On July 3rd, my brother Steve would have been celebrating his 64th birthday.
Problem is, he lost his life during the war in Vietnam.
Around this time of year, I begin thinking about the waste of war... those who came before, and gave up their lives, and those down the road who will go to war never understanding the realities of war...
I started looking at his record (according to the VirtualWall) and discovered he went to Vietnam the same year I graduated from high school. In truth, I thought it was later than that... and now I know.
Occasionally I would receive letters from him while he was over there, "defending the nation" against the spread of communism. He spoke not about the angst of war, but rather about the banality of war... the waiting, the weather... never about the whys and where-fors.
For years I railed against the unfairness of the situation. The circumstances of his demise. The reality of our parents flying quickly to San Francisco from the east coast, only to acknowledge the loss of their first born. Never enough time to grieve, only time to plan for a funeral. The loss of a brother that many of my siblings never knew, the loss of an artist, the loss of a child... I could go on.
And by the way, I no longer buy into the necessity of Vietnam foisted upon a naive nation.
After all, communism is merely the flip side of capitalism.
The medals are a reminder that Steve no longer exists, but his name (and many others) will always rest on a memorial in Washington.
