The Wall
John F. Eden © 1998
Thirty years ago, I decided to join the Air Force rather than be drafted,
hoping to avoid the killing in Vietnam. I ended up as a recon pilot in the War , a link in
a complex killing machine dedicated to bombing Central Vietnam and Laos back into the
stone age. I can still see the crater-covered Ashau Valley and napalm flashing underneath
the canopy. The experience left me full of guilt, shame, disgust, rage and hatred.
This summer, I went to the Wall for the first time. It wasn't easy to make the trip. In
fact, in some ways I feel the current of conditions that carried me there was outside of
my control. Two years ago I wrote a short story based on an experience with another
Vietnam Veteran, and my writing group wanted to hear more; that began to stir the
memories, but something was blocked. I was unable to continue writing.
Then, about a year ago, through a friend who works with Laura Palmer, I got a copy of
"Shrapnel In the Heart." I could barely make it through the stories, finding
myself overcome with grief after each one, sobbing into my pillow, unable to explain to my
wife why I was so undone. But I kept at it, though I didn't really understand or face my
feelings. Then, in a workshop on being with the dying, I realized I was completely unable
to talk about a huge mass of pain seemingly connected with my father's death.
That realization, along with my family's urging to do something about my long-running
depression and anger, propelled me into therapy. The therapy soon became a path of
self-discovery, and every turn led me back to Vietnam. It soon became clear that my
Vietnam experiences were near the core of the problems. Three days after my therapist
suggested I dig down through the layers guarding those experiences, Laura Palmer offered
to meet me at the Wall.
I was stunned. I didn't even know that she knew I was a vet, nor had we discussed her
book. But I accepted the offer, recognizing that here was the opportunity to force myself
down through those layers. Here was an opportunity to face the memories, to find the
feelings. Here was an avenue to healing. I had been through Washington several times and
could have been to see the Wall, but I avoided it. I couldn't even think about it, much
less go there. I knew I was still afraid.
Laura's offer had come nearly out of the blue, surprising us both, and seemed unlikely to
actually happen. But as we talked further, she introduced me to "the Shrapnel In The
Heart family" -- people whose stories are in the book, or who have come to the Wall
by way of the book -- and I began slowly to see it as something I might actually be able
to do. The response from these people was astounding -- I began to get letters and
messages from people all over America who seemed to really understand, who told me their
stories of healing journeys to the Wall, people who encouraged me to make the journey. Due
to the love and support they gave so freely and enthusiastically, eventually I decided I
could do it.
Despite Laura's busy schedule, we were able to work out a time, and one warm Monday
morning in July, I found myself walking up the sidewalk into Constitution Gardens. As a
black line emerged from the grass, I felt the anxiety swell.
As we rounded the corner and began the descent into that granite-lined gash, I was
breathing hard. As the Wall reached head high, I wanted to stop, to go back. Laura's
silent presence gave me the strength to go on, and we walked to the vertex. I couldn't
tear my eyes from the names. I could feel the presence of all those soldiers; by the time
we walked up the east wall and back down to the center again, I could feel the weight of
all those names bearing down on my shoulders, pressing my feet down into the stone walk.
Standing in the vertex staring at the mass of granite, the thousands of lives lost staring
back at me, I felt I wouldn't be able to walk back up. Somehow, though, I began to slowly
move on. As we walked on up and the west wall began to recede, the weight lessened with
every step. By the time we reached the top, I was light-headed and could feel a tremendous
energy rushing through me.
We sat on a bench. I breathed. Looking back at the Wall, I was struck by the beauty and
wonder of the continuous stream of people walking through it. I remembered another
continuous stream of people, those in the San Francisco airport the day I returned to the
world, those insanely oblivious people streaming by in their business suits and
briefcases, careless of what was at that very minute going on in Vietnam. When it hit me
that people had been streaming through that airport in the same oblivious way every day
while I was in Vietnam, I wanted to run screaming out into the crowd, grabbing people and
telling them of what I had seen, what I had been doing for the past year.
As I watched the people at the Wall, the healing began: I felt such joy that people were
actually there, actually confronting the reality of Vietnam. "Praise the Lord!"
I shouted, uncharacteristically, and began to talk to Laura, to cry and laugh, to pour out
the pain and anger and joy. Over and over throughout the day, I marveled that I was at
last surrounded by people talking about the War. The silence was always the worst --
whenever I began to talk or write about it, the thought always stopped me: "Nobody
wants to hear about it." So, now, each time I heard snatches of conversation between
visitors, between parents and children, I exulted again in what a great gift the Wall is,
and healing space opened up in me. I saw one large Dad down on his knees, arm around a
tiny little girl, pointing at the Wall and speaking - so gently! - to her, and I wanted to
hug them.
And then we went to the Lincoln Memorial. First the statue, then the Inaugural, and then
Laura led me to the other side, the Gettysburg Address. "This always blows me
away!" she said; I read. By the time I reached "... we here highly resolve that
these dead shall not have died in vain..." tears were streaming down my face. "A
new birth of freedom..." and my heart made its first feeble surges toward love of
country and faith in Democratic ideals since, well, since before the War. As I wandered
back and forth in front of Lincoln's earnest gaze, I wrote in my journal: The anger and
hatred begin to recede in the presence of so much to love.
Back at the Wall, I realized I was okay with it. In fact I was feeling really good! We
looked up some names from "Shrapnel" and Laura shared some of her experiences
with their families. Everything there seemed so beautiful to me. I knew I didn't want to
leave, but Laura had to head back to the City. She was so wonderful and so understanding -
she was my spirit guide, always there with a smile and a hand to hold. She was truly, as
several in the "Shrapnel" family had said, the best person to go to the Wall
with.
I stayed on another six hours, looking up names that I knew, just walking up and down,
watching the visitors, listening to their conversations... closer to being at peace than I
can remember.
As the healing continues, I find I can talk to people about the trip to the Wall and about
my Vietnam experiences without the dread and anger that used to come up. I find I can dig
down through the layers and be with those memories and those feelings without breaking
down or shutting down, and I'm okay. I'm making progress on finding ways to express in a
wider way my feelings and reflections on the whole experience. I'm dealing with the stress
in my life in constructive ways, and the depression and anger are subsiding. Those nine
hours at the Wall changed something in me, opened me up to new ways of seeing things, new
ways of seeing myself.
I will return. I want to meet with members of the 'family' at the Wall. I want to take my
children to Washington to see the Wall and the Lincoln Memorial and the rest of the
Capital and learn the love and the lessons that are there. I want to go back for more
personal vigils there, to feel again that healing and peace. And I want to take others
there who need to feel that opening up, who need to find a way to let old war wounds heal.
Return to the Shrapnel in the Heart Home Page
My Vietnam Related Websites:
Women in Vietnam
~ Not only nurses served . . .
Dusty's Home Page
~ Poetry and prose by a woman who was a nurse in Vietnam
Emily's
Poetry ~ By a Red Cross Donut Dolly
Battle Dressing ~ The Journey of a Nurse in Vietnam
Tim O'Brien's Home Page
~ National Book Award Winner and Americal Vet
Shrapnel in the Heart
~ The most moving book you will read on Vietnam
The
Irish on the Wall ~ An effort to locate the Irish who died in Vietnam
Project
Hearts and Minds ~ Help put Viet Nam back together
All About Vietnam
~ An annotated bibliography of books about Vietnam for sale thru Amazon
Worldwide!
Photos from a Holts' Military History Tour
~ My trip to
Vietnam, February 1998
Illinois
Vietnam Women's Memorial ~ Honoring all the Illinois women who served
My Other Websites:
Chicago
Theatre Z - A ~ This is the best theater town in the country!
Writers
Theatre of Chicago ~ And this is the best theater in town
Literature
of the Korean War ~ Don't let the literature be forgotten
Poetry
of the First World War ~ Owen, Hardy and others
Samuel
Pepys ~ One of my favorite authors
Gil
Thorp ~ THE Coach
Maybe
Later . . . ~ My Creative Nonfiction
Chi-COW-go
~ Cowz plus Commentary (this used to be a cow town)
Graham
Fulton, Scottish Poet ~ Charles Manson Auditions for the Monkees
Soccer
Literature ~ I'm a fan and I read
O'Leary
Lantern ~ Fire! Fire! Fire!
Other Important Websites:
PreviewPort.com
~ Connecting Authors and Writers Worldwide
Remember
Oklahoma City ~ Civil Service and Military Employees will never forget
|
United States |
United Kingdom |
|
Germany |
France |
|
|
 |
 |
| Page last updated September 23, 2001 | |