, of course, never will be enough.

In honor of my dear friend’s friend, Stephen L. Gari, and those men who died from our town:

Donald Eugene Dermont Jr., April 11, 1966, Army SP4

Dennis Earl Jahn, April 10, 1971, Army, SP4

Gordon Manson Gaylord, April 6, 1970, Air Force TSGT

Toby Edward Jaeckels, September 21, 1969, Army, SGT

Sidney John Elyea, February 2, 1966, Army SP4

Thank you…