|
I CAN'T CARRY IT ANYMORE |
|
"My only real objective became to simply stay alive." The enemy was everywhere: It was a farmer, a woman in a rice paddy, a small child wired with explosives, unseen snipers, hidden booby traps, home-made spike balls, Agent Orange, poisonous snakes, "friendly" fire, and disease-ridden mosquitoes. Worst of all, themselves. "We were inexperienced, hardly more than boys, in the adult world of war, and we were terrified. I spent the entire year I was in 'Nam experiencing life in the extreme. Death was all around me." Michael stands up as he talks and crosses the room. "To relieve the terror, I began using alcohol and drugs." Three hundred and sixty-five days after landing in Saigon, Michael's tour of duty ended and he was sent home. "Home? Nowhere felt like home anymore, especially not inside my own skin! It was awful. I couldn't handle the daily barrage of questions—'Gee, how was it over there? Did you see any action? Did you kill anyone?' Over and over again, always the same questions. I just wanted to be left alone!" He constantly felt nervous and disconnected. "My parents and closest friends didn't know who I was anymore. There was only one buddy who could help me cope with what was happening. Only one that could help drown out the voices of Vietnam that were living in my head. Only one—my dear old buddy, Jack. Jack Daniels." Michael's drinking escalated as the years passed. "In January 1989, I finally bottomed out. At this same time, I almost lost my oldest daughter—she was 19 then—to drugs. The day I brought her to long-term drug rehab was the day I stopped drinking." Slowly, the memories of the war that he had managed to bury with alcohol began to take over his life. "My every day no longer took place in New York, but instead, it felt like the battlefields of Vietnam. I became a living time bomb." Michael's eyes close as his face falls forward into his cupped hands. "By 1990, my most private moments were consumed with thoughts of suicide. Thankfully, at this same time, someone new came into my life—someone who I trusted with my story. With her guidance, I took my pain to a Vietnam veterans counseling service and began my long journey home."
Michael attended group therapy with other vets, received private
therapy, and went to daily AA meetings. After many long years of
courage and a lot of hard work, he slowly learned to let go of his
guilt and come to a place of healing. Time passed and, "The more I
let go of my suffering and let peace and balance into my life, the
more I wanted to share what was happening to me. As I did, strange
things started to happen. People began to come to me and warmly,
openly hug me. Through their tears, they would whisper 'thank you'
for changing their lives and sometimes for saving them. It was
amazing."
"On my birthday in
1994 I gave myself a special gift," he says, almost shyly. "I went
to Washington to visit the Wall." The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall
had been open for twelve years and this was his first visit.
Michael's body shook as he slowly approached the Wall. He stood quietly
for a long time looking at the seemingly endless columns of names carved
into the black granite that reflected his own tearful image. "I searched
the Wall and finally found Mark's name." His fingers trembled as he traced
the letters. "And I said to him—'You bastard, it's been 28 years, and I
still miss you every day.' I took a deep breath and said, 'Mark, we need
to talk. That's why I'm here. Remember the day I carried you from the
helicopter to the jeep for transport to the States? Well, I took on some
very heavy baggage that day. I felt responsible for what happened to you.
And guilty because you were dead and I was alive.' I fell to my knees,
'Mark, please help me. I can't carry it anymore.'" The tears came in
choking sobs as he felt the weight of many years of suffering disappear. "In the months and years that have passed
since I visited the Wall, my life has changed forever." Michael's eyes are
now clear and free of pain. "The demons that once lived inside me have
finally moved out." |
"I landed in Saigon on Thursday,
April 21, 1966. Although I was with a hundred other soldiers, I was
feeling very much alone and scared." Assigned to one of the war's
most dangerous jobs, Michael would perch precariously in the open
doorway of a medevac helicopter waiting to leap into the rice
paddies, jungles, or ocean below to pick up wounded and dead
soldiers—at times being shot at by the enemy as he attempted these
rescue missions. "My best friend Mark's body was one of these
soldiers." Staring intently, he continues, "My job felt like suicide
in a war that I knew was crazy."
