Previous Reflections on "Shrapnel in the Heart"

As I sat back and watched I noticed many were fascinated by their reflections on the black marble. Others were interested in how the wall was designed. But those of the Vietnam era were absorbed into the wall. They became one with the names. An unseen magnetism drew them in, holding them mesmerized. Some approached cautiously - fearful of their reaction. Others made two or three attempts to approach and were still unsuccessful. It proved too difficult, too painful. They knew - ghosts lurked there. Ghosts of their friends, ghosts of themselves. And so they retreated with yesterday's shadows chasing after them. Some approached but their eyes remained downcast.

To see those names was to face reality. And finality. Others were overtaken by grief. Their knees crumbled and they sank to the ground in a mass of sorrow. Tears streamed from their hearts, and sobs came from their soul. But most just looked. And felt. And touched. Their eyes and fingers ran along the wall. Reaching. Touching. Feeling. Searching. Tracing. Touching seemed to provide a physical link. A link that closed the gap between the forever lost, the despair of today, and the hope for tomorrow. As one vet said, it's a participating wall.

I watched in the shadows as a vet sank to his knees. I approached and silently sat beside him. His eyes avoided mine as the tears fell. No words were exchanged as he finally took my hand. "Someone who understands," he said. "How very sad that you know what I feel." Another vet walked beside the wall. Thousands and thousands of names flowed beneath his hand. He saw my tears and said, "I really feel your loss. I'm so sorry. We tried our best. We did all we could to bring them home. We tried to save them all."

Another vet explained as he wiped away his tears. "Must be my allergies." A fellow vet placed his hand on his shoulder and said, "Yeah, I get those same allergies when I look at the wall." A third man remained. He sat before the wall, tracing and retracing a name on the panel. "They tell me that's my father," he said, pointing to a name. "But I don't know. I never met him. I wasn't born yet when he died. All I have left is a name..." Two other vets stood close by. One comforted the other as he cried. "It should have been me. My name should be up there. I was suppoed to ride point. We decided it was too hot an area to enter so we backed out. They all got it but me. It should have been me." He felt guilty. For living. For not doing enough, for not being enough. After all --- he was only human in an unhuman situation.

Further away stood another. He backed away until his image was no longer reflected on the wall. And then he sat. He had been a recruiter. "How many names did I put up on that wall?" he asked. As the sobs shook his body he said, "I can't forget what I've done." For those who went a lifetime of beliefs were were unravelled in minutes. And then a new set of rules were instilled. Kill or be killed. Survival became instinct. And as a matter of survival, unspeakable acts were committed. And then they were told to forget what you saw and heard. Forget what you did. Forget what you felt. Go home. Be normal. But normal had changed. It was another world. And normal didn't exist.

What was left was confusion, frustration and anger. So the losses began mounting again. Suicide. Torn families. Incomplete people. And not because of missing limbs - because of missing innocence, shattered serenity, elusive peace. As one vet summed it up. "You could survive the combat, you just couldn't survive the war." As he paused and slowly shook his head, he added, "And the biggest war was when I came home." Welcome home soldier.

Thousands still struggle. Scars continue to burn deep. Losses continue to mount. And as a nation, in a token effort to help, we have built the wall. A wall of emotion. A wall of issues. A wall of unanswered questions. Perhaps the "moving wall" is symbolic after all. You can simply pack it up and put it away. Out of sight. Out of mind. After all, we are the fogotten.

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