When I was 7 my friend Tommy had 4 older brothers. I met them when the oldest 3 came home on leave from Vietnam or officer school. Rusty was the 4th oldest and he was about 12 years older than me. I always looked at their handsome pictures on the wall. All were officers. Tommy and I always played army. Jake the oldest flew for the Air Force, Scott and the other oldest (I forget his name) all served somewhere in Nam.

 

Tommy’s Mom, Mrs. Martin always bragged about her 3 oldest sons and made a point to show me the pictures of them.  I always asked what they were doing and why.

 

One day someone visited the Martins in a dark car.  Jake had died.  Later on I figured out that when this big dark and large car with two antenna’s and two flags both drove past my house to get to Tommy’s house, something bad had happened.  One day during summer vacation I looked up and saw the car of death slowly drive down my street.  By now I knew that something bad had happened at Tommy’s house. 

 

The car had dark tinted windows and I can imagine driving down the last street to get to the Martins house for the third time must have been hard.  It barely went 5 miles an hour and went even went slower when it went past me.  I turned to scream at my Mom. “Mom, something bad has happened at the Martins, that big car is driving down the street again.”  Mom rushed out, “Get in the house” she demanded and she took off for the Martins house.  I never made it to the house but I stood on the end of the driveway and looked down the block as the car turned into the Martins house.  My Mom arrived about the same time as well as some of the other neighbors.  Seems I sounded the alarm and the drivers hoping to get all the way to the house unnoticed never succeeded.   I wonder what it must have been like for the officers in the car to see me in the driveway and call out knowing that I knew why they where on the road.  On our street everybody knew each other and paid attention to stuff on the block.

 

I heard Mrs. Martin shriek and scream and then burst into uncontrollable sobs.  She had lost her third son to Vietnam.  Her forth son Rusty was already in basic training.  I didn’t see Mom for hours and I was later banned from going over Tommy’s house for a week.  The Military sent Rusty home and figured that if Mrs. Martin had given 3 sons already it wasn’t going to take a fourth.  My friend Tommy was never the same again.  Sometimes he would just start crying for no reason.  I moved away the following year.  Only saw Tommy once more and he was never the same.  Mom said he had some sort of emotional problems and was angry a lot.  It was hard to see my childhood friend like that and I never understood why.  I do now.

 

I wonder how many untold stories are out there as it relates to the ravages of war.  I wonder what it must have been to lose 3 sons like that.  You carry them for 9 months inside you, raise them up to be fine young men, and then lose them to a war thousands of miles away.  What were their last words?  Did they die quickly or painfully?  Was it worth it?  Did they cry out for their Mom before they died?

 

Today I salute not only the fallen soldiers I also salute the families that gave their sons and daughters (many an only child) to keep us safe.  Their loss never goes away.  God Bless.