Bruce Kallsen posted this on Facebook, and I took the liberty of re-posting, and I share it here. All these damn wars keep taking their toll, years — decades — after they are officially won or lost or abandoned. Bruce Kallsen’s brief moving story of one man’s re-awakening gives us the slightest glimpse of the awful reality.
Memorial Day has finally become a special day for me. I had never honored the day, until MD of 2006. For whatever reason, I decided that weekend to put out a flag to recognize the holiday. My wife Becca has strong opinions about her Victorian house, and my placement of the flag didn’t meet her expectations. I immediately went into a rage….so strong that it was obviously inappropriate…even, or especially to me. It had finally happened. The ghost I carried inside had finally raised its ugly head, and in a manner which made it very recognizable.
In 1972 I crashed upon landing on the USS Midway after a night mission over North Vietnam. My Bombardier-navigator, Bix, and 5 others were killed. Bix ejected and went over the side of the carrier, probably drowning in an unconscious state. Five others were struck by my aircraft or parts of other aircraft I hit, or ingested fuel when their refueling rig was broken by the contact of my aircraft.
As I rode the aircraft up the flight deck, trying to power it off and into the air in order to eject, it became apparent the aircraft wouldn’t fly, so I shut it down and rode it out. My awareness was incredibly accelerated, and it became apparent to me my little piece of the cockpit would end up between two aircraft. The plane might be destroyed, or nearly so, but where I was headed looked safe. I rode it out. Some very courageous flight deck fire fighters followed right behind me extinguishing the flames from my critically damaged aircraft even as I was still moving. As they got closer to my aircraft, their vision was obscured by the flames and smoke of my aircraft. The Air Boss, in the tower, talked them closer to extinguish the fire.
The next day we held services for those killed. I attended, but experienced no emotion at all. I was flat-lined, no feeling, and it was immediately apparent to me this was inappropriate. PTSD wasn’t a term in the normal lexicon in 1972. But I knew I should have feelings, very strong ones, and wondered how to bring them forth. The flight surgeons were only interested in how soon I could fly again. I started flying combat flights 10 days later.
But now it was Memorial Day, 2006, and my rage told me the ghost had finally arisen. Five years followed of recurring anger, therapy, and inner search. I am very thankful to report that Memorial Day finally has the special meaning for me it should always have had.
Here’s to those we’ve lost, and to those still with us who are lost in their inner conflict. We lose 22 veterans a day to suicide, more to remember on this special day.
I appreciated this article very much.
I was married to a Viet Nam vet and he had an experience very much like this one.
His day of reckoning didn’t come until several years after our separation but I was present during his counseling and therapy sessions.
It was a very difficult time for him and all those who cared for him.
I thought nothing would touch me any more because of Memorial Day. Then I listened to the review of the new book: Vanished – about the people who disappeared over the Pacific – never to be found – as good as forgotten. Thank God, they are not forgotten. Just two people who became friends – were the few among the 73,000 unaccounted for – and their friendship and after their disappearance their wives friendship brought me to tears. How many lives lost and how many stories we will never hear. All of them on the Vietnam War Memorial had a life, a story, lost forever.
Not mentioning the other wars.
Thank you Frank DiMarco for remembering and living your own life.
I was on deck that night hauling a fuel hose out to an A-7 that Bruce’s plane hit to come to a stop. My crew mate Robert Yankowski was the young man who died when his fuel line was cut and was drowned in jet fuel.
It’s a miracle that more young men weren’t killed that night.
I still live this nightmare at times. I am a Facebook friend with Bruce Kallsen and know this was just an accident that couldn’t be helped.
I only saw this post because of Ralph’s current comment. So powerful. My ex (married 23 years), who is still a close friend, is a Viet Nam vet, and I’m still haunted by his experiences. Reading this post, in light of Frank’s discussion of us and our strands and why we’re here in this particular piece of space-time is a mind blower. What incredible courage to be a voyager here at all. Some more fully accept the challenge. Thanks for your comment and your courage, Ralph.