My father received his orders to deploy to Vietnam the same night that my maternal grandfather died.
My father’s cohorts had taken him out to give him a farewell send-off. My mother was unable to reach him, not knowing where he was. She called several local bars where she thought his buddies would take him. Finally locating him, he came home immediately, packed a suitcase and took off to Florida with my two brothers to help my maternal grandmother bury her husband, settle the estate, and come to live with us in Shiremanstown.
My father was given one week to settle the affairs and when he returned a week later, he was off to Vietnam. There was very little time to get my grandmother settled in and it was very rushed.
My father was stationed in a medical unit where he maintained the medical equipment. Along with his letters he sent photographs that showed huge clouds of fire and dust in the background. That background image was the war going on. He talked of the wounded, American and Vietnamese alike. It was rather frightening as a 6th grader for me to see how close the war was to the medical unit where my father worked.
My father never spoke about his experiences
Back home my mother, who did not drive, was left to care for 6 children and maintain the home. She relied on friends as well as public transportation to get around. There was a couple who would drive her every week to the base commissary. This went on for eight months my father served in Vietnam.
I will never forget the images in the photos sent to us. My father never spoke about his experiences in Vietnam beyond the pictures and letters.
When I was much older, I found a few letters in a box of my mother’s that were sent to her from my father. These letters were not shared with us children. These letters outlined some horrific events my father experienced. The letters outlined a time an American losing his sanity and running into the surrounding land mine area that protected the med unit. Another outlined how the soldiers spent free time shooting and killing large sized rats that often invaded the unit. One letter outlined the difficulty of knowing who was friend or foe as some of the villagers worked for the Vietnam Cong.
Life seemed to go back to “normal” when my father returned. He picked up where he left off and his time in Vietnam was never spoken about again.