veteran

after my dad died, my brother and i were responsible for packing his personal belongings. have you ever imagined what it would be like if someone were sifting through your most private things?  your most private thoughts?

we came across my dad's journal from vietnam.  his journal.  my dad kept a journal?  i will tell you that i took a peek.  but just a glance.  it was too much for me.  i put it in a box and took it to the garage.  i was mourning.  i still am, all these years later.  and now the box is in the garage somewhere behind mountains of family history.  now i want to understand it, devour it.  but still i struggle with his privacy.  it would be a glimpse at world history from the ground, but also a glimpse at his personal history.  one he rarely spoke about.  part of the back story for the man he became.  the dad i knew.

my aunt sent me some letters that were mailed to her over the course of the war.  from bootcamp to coming home.  words like i made it and maximum fear are still bouncing around in my mind.  mostly i think about the sacrifices families make during war time.  the lives that are put on hold for the well being of our country.  the fear that sinks deep in a parent's heart worrying about their child.  the loneliness a wife feels waiting and wondering, the strength she must lend to him.  the helplessness of a sibling or family member. 

i saw what he wrote in the letters, and i know what i read in his journal.  i am thankful that their fears were based on the letters and not the journal.  i am thankful that he made it home.  i am thankful for the bit of his story i know, but moreso for the part that remains a mystery to me.