New Omaha VA Hospital and Vietnam

On our local news today one of the main stories was how the Omaha VA needs to build a new hospital. That has been going for a very long time and seems to go backward rather than forward. It now appears that any type of remodel or replacement is years away from a decision. So what's new about that? Nothing. On the local station they interviewed a veteran who stated that this isn't Vietnam where they were drafted to go in. Were volunteering and are not getting service back from our Country. I cannot express my anger at this. A veteran is a veteran is a veteran. To make this worse, this comment is coming from a veteran. So, Vietnam Veterans aren't worthy or deserving as those who volunteered? Over 58,000 GI's lost their lives in Vietnam and I bagged many of them. There were also thousands upon thousands who were wounded. Vietnam Veterans were also treated poorly by many Americans during and after the war. Over the years you heard how that was changing, etc. This comment only proves nothing has really changed. It was just sad that the veteran didn't address that this VA hospital needed to be replaced so that it could provide services to all veterans who honorably served their Country. I'm proud I'm a Vietnam Veteran and part of a group of GI's who served their Country even when their Country didn't support them.

If I'm not Adopted I want to be....

I remember at a very young age I was with my mom and some siblings in our red and white 1955 Ford Station Wagon around 39th and Q street. I think my dad was in Cunningham's having a drink. I asked my mom if I was adopted and she laughed and said no. But I thought I was adopted. I didn't feel like I fit in even at this young age with my family. I then decided I wanted to be adopted and by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. They adopted kids and maybe they would adopt me. I was going to send them a letter and ask them if the would adopt me. Crazy huh. Well, I'm in my sixties and still don't feel like I fit in, anywhere really. My views seem to be so opposite of my family, friends of the family, etc. And not helping it at all is may not ever being the real Mickey. I feel as if I have been everything but that and that brings great sadness. I think I've tried to be what people wanted or fit into the slot people thought I should be in and in doing that I have lost my identity or what would have been. So, who is the real Mickey? He is a good Catholic boy who prays all the time but doesn't feel you have to be in church to do it or bring attention to just how good a Catholic you are. He is painfully shy. He loves people, all people. One who really doesn't care if they are Hispanic, black, gay, straight, Jewish, Baptist, etc. and believes the person inside is the person that matters. He believes in equal rights - the same equal rights for everyone. He believe in gay marriage - after all, it's only love and why can't people love whomever they want. In the end he'd rather be remembered as a good person and he did his best rather than the car he drove or the money in the bank. He believes a kiss is a kiss regardless of whether or not it is with a woman or a man except one has razor stubble and the other doesn't. He is extremely proud that he served in the Army and that it took him a long time to accept and realize it. He is a Vietnam Veteran and one who is so guilty that he lived and others who had more to offer the world were killed in action. He is also extremely proud of his service in Vietnam and what he did while over there and hopes that in some way he was able to touch someone's life. He is always for the underdog. He knows how mean and cruel people can be to others and has been on the bad end of it and knows how painful it is. He has crossed paths with people in his life and regardless how briefly he will always remember them such as the Ambulance drivers who picked him up from the MP shack and took him to Ton Son Knut air base and asked an MP to make sure he got on the plane to go home because he decided he could not go back to the World and leave my family who he loved. That same MP who kept an eye on him and as he walked up the stairs to leave smiled and wished him well. The MP who picked him up when he turned himself in from AWOL and who smiled and said he didn't think he'd be any trouble and didn't handcuff him. To the two guys he met in processing at Ft. Carson who saved him by their friendship and kindness. The same for Lt. Moudy and Sgt. Dawes, etc. Steve, when both away from home could become friends and share with each other the sexual abuse they encountered at a young age and establish a special bond that would last forever regardless whether or not they ever met again. You know, I make mistakes everyday but I hope I'm making them less and less and learning from them and becoming a better person and feel so sorry for those I may have hurt, not have been fair to, etc. I guess this is just a short list of who I am. After all, it's been 64 years in the making. But in the end I guess I'm Ok regardless of what others may think of my values or my views and it's time to let the real Mickey come out and greet the World.

Being Lonely

It's strange that you can be surrounded by people you know and family and be lonely but can be with strangers or just a real friend and feel like you have it all and feel happiness.

The quiet on the helipad at night.

Nights were scary as a kid and I suspect they were scary for most kids and I really hated collecting on dark streets at night as a paperboy. At times now I really like the night. My duty schedule was 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. It was very dark on the Helipad as the choppers brought in the casualties. The choppers did have the nose spotlight on coming in until landing and then it was shut off. They only had a very dim light on in the chopper that was turned on while taking out he wounded. There never seemed to be any noise as I waited on the helipad for the Huey to land. It was eerily quit standing there wondering what would be on the chopper. Would the wounded be on litters or just laying in the chopper? How bad would their injuries be. Will we be able to get them into the ER quickly, etc. And then I'd hear the distinctive Huey chopper noise in the distance getting louder and louder. I remember those nights and the quiet at times when I'm outside at night. I don't hear anything and am lost in my thoughts waiting for the sounds of the incoming chopper, the chopper pad, the choppers and most importantly the casualties.....always thinking of them wondering, always wondering if they made it, their families and always....always thinking of them not wanting them to be forgotten.

Norm

In 1971-1973 I was stationed at Ft. Carson. I was a mess coming back from Vietnam and now realize just how much a mess I really was. In an earlier post I wrote about meeting a couple guys while in-processing and how it really saved me at that time. About six months later I just really lost it and got into some trouble. At this time I was assigned to the training room. I had not been there long before this rough, gruff, young, GI came in just out of Boot Camp. I think his first words were "I didn't let them cut my hair off. There are guidelines and I told the Drill Sargent that I was not going to let them cut it off." Or something to that effect. I thought wow, I sure don't want to be around this guy. Well, as I have said in other posts, it's odd how you meet people and friendships are formed. I guess it's that your all away from friends and family and now those you serve with are now your family. Anyway, Norm and I became friends very fast and we spent all our off-duty time together. I found him to be funny, kind and caring. He always wanted to go to this mall to see this parrot at a pet shop. He would always say "That's some bird." He spoke of Modesto where he came from and how much he loved it and could not wait until he returned after his tour was completed. My small circle of GI's I hung around with all lived farther than Omaha from Colorado Springs. Over my time at Ft. Carson me and the small circle of GI's made many trips there for the weekend. We'd leave on a Friday night and get to Omaha on Saturday a.m. We'd then leave Sunday morning and get back to Ft. Carson on Sunday night. Kind of stupid as the speed limit was 55 and there was a gas shortage and it was hard to find late at night even along the interstate. Regardless, we made many trips, sometimes a couple weeks in a row. Norm was always on those trips and although the guys would split up with some of my brothers in Omaha, Norm and I always hung out together. One time we were riding around on a Friday night and Norm said "Let's go to Omaha." And with that, he headed for the interstate and off we went. (He happened to be driving my car.) I was so blessed and fortunate that he came into my life at that time. It helped keep me somewhat sane. A Sargent, also in the training room had reservations about him but this changed and he too found him a nice guy. Norm and I even helped the Sargent and his family pack up and get ready to move to a new Ft. The last time I saw Norm was about a week or two after I returned to NE after getting out of the service. He and another guy came back to spend the weekend in Omaha. I was so excited to see him. Norm was pretty adamant that moving back to NE and living at home would be a terrible idea. When he came back we had an argument and were shouting at each other in the basement of my family home. During this time another guy tried to calm us down and them my mom came down and asked me to read a label. She went upstairs and Norm started crying. He said moving back home and living with my family was going to kill me. They left the next day and I never saw and don't think I spoke to him again. You know, he was right. I had the opportunity to work with an organization in CO Springs and should have taken the job. Norm was right. Although it did not kill me it came close to it. I never forgot Norm and have always regretted not taking his advice, and why didn't try to contact him to contact him after he went back, etc. I tried a little over the last couple of years to search him out. Now it appears I have found him but it is too late. He apparently passed away at 29. I feel so devastated that I never got to see or speak with him again and that he is no longer here. It seems all I have done this weekend is think of him and cry. I wrote a letter to his sister and hope I hear back from her. I'm looking for something, perhaps some closure or to in some way say goodbye. I wish I could have told him he was right and just how much I cared for him. Hopefully there is a Heaven and I'll get that chance and be able to hang out with him again. I have always missed you Norm.

Suicide is forever....

Robin Williams, who was an extremely talented actor, committed suicide a couple days ago and there has been an outpouring of grief and sadness. There is also much is being said about him, his career and what he did for those who served in the Armed Forces. Based on all news accounts he suffered from substance abuse and greatly from depression which was something he shared in interviews. Unfortunately Shepard Smith with Fox News, Todd Bridges the actor and now Rush Limbaugh among others have come out with negative and inappropriate comments. I have personally witnessed many different sides of suicide. The failed side, the successful side and the impact it made to the families involved. Being a Catholic I was always taught it was a sin and you'd go to hell. I could not understand why God would send a person to hell if they committed suicide. Didn't He know that it just wasn't a "Gee, I think I'll kill myself." as if an afterthought? As time goes by in my life I have come to realize and understand more and more just how one must feel, their sadness, no hope for the future, confusion, that their life has no meaning, they are perhaps a failure, no one loves or will miss them and just how little control they may have, etc. And suicide is forever and sometimes one may forget that as they see actors in a movie and they kill themselves in it and the next week they are seen in another movie. This is especially dangerous for young people. Have seen suicide attempts, etc. in Vietnam and later in civilian life and now especially with those men and women returning from war I think that everyone, especially those in the media, or anyone else, needs to think about what they say. That person who committed suicide was a human being, a father, son, mother, aunt, uncle, daughter, brother, sister, etc. And their family will be forever changed by what happened and always wonder why and what they could have done to have stopped or helped that person. Instead of being so cruel and mean the media and others need only say that a person died and what a loss it is to lose them and how they were loved by their family and friends and that they will be forever loved and missed and our thoughts and prayers are with their family.

To make a difference....

I spoke with a person early last week on a high level regarding my PTSD and I ended up totally frustrated, confused, inadequate, etc. I blame myself as I'm the one who initiated the meeting/conversation. And for the last three weeks my mind has been overwhelmed with memories, confusion, thoughts of what it was and what could have been and what it is. Sometimes I get so fucking pissed off. I just want to blow. All this inside is just killing me and I'm so lonely and miss those special friends I served with. I want that back. I was not ready to come back from Vietnam. I thought I was but since I left on emergency leave a week or so before did not get a change to say my goodbyes, exchange address, etc. Not every duty station was filled with a ton of close friends but always that one you felt so close to I hurt so much having lost that. And I think everyone you served with was away from home and depended on each other and in a sense became a family. The guilt right now is overwhelming that I was not killed and I think it would have been best if I would have been. I look back at my life and other than the service, especially Vietnam, its so fucked up. I tried to be a good husband but that sure doesn't seem to be the case. I tried to be a good stepfather, paid all the bills, medical, trip to see dad and grandparents etc. and ended up with a step-daughter who disowned me and told me I'm not her father. Pretty much failed for my adopted daughter and son as well. Fuck, I tried to give them all what I didn't have growing up and ended up with kids who didn't learn responsibility and I'm so sorry and wish I would have raised them differently. Less trips, buy their own car, pay their own insurance, etc. Here I am, just turned 64 and retired but will probably need to find another job. Never good at money management and did poorly in school and wanted to give my kids everything. So, I didn't save for retirement. When I was force retired in 2003 I built our small dream house. Well, taxes weren't taken out of my distribution and with poor attorney advice I lost my new home and some furnishings, live in an apartment and just retired from a second job. So most of my monies I get go to pay back federal and state taxes that I was told the assets from the home sale would do. I'm also raising a seven year old disabled grandson who is just a beautiful little boy which brings its own issues like I don't have a home with a yard and he loves being outside, will I live long enough to see him through 19, will I be able to get monies aside for needs when I'm gone and find someone who will be there for him and make sure he is taken care of and his needs met. Know one will really ever know what I really went through, feel, etc. other than the Nut Doctor and Social Worker I have been seeing and then only at a higher level but they are smart and probably really know more than I think. I rarely, if ever, talk about Vietnam but the memories are always with me no matter what and in the last three weeks I have been hit harder than ever with memories in things people have said, smells, hurt by comments, etc. I've been so sad for so long. At night or when alone I cry, remember, wish and pray. I ask God what I have done that has been so bad that my life is like this. I think of a couple special friends and wish I was smarter and knew what was going on and I'm so sorry I didn't as my life could have possibly been different. Knowing everything I do I would go back to Vietnam. It is so much a part of me and I tried my best to "Make a Difference". I guess that is all one can hope for is to "Make a Difference" and just touch someone life. So many times I wish I'd have died in Vietnam and be among my brothers who I know are in Heaven but all I am able to do is pray for them and tell them I'm sorry they died and I wish it would have been me so they would have have come home, been with their families and lived a life that I hope would have been wonderful. All I can say is that I'm so sorry it was not me.