Gold Star

We often hear of Gold Star families. As far as I know that is a fairly new term.

My brother was killed in Vietnam in 1970. He would have been 21 years old if he had lived until his birthday later in the year... just a baby.

There have been so many young people lost to the vulgarism of war.   Wars are usually caused by leaders who want to feel power. Then at least one other leader has to retaliate.

Young people who are trained to fight are sent. Some will be killed, some will be injured, most will have their souls scarred by what they see.

We hear about the warriors. They should be remembered.

But what about their families, friends, and fellow fighters?

My mother was at home and alone when the officers came to tell her. To their credit they stayed with her until my father could get home from his job. Their child was dead.

I was going on vacation with my family. I had long felt that we would be called home for his funeral. I was with my sisters all day because I was leaving that night. 

Daddy met our car to tell us what happened. I rushed into the house to see if Mom needed a doctor or anything. My youngest sister and youngest brother were sitting on the couch in total shock looking lost. 

Mom was nowhere to be seen. She must have taken to her bed.

I took my two very small boys outside so they would not bother anyone. I sat on the steps alone until my husband arrived.

I told him what happened. He was in total disbelief. They were good friends. We took the boys into the house. 

Mom was on the couch between my brother and sister. She wanted to know why I had not said anything to her when I was inside before. I am telling you I did not see her. Maybe I just could not stand to see her cry.

She asked if I would call extended family members for her. Of course.

This tragedy was the only time I had ever seen Daddy cry. He was terribly proud. He was excruciatingly hurt. The officers were there to help us with whatever they could. 

We asked for a military funeral. It was done. They did all the planning. Some of my brother's friends would be pallbearers.

My brother had one friend who went and immediately tried to sign up for military service when my brother was drafted. He just knew he would be there to protect his friend.

He was rejected because he was severely overweight. Immediately he set about losing at least two hundred pounds. As soon as he did he enlisted with the whole purpose of going to Viet Nam to protect his friend.

He was still in Basic Training. The officers informed us that the Army did not release anyone from their training. But they would try. He was a pallbearer. It was a comfort to us.

These are some of so many examples. So many people were affected by my brother's death. My youngest brother was too young to fully comprehend what was happening.

About a year later there was a ceremony to present medals to several of the soldiers from the city who had lost their lives. In a photo taken for the newspaper we all looked like zombies. It is not something you get over.

Needless to say I hate war. There has to be a better way to deal with disagreements.