I generally have an opportunity to be in Washington, D.C. at least three times a year. Consequently, I have the privilege of visiting the mall area often. It has been a number of years since Treva has been in the Nation's Capitol. She wanted to see the WWII Memorial since her dad served in the U.S. Navy during that war.
The memorial opened to the public on April 29, 2004. It was dedicated the following month. The memorial is an impressive and fitting tribute to the sixteen million Americans who served and to the 400,000 who died. I guess the memorial falls into the category of "better late than never." To make a good faith effort at honoring those who served almost six decades after the fact seems almost like a missed opportunity.
After viewing that monument, we then walked from the WWII Memorial to the Wall. I intuitively headed to the panel where Ron's name is carved in granite. I always find the experience of visually scanning the names a little overwhelming (okay very overwhelming). When the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall was dedicated in1982, it contained 57,939 names. As of Memorial Day, 2015, there are 58,307 names. The additional names are the names of military personnel who were wounded in Vietnam between 1957 and 1975 and ultimately died of their wounds.
This week I had the privilege of communicating with and hearing some of the stories of the children, wives, sons, siblings, nieces and nephews of serviceman missing in action from Vietnam. They want nothing more than to honor their loved one by ensuring a full accounting and bringing their loved one home. Their life stories have been impacted and interwoven with the ambiguous loss of their loved ones who didn't return. I was impressed by their strength, determination and commitment to honor their loved one's memory by staying the course.
I left Washington Sunday night with a number of new friends who are very much in my thoughts and prayers. A young man about my son's age approached me after my workshop presentation on Friday and thanked me for the information shared. He was a five year old child when his father was listed as "Missing In Action". He said, "I really needed to hear what you had to say". Before he fully completed all that he intended to communicate, his voice broke with emotion and he was unable to continue. I sensed with him that I have a new friend. We had an opportunity to visit a couple of more times before the end of the week.
A lady I didn't get an opportunity to visit with personally after my workshop, shared her story. It touched my heart in a way that I continue to think of her and regret we didn't subsequently have an opportunity to visit. She was dignified and articulate. She said simply, "I don't know who I am. I have lost my identity. My husband has been missing for fifty years. Am I a widow? Am I still married? I really don't know. I have been unable to move on with my life."
I visited on Saturday night with a man who was sixteen when his father's plane went down in Laos. He sought me out to say, " I wish I had attended your workshop. I think you may have shared some things that I need to hear". We talked for an extended period. The conversation was the catalyst for a newfound friendship I sense will continue.
I also met a military officer who was on the program. He is a highly accomplished young man with a passion for his work and an empathy for the families for whom the success of his work is critically important. He is involved in the excavation of crash sites. At the beginning of his prepared presentation, he shared his personal story. Recently, (actually it was on his last birthday), he received a telephone call from his parents. Instead of saying, "Happy birthday", they said, "Your brother is dead." His brother was a military officer stationed in Afghanistan. My heart goes out to him and his family. They now find themselves embarked on a journey they didn't ask for, but one that will reshape their lives in ways unimaginable.
The grief associated to war is perpetual. It is no respecter of persons. It leaves heartache and the painful reminder that we live in a broken world. It cuts short the fulfillment of dreams and the fulfillment of potential associated to what might have been. When it comes to the grief process, it has both the potential to debilitate and bring low or to strengthen and to equip in ways beyond human instrumentality. I'm not sure this side of eternity that one is ever completely done with it, but I will affirm that the pain is eventually replaced with a sense of gratitude for the time shared and the gift we were provided regardless of its brevity.
At my workshop on Friday, I shared Linda Pastan's poem, "The Five Stages of Grief". It seems like a fitting way to conclude today's blog:
"The night I lost you
Someone pointed me towards
The Five Stages of Grief.
Go that way they said,
It's easy, like learning to climb
Stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
Carefully setting the table
For two. I passed you the toast-
You sat there. I passed
you the paper - you hid behind it.
Anger seemed more familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
The paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure.
And so I moved on to
Bargaining. What could I exchange
For you? The silence
After storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
Came puffing up, a poor relation
Its suitcase tied together
With string. In the suitcase
Were bandages for the eyes
And bottles of sleep. I slid
All the way down the stairs
Feeling nothing.
And all the time Hope
Flashed on and off
In defective neon.
Hope was a signpost pointing
Straight in the air.
Hope was my uncle's middle name,
He died of it.
After a year I am still climbing,
Though my feet slip
On your stone face.
The treeline has long since disappeared;
Green is a color
I have forgotten.
But now I see what I am climbing
Towards: ACCEPTANCE
Written in capital letters,
A special headline:
Acceptance,
Its name is in lights.
I struggle one,
Waving and shouting.
Below my whole life spreads its surf,
All the landscapes I've ever known
Or dreamed of. Below
A fish jumps: the pulse
In your neck.
Acceptance. I finally reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you."
All My Best
Don