Memories Of My Brother
/This is about how I experienced the death of my brother when he was killed in Vietnam as a young boy of only 19 years old. I was 13 at that time. There were no parades or thank you events for returning vets, in fact vets were lucky if they weren't spit on. So, I was pretty bitter when suddenly, 50 years later, honoring Vietnam veterans became popular and I was being contacted to participate. This is the poem I wrote about how I remember feeling at the time.
————
In 1967 he was just a young boy
And I was younger still.
That was the year he decided
He had a duty to fulfill.
He was young and fit
And he felt invincible.
Went to war to chase adventure,
More than to support a principle.
He dreamt of John Wayne glory
From movies watched on the silver screen.
He imagined himself as hometown hero
In welcome home parades scene by scene.
But while my brother fought in the jungle,
Our country had a social revolution.
It brought about a change in values
And broke down our institutions.
Where once to serve our country
Was considered honorable,
It had become a murderous act
That was now unpardonable.
In 1968 my brother was still a young boy.
And I was younger still.
When they came to tell my parents,
“Last week your only son was killed.”
My mother cried endless tears,
My dad was silent, simply stunned.
Time froze for an eternal moment
While my family’s future came undone.
The nation offered us no thank you,
No parades were planned or held.
The heartfelt sympathy we deserved
Was shamelessly withheld.
In my childish eyes
My brother was a hero,
But on the nightly news
I was told that wasn’t so.
They said he killed innocent babies;
They said he burnt unarmed villages.
They called him a common criminal;
Who killed, and raped and pillaged.
Now 50 long years later,
The nation wants to honor
Those whom they had forsaken
And used as cannon fodder.
They tell the world they’re thankful,
They tell the survivors that they care.
But their gratitude cannot replace
A childhood lost to dark nightmares.
The nightmares of a little girl
Whose brother did not come back.
A little girl bombarded by
The nightly new attacks.
About her brother who was a monster.
About the babies that he killed.
As she suffered in perplexed silence
With the guilt those words instilled.
Because, she couldn’t ask her mother
Who still cried in her sleep each night.
And her father had turned to silence
In his own guilt fueled fight.
Her sister was completely lost to her
As she was now blindly courting trouble.
So the girl sought the isolation
Of a perfect self-made bubble.
For years she lived alone and lonely.
But she felt safe in isolation.
Hidden from the damage done
From the years of accusations.
She was desperate to convince herself
Her family was not broken.
A dreaded and long held fear
Of which she’d never spoken.
It began when her brother was a young boy,
And she was younger still
And two men knocked on the door to say,
“Last week your only son was killed.
By Linda Troxell
From: United States
Website: https://humblyseekingthelordblog.wordpress.com