Washington D.C.: Unspoken Ghosts

Etched in Stone, Engraved in Memory

The polished black granite slabs gleamed in the sunlight, the names of men who gave their lives fighting for their country etched into the stone. A reverent silence fell over the group as they approached the wall.

The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, designed by Maya Lin, an undergraduate student at Yale University at the time, is a powerful and sobering place full of symbolism, reflection and healing. The names of 58,000 American service members who lost their lives or went missing during the Vietnam War are etched into the highly polished surface.

The group members were from all over the United States, with the majority from the west of the country, some of whom were visiting Washington, D.C. for the first time in their lives. For many, they had only been there as children, fifty or sixty years earlier. The landscape of D.C. had changed as the country had changed.

Jack Elison, a fit man in his 60s with neatly trimmed grey hair, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, lingered behind the group as they approached the wall. He looked at it like a man reluctant to peer into a coffin. His wife Molly, a cheerful and outgoing woman, had engaged many of the others in conversation at the welcome breakfast earlier that morning.

As the group solemnly made their way past the slabs, the soldiers' names marched in chronological order, each one told of a life cut short. The hot September sun, made me glad I had put on sunscreen earlier.

I brought up the rear and sauntered in Jack's direction. Noticing Molly starting to slow down, I caught her concerned glance toward Jack. Her nod gave me permission to approach him.

"Have you been here before, Jack?" I asked.

Jack shook himself from his reverie. "No," he said, his voice catching. He paused. "I was there. We were doing what we thought was right, what we were told had to be done for our country."

"Do you know people on the wall?"

"Some," he said. "There were so many."

"We signed up to defend our country. I was a helicopter pilot; I loved being in the air. When we were going, we knew it was dangerous, but it was exciting too. The reality was uncomfortable, scary, and sometimes boring. I flew Hueys over the rice paddies and jungle, mostly moving men and materiel on and off the battlefield."

"I did two tours. The most jarring thing was the transition from Vietnam to home. Literally one day you are shooting machine guns into the jungle, and two days later you are home on your front porch." He shook his head.

"It makes you appreciate your family, but it scared them too when I overreacted to small things. I cried when I opened the fridge and screamed in my sleep from nightmares." Jack's eyes dropped to the ground, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the memories. He scuffed the toe of his boot against the dirt, as if trying to erase the images that haunted him.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with the effort of holding back the tears. "Is there a way to find a name on the panels?" he inquired.

"Sure, we can look it up over here. What's the name?"

"Brian Hanson." Jack approached the stand holding the directory book. I helped him find the name and accompanied him to the appropriate panel.

Jack stood motionless, his reflection staring back at him from the polished black granite. His eyes, filled with grief, traced the contours of Brian's name, each letter a scar etched into his heart.

As Jack's fingertips traced the engraved letters, I watched as years of pent-up emotion bubbled to the surface. It was as if he could reach through time and connect with the friend he had lost so long ago.

As I stood with Jack, I could feel the weight of the memories the wall held for him and countless others who had served. I gave him some space, and when he returned, tears were streaming down his face.

"That was supposed to be me," he said, trying to brush the tears away. "I was supposed to fly that night but was exhausted. When the call came in, Brian told me to stay in bed and he would catch this one. He never came back."

Brian flew that mission and got shot down. Jack had been living with this ever since.

As the tears streamed down Jack's face, Molly appeared by his side and gently took his hand in hers. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with the love and understanding that comes from a shared lifetime.

“If it wasn't for Brian's sacrifice, we would never have found each other,” she said softly. “Our boys wouldn't be the amazing men they are today. In a way, Brian lives on through the life we've built together.” Jack nodded, squeezing her hand.

As I watched Jack and Molly together, I was struck by the profound and far-reaching consequences of war. It wasn't just the lives lost or the names etched on the wall; it was the ripple effect that spread out from each sacrifice.

Jack and Brian had been brothers in arms, their bond forged in flight school and tempered by the fires of war. And now, Jack had to carry the acceptance that Brian's death had bought him the chance at life, love, and family. It was a burden no one should have to bear, but one that so many veterans carried with them every day.

In the years since that fateful night, Jack had carried the weight of Brian's death with him. But standing here, at the wall, with Molly by his side and the names of the fallen stretching out before him, I hoped he felt peace and could perhaps begin to heal.