Vietnam Is Daughter’s War, Too
On March 11th of this year, my father passed away; he was only 49. He died after a long struggle with alcoholism and heavy cigarette use, brought on by a lifetime of not being able to deal with a short portion of his life. That being the Vietnam War.
My dad was sent to Vietnam when I was less than a year old. My dad was 21. He went there expecting never to return alive and in more ways than I care to count, he didn’t.
He fought for his country with pride and loyalty. He was willing to sacrifice his life for what he believed was a good cause. While he was there, he was exposed to Agent Orange, given experimental drugs and forced to fire on innocent people. He had to haul truckloads of dead women and children in sweltering heat, and he was told to obey these commands without question. My dad was not a heartless, cruel person, and he could not deal with these things.
When he returned, he thought his country would help him, and receive him and his buddies with open arms. Instead, when they returned, they were given insults, denial and a swift turning away. My dad lost all of his hopes, his dreams and his faith. I lost my dad.
I have spent my whole life fighting another war - trying to get close to a man who had been destroyed by a government’s inability to provide adequate answers. My dad spent his last few years trying to help other veterans receive financial aid and he served in the color guard at memorial services. When he died he was in a civilian hospital, with no insurance of any kind. Now the Veterans Administration will not help me pay for his outrageous medical bills because he wasn’t being cared for in a VA hospital and he wasn’t receiving benefits at the time of his death.
I feel that any veterans who have placed themselves in service to our country deserve some help with medical bills, regardless of their benefits status at the time of death. It just goes to show that our government is still trying to sweep the Vietnam war under the carpet, but as long as there are living descendants it will be impossible to forget.
When I see an American flag flying this Memorial Day, I will be sourly reminded of all the times my dad woke up screaming, still hearing the crunch of human bones and the terror-stricken screams of innocent children. I will be forced to cry bitter tears on this day of remembrance.
MEMO: Your Turn is a feature of the Wednesday and Saturday Opinion pages. To submit a Your Turn column for consideration, contact Rebecca Nappi at 459-5496 or Doug Floyd at 459-5466 or write Your Turn, The Spokesman-Review, P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210-1615.