Happy Tuesday! One of these weeks I’ll get back on Monday.
It was a busy weekend. On Saturday, the Poetry Society of South Carolina held an outdoor reading at Andrew Jackson State Park, as part of their Poetry Trails program. We had great weather, several poets, and an all-around wonderful morning. That was the first of two poetry readings for the weekend. After the Poetry Trails reading, I zipped up the road for the annual Veterans’ Day Parade.
But where I spent the most emotional time was at the Wall that Heals, a traveling replica of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The Wall is nearly full-scale to the one in Washington D.C. and is larger than a football field. It includes the over 5,000 names engraved on the original. The Wall arrived in town with an escort of over 100 motorcycles, first responders, and residents lining the streets. Hubby and I missed its arrival into town, but arrived at the grounds the first afternoon it opened.
I’ve been to the memorial in D.C. and while I was moved, I also felt I was intruding on the other visitors who had more personal reasons for being there. They were family, I was a tourist. Additionally, other war memorials affected me more. The somber and grandeur of the WWII Memorial reminded me of my Uncle Roy. The Korean War Memorial, so different than any others with life-sized soldiers in raingear out on a mission, marching through the grass and weeds. My dad served in Korea.
This visitation hit differently. I was in junior high as the Vietnam War raged. One of my most significant memories is looking at the newspaper and seeing the little army of stick men marching across the bottom of the front page. Each figure represented a specific number of casualties for that time period (a week?). Sometimes there were only one or two, other times those little men marched like a full platoon. And of course, if the number of casualties fell between one man or two men, there was a half man. Even though I knew mathematically why there was a half man, the image still bothered me. As the men and women returned home, and years later, those not-fully-whole figures took on new meaning.
The other memory is of the day a local boy was killed. The community grief was felt even though I didn’t know him or the family. This past Thursday afternoon I’d barely stepped foot on the field, when I was overcome with emotion–still tearing up as I write this–and this young man’s name came to me. Instead of going straight to the wall, I entered the tent with volunteers ready to help locate one name out of the over 5,000. Once I figured out the correct spelling of his last name, he was easy to find. William was a Captain in the Air Force and received the Distinguished Flying Cross for his heroism and extraordinary achievements participating in aerial flights. Only 4.4% of the names on the Wall were Air Force. William was an only child but here he’s remembered among his thousands of brothers and sisters.
I didn’t feel like a tourist this time. There was an intimacy when I stood in front of those names, my face reflecting through and back. Hubby and I visited twice in the three and a half days the memorial was here. The first was during the day, almost dusk. The second was in the evening. Both times held the same sense of intimacy, reverence and respect. In the evening condensation, handprints on the Wall lingered like ghost prints. The placement of the memorial was an open field part of a recreational facility. Not too far away were baseball and soccer fields with players and spectators, but their cheering didn’t reach us.
Traveling along with the replica, is a semi-truck with open panels filled with memorabilia and artifacts left at the original in Washington. Videos play of PBS specials about the Vietnam War, the Wall, and interviews with former soldiers and family members. P.O.W. bracelets are displayed like in a jewelry case (I still have my P.O.W. bracelet. ‘My’ soldier came home.). They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so here are a few thousand.
The Wall that Heals travels across the country. If you ever get the chance to see it, I recommend doing so, even if you’ve seen the original, and especially if you haven’t.
Tomorrow, we honor and give thanks to all the men and women who have served and continue to serve. I think of family members, classmates, and my youth ministry kids who are among them. Thank you.
May you have a great week. I really do plan to be here next Monday … but …
