The American Widow Project

There's a very special website I'm proud to be a part of, the American Widow Project. The very name describes the content, however, I wouldn't be doing it justice if I didn't go a little further and tell you more about this wonderful website.

You can't begin to imagine the number of proud and courageous women who go there to share their personal stories about loving a soldier, a husband, and losing him, especially to war. They dig down deep, open their hearts, and reach out through writing to touch the souls of hundreds, maybe thousands, of other widows who also visit the site to read and share.  They all come away knowing they aren't alone.  We are never alone.

Like so many Vietnam and other veterans, these women know what it means to hurt and grieve. Pain is pain. It's a dead weight chained to the heart and dragged along behind you, sometimes for many years. Because of the American Widow's Project, so many women have found the blessing that comes with writing about their grief and pain -- the healing that begins to grow in the heart ...

The American Widow Project
♥ Widow Wednesday ♥
It's our honor to share this story of a Vietnam War Widow. We thank CJ Heck for helping to pave the way for this generation and for the sacrifice she and Douglas made ♥

[excerpt from Bride to Widow] "The worst day of my life was September 13, 1969. Actually, there was so much more than just that one day, but that’s the one day I can talk about, at least for right now ... There have been things that have happened since then, when I've said, "Yeah, this really hurts. It hurts like bloody hell ... but I will survive, because I can tell you something about what real hurt is ..." [CJ Heck]

** My heartfelt thanks goes out to the American Widow Project for everything they do, and have done. The following comments are just a few of the ones put on their Facebook page after the above announcement of my story on their website. These came from some of the women who read it and were kind enough to leave a comment.

Anne Wienkoop
God Bless the wives that have to endure this type of heartache...
Wednesday at 5:04 pm

Jennifer M Schultz
To say you inspire seems like a poor choice of words. But thank you for sharing and paving the way for those of us to follow. Thank you for keeping his memory alive. I hope that I too will be sharing my story as long as anyone will listen. ♥ I'm so sorry for the loss of your husband.
Wednesday at 5:15pm

Marianne Jackson
Thank you for sharing your beautiful story of unforgotten love...
Wednesday at 5:41pm

Karen Turner
I'm not a military widow, but was widowed suddenly 44 months ago. This part gave me goosebumps: "That day in 1969 was the worst day of my life, but it’s carried me through some other really bad times, too. There have been things that have happened since then, when I’ve said, “Yeah, this really hurts. It hurts like bloody hell ... but I will survive, because I can tell you something about what real hurt is ...” See, for the rest of your life, something like this becomes your yardstick for measuring heartache. You know nothing else can, or will ever, hurt you quite that bad again."
Wednesday at 6:05pm

Kristen Johnson
A beautiful story!
Wednesday at 6:32pm

Susan Lenkus Williams
Love the part at the end about stars shining down, really lovely. And yes, nothing else can hurt as bad as the day our loved one died. I am no longer scared of getting sick or dying just because I know he is there waiting. But I want it to be a long time from now when I see him because our children need me and I still have more to do!
Wednesday at 9:34pm · Unlike · 1 person

Jaime Tomon Gorten
That is so well-written and beautiful. Thank you for sharing. God bless all of you.
Thursday at 4:53pm

Val Nostdahl
I was married a few short years later, in 73, and well remember the base being called up to go to Vietnam and my spouse calling me at work, it was a bad day at work, got home and I was blessed, he told me it was called off, then he died later, after 33 years, your story gives me goosebumps, it could have been him, sometimes now I think of that often, just feeling still a bit of a loss, thank you for your story, you are extremely brave and courageous, I always think there should be a purple broken heart for widows of military...gbu.
Yesterday at 12:21am

Rameshnair Nair
Thank you for sharing Val Nostdahl!
Yesterday at 7:33am

CJ Heck
Thank you so sincerely for reading my story and for your outpouring of thoughtfulness, all of you. My heart goes out to those of you who also have loved and lost and I thank you for sharing your own stories. Your words give such comfort and I'm proud to call you sisters of war and sisters of my soul.

... and did I mention, they are proud ...


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

Bad Day at the VA

by David Westfall

After almost 2 years of avoiding the VA medical care system, I had to go back in. When dealing with comp and pen, it's the way they want it. I really hate going there. I don't know why, I just do. My anxiety shoots up to almost debilitating levels. Maybe it's seeing all of the veterans. So many of them have visible injuries or disabilities. Many of them wear hats indicating the branch they served in and conflicts or wars they fought in. It's almost like reading a history book.

When I see the WWII vets, I wonder how many of them were in the Pacific, how many were in Europe, how many were in Africa. Were some of these men involved in beach landings in places like Guadalcanal or Iwo Jima? Were they in the trenches in Europe, looking into the eyes of their enemies at times? Did they watch their buddies get shot, blown up, drowned or killed?

I don't see a lot of Korean War vets. There are a few, but not many. They truly are the forgotten ones. There aren't the numbers of them there were from WWII and it wasn't until the Vietnam War that the media brought the war into our homes. Just so you know, I haven't forgotten you.

A majority of the men and women I see are Vietnam Era vets. They wear their hats, jackets and tattoos with pride now. I've seen movies about Vietnam, but know I can not even begin to fathom the horrors they must have seen and lived through. And after all of that, they got to come home to a country divided. A country with some citizens that decided it was necessary to spit upon them and call them "Baby Killers". Many of them came home changed inside, and not only were the people of their country not ready to help them, but their government health care system wasn't either. If you came back with "battle fatigue", you were pretty much on your own. You were expected to get over it, move on. That's the way the vets from WWI and WWII did it, why couldn't these vets?

I spent a lot of time in the mental health care system of the VA as an outpatient. I attended classes for PTSD and other issues with Vets from WWII to the current conflict in the Middle East. Some of them were group settings where we could discuss what was going on in our lives, what we were feeling. A place to let it out. In one group we could almost finish each others sentences. It didn't matter what era you served in, we were all brothers. We had each other's respect and concern, genuine concern. If any one of us had a problem, the rest were there for them.

Anyway, I don't like where my mind takes me when I go to the VA hospital. Aside from the anxiety, it simply makes my heart ache.  I can't even describe what I feel when I see the young men from the current conflict. They look like babies to me. I don't think half of them even have to shave yet. Seeing "that look" in their eyes at such a young age tears me apart inside. Seeing their physical injuries makes me want to cry.

Today, I was sitting in the waiting room so I could get some blood work done. There was one vet, who judging by his age, was of the Vietnam era. He had shaggy hair and a bushy beard. His clothes were worn. I'm guessing he had some hearing loss, because he was talking loudly with another man. He walked stiffly with a severe limp. He got called into the lab right before me. He was sitting in the chair beside me as my blood filled the vials. The technician was just putting in my second vial when the technician beside me raised her voice. "Sir. Sir. Sir!" I looked over and his head was down. He was unresponsive. "Call a code blue" she yelled. My technician hit a button on the wall behind my head and the automatic system went into effect. "Code Blue in blood draw" was announced over the announcement system. Lights and sirens went off every where. After my third vial of blood was drawn, she handed me my pee cup. By this time, doctors, nurses and security personnel were rushing into the small room. I decided not to use the bathroom in the lab area and went down the hallway to another one. When I went back to drop off my sample, they were taking the man out on a gurney, covered in a sheet. Wow. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I don't know what branch you were in, what your job was or where you served, but rest in peace brother. May you have fair winds and following seas on your journey.

As I was walking down the hallway to exit the building, I ran into one of the guys from the PTSD group I was in for almost 4 years. We know a lot about each other. He was a Vietnam Vet. The last time I saw him, he was heavy. He looked gaunt and tired today. We spoke for a few minutes, trying to catch up. He has cancer. There were two tumors on his liver, which he had removed, and he also has throat cancer. Today is his first day of chemo. I can't help but wonder if his cancer is the result of agent orange or something else he came in contact with while serving his country. I wish you good luck and will be praying for you, Woody. Semper Fi Marine!

I know I take on other people's pain more than I should. I know I spend too much time in my own mind. I know I need to get back to the VA for help. But what do you do when the cure is also a trigger for your problems? I guess I'll find out when next month when I reenter the system for anger management classes. I'm glad the VA and society has finally figured out that "battle fatigue", or PTSD as it is now known, is a real illness and needs to be treated. I'm happy that most people now understand that it doesn't mean the person suffering from it is weak.

Thank you to every veteran, veteran's spouse and family member out there. We did it for you.
David J. Westfall AW2 (AW) (Civ)


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

For Our Country

The following was actually a comment left on yesterday's blog which was written by David Westfall, "God Bless the Marines".  I was afraid it would be lost in the comment box -- I don't how many people take time to read the comments -- anyway, I think it's significant all by itself.  It was written by our friend, Craig Latham, who is a regular contributor here at Memoirs:

Craig Latham

"Hi David,

Like the saying goes, "Some gave All and All gave some".

Every person in the US Military, be it two years, or twenty, out of a life time, they should be considered a hero. 

They don't have to see combat for them to be doing something for their Country -- Our Country.  They are giving a little of themselves so that others can be free. 

Any loss is unacceptable, be it in combat action, training accident, or someone being hit by a car. 

These military personnel give of themselves every day. They don't ask for much in return, but we should give them what we can, even if it is here in a blog at Memoirs From Nam to just listen and know that your words do not fall on deaf ears.

Welcome home my friend.

Craig Latham
Former 101st Airborne Div. (Ambl)
Phu Bai, Vietnam (now in Ohio)"

(*Thank you, Craig -- you always know the right words.  Your friend, CJ)



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

God Bless the Marines

by David Westfall

Last night, March 29th 2011, at about 7:30 p.m. local time, a CH-53 with 4 Marines on board from MCAS Kaneohe, Hawaii, went down near the base. It was a water crash, but luckily, the water was only about 4 feet deep. Apparently, they have all survived the crash, but at least one is in critical condition. KBay is where we used to do our practice SAR jumps when I was stationed at HSL-37, NAS Barber's Point, Hawaii. It is now the home base for HSL-37 since they closed NAS Barber's Point back in the mid 1990's.

When a friend of mine posted the links for the news sites about the crash, it hit me hard. It has been almost 16 years since I strapped myself into a military helicopter. I don't know any of the crewman involved, but it still made my heart ache. Unless you only did one tour flying, the odds are you know someone who gave their life flying in military aircraft. It may be a risk all flyers take every time they strap in, but that doesn't make it any easier when it happens.

It was about 18 years and one week ago that a helo from my squadron went down in the Straights of Hormuz. I lost three good friends that night. Only a few years before that, our squadron lost another bird. Only one crewman was lost, but the other two will never be the same, either mentally or physically.

I was only in the Navy for 12 years. I have now been out for almost 16 years, much longer than I was in, but these feelings of hurt and sadness still rear their ugly heads every time I hear of an aviator, from any branch of the U.S. military, going down. Sometimes I wish I didn't experience these feelings. But, when I sit back and think about it with my brain instead of my heart, I know it is a good thing. There's a need for people in this country that care about and honor our service members. I know they have family and friends, but I believe more is better.

I recently read in a book, "If you share your pain with someone else, it cuts your own in half".  I am aware that I don't know any of these brave airmen, and they will never know that I am sharing their pain with them, but I honestly believe it can't hurt and may be able to help them. I guess it all depends on whether you believe in a common life energy here on Earth or not. I do.

So, as I sit here and type, I am thinking about, and praying for, these four brave airmen. Those airmen that for years have been putting their lives on the line, every time they strap in, to help keep this country free.

God bless you all.
AW2 (AW) (Civ) David "Bull" Westfall

Addendum:


Corporal Jonathan D. Faircloth, an aerial observer with Marine Heavy Helicopter Squadron 363, Marine Air Group 24, was pronounced dead by the state medical examiner and taken to Tripler Army Medical Center Tuesday night.
Faircloth, 22, of Mechanicsburg, Pa., joined the squadron in April, 2007, and deployed with them to Iraq in 2008 and Afghanistan in 2010. He became a Marine in August, 2006.

Faircloth is survived by his wife, Alicia, two siblings, James and Danielle, and his parents, Dean and Beverly Faircloth, who described their son as a true gentleman and a happy person who loved the Marine Corps and his job.

Faircloth's personal awards include four Air Medals, two Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medals, Iraq and Afghanistan Campaign Medals, the Global War on Terrorism Service Medal and the National Defense Service Medal.

The three HMH-363 crewmen injured during the same emergency landing were pilot Maj. Clinton J. Collins, copilot Capt. Kevin F. Hayles, and crew chief Cpl. Ronnie E. Brandafino. All three Marines were transported to Queen's Medical Center in Honolulu for treatment of their injuries and were last reported in stable condition.
While Hayles has joined the squadron recently, Collins has deployed with HMH-363 once to Afghanistan and Brandafino, who joined the squadron in 2008 deployed with them to Iraq that year and to Afghanistan in 2010. Collins also deployed with HMH-362, also based at MCAS Kaneohe Bay, to Iraq in 2007.


***Thank you, David. You sure know how to say what most of us would like to. That quote was right on ... sharing our pain with others really does cut our own in half. That has been my dream, here in Memoirs.
Hugs to you, my friend,
CJ


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

Harry Wilson: Was Anybody There?

I can’t remember the exact date, but it was around the time when the Ist Division went home. I want to say it was November of 1969 with the Big Red One 1st of the 16th Mech. Inf.

Our Platoon was heading back to get resupplied from our HQ Co about three miles away. The lead track (Iron Butterfly) hit a 750 mine in front of me as I was driving the 2nd (Blood Sweat and Tears) of a two APC convoy. The squad was through into the trees from the explosion and the driver was trapped inside.

We first checked for ambush and did not receive any fire from outside our AO. Myself, and I think it was Jack Speck and Mark Cripion left our tracks to rescue the five injured and dug out the driver from the track. Our medic was somewhat shell shocked. He was running around putting wraps on the injured men and letting them wander out in the jungle. We told him to sit down and we would perform the medi-vac as we did. He sat there and did nothing at all.

We had completed the tasked and were ordered by the major fling in the chopper overhead. He requested we remove all the guns, ammo, and supplies from the track and blow in place. As I entered Iron Butterfly, my Sergeant called out “ambush”. I climbed out of the track and went to grab the 60 cal to prepare to return fire. We heard two major explosions, but could not figure out where it was coming from. We later found that out when I got out of the track to prepare for an ambush and two others went in to complete the mission of getting the equipment out of the track. They were both KIA when the claymore mines we carried exploded. We later found out that the three other units with the name of Iron Butterfly had as well hit mines within two hours.

Then we packed up and went on about our mission to get supplies for the rest of the platoon. We really thought no more of the situation, other than our friends that we lost. Our Medic was a conscientious objector and did not carry a gun.

Well about two or three weeks later we were in the rear in our base in Li Kay or ZION for our day and half of R&R. Jack and I were walking to the EM club when we saw a lifer ceremonies giving out medals for whatever went on that month. I told Jack “ Hey, let's watch this for a few minutes and then go get a beer.” He agreed as we did.

Well who do we see go up and get a SILVER STAR? Our medic for the exact situation that we had just gone through. Now keep in mind that there were only about 8 troops at the scene and two were KIA. And nobody in our unit ever talked to any higher up in our unit about the situation. So we could not figure how this all came about.

We never even thought about getting any medal for what we did. We were only doing our job of supporting our comrades.  We then went to the IG General and filed a formal complaint with him about it. We got back to our company and told the others what we just saw. They were also pissed. Within one hour we had orders from our CO to get packed up and ship out to Central Vietnam .

We salute and carry on.  I am now 62 and I still think about this.

 Was anybody there?

Harry Wilson
hwilson@telecomlogistics.net

**Welcome Home, Harry.  Thank you for your service. It's an honor to share your experience.  

Most sincerely and with utmost respect,

CJ

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

The Gift, 1969

Last weekend, we were watching an older HBO series, "The Pacific", and I was reminded of a huge synchronicity that happened to me many years ago. When it was over and we turned the TV off, I talked about it with Robert. He felt it was significant and something I should share.

Some things are difficult to write about -- they're too close to our hearts to even talk about, sometimes -- so please bear with me, as I try and morph emotion into words ...

I've talked before about my first husband, Doug. We were married in January of 1969 and he left shortly after for Vietnam, in May. Doug was a combat medic with the 199th Infantry Division and, during a horrific firefight, KIA in Vietnam in September of 1969.

In August of 1969, my paternal grandmother suddenly died from a brain aneurysm. We were all saddened, of course, especially since she was only 59 -- young, even by 1969 standards. How tenuous life is. None of us ever knows how long we have.

I debated about how best to tell Doug. He was very close to Gramma Parrish. He had to know, and I was going to have to tell him. He loved cooking, like she did, and they often talked recipes and ingredients as he savored her latest offering -- Gramma was a wonderful cook and he was probably her greatest fan.

As I was tearfully writing about Gramma, it occurred to me again just how precious every minute is with loved ones. I missed him so much. I would have given anything to be holding him and telling him in person about Gramma -- suddenly I wondered, what if something happened to me? Who would be the one to tell Doug? Who would console him? Then I knew. I would. As I sat there, a poem came out of nowhere -- it was an easy write, so unlike others I had written, and I went racing with it's simple emotion and insight.

If Only a Minute
(Written August 1969)

Sweet heart, if I only have a minute

to say goodbye to you,

let me whisper what I’m thinking

when my time on earth is through.

I'll tell you how I’ve loved you

and how happy I have been,

please, don't think of me as leaving,

for I know we’ll meet again.

We'll hold each other close once more

and I'll kiss away your tears.

We'll talk of precious things we’ve shared

through all our loving years.

When my time with you has ended

and He calls for me to come,

Just know, I’ve always loved you.

Please take care of everyone.

When I finished, I folded the poem with the letter, addressed the envelope, licked the stamp and like so many other letters, I kissed it and dropped it into the mailbox to find its way to Doug. Even now, as I look back, I'm amazed that I was so blind to the fact that Doug could be the one who died.  I was so sure he would return, I refused to even think about any other outcome.

Months later, after his funeral, I received a large envelope from the Army. Inside was a small package of unopened letters that had never reached Doug and they'd never been read. Among the letters was the one I had written about Gramma's passing. Oh my God, I thought, he never knew ... and then the poem slipped down to the floor. 

As I bent down and picked up the page, I began to read and I sobbed.   The words took on a whole new meaning -- as though Doug had written the words to me, and I felt somehow comforted. I didn't know then that it was called a synchronicity, but I do remember feeling that it came from a higher power, something wonderful, yet mysterious.  This was a gift, a magical message, to me from Doug.

... and I'm glad Gramma was there to Welcome Doug Home.

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale