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It’s not that I was uncaring- it was that perhaps I cared too much. It was too painful, too hard, too unsettling and I had no desire to peel away the scabs from old wounds.

Yet, on that warm day- with puffy white clouds in a clear blue sky and the scent of tarweed in the air, I went. It was larger than I expected, more massive and solid than I thought it would be.

The surface was cool to the touch, there under the shade of the huge Valley oak, cedar and black walnut trees. It was in repose near a large rose garden, and the breeze wafted the scent of the blooms all around it.

I wasn’t alone, and judging by the faces of those there with me- they were struggling as I was. Memories and emotions held captive in our hearts and minds were roiling to the surface and spilling out.

There were children, with no understanding of what this huge series of big stone blocks meant. They were admonished- ‘Don’t touch! Just look please!’ I could see by their faces they were confused. Look at what? Just a bunch of letters carved in the stone. No pictures, no colors. Just letters.

At the end of each row where the stones were placed, carved wooden bins held sheets of white parchment paper and fat charcoal chunks. Volunteers, decked out in uniforms, gave instructions on how to place the parchment against the face of the stone and use the charcoal to etch the letters onto the paper.

A large directory was placed on a tall wooden lectern draped with a blue velvet cloth. People waited in line, patiently, for their turn to turn the pages and make note of the information printed there.

Young adults wandered the aisles, faces almost insolent and rebellious- as if to say ‘what’s the big deal? This doesn’t have anything to do with me!’.

Others, in their worn uniforms, ran their fingers over the names, heads bowed in silence. Some knelt in prayer. Some were crying softly. Still others were sobbing loudly- drawing stares from the children around them.

He pulled on my arm. “Here it is.” I pulled back. I did not want to see them. He had been consumed with this- saturated with the need to do this. Every recounting of the events in that far away place he devoured as it they were food and drink. “I have to see, I have to know if they got it right.”

I did not want to know if it was right. I just wanted the sense of helplessness that my inability to know what to do to ease the nightmares, to assuage the pain, to go away.

We followed him up and down the aisles. One name, then two, three , four. At the last he stood, palms against the stone, head hanging down, crying. Our children had never seen him cry before and they were unsettled. I hadn’t wanted to come, and I didn’t want to leave. But, we did. It didn’t hit me there. It hit me on the way home. The ‘ugly’ cry, the kind where your face swells up and you gasp for air.

We talked about going back east to see the ‘real’ one. We never did. The one we did see was as ‘real’ as I could handle then. I talked about going to see it just after I lost my mother. Didn’t go then, not sure that I will ever go.

Nearly 60,000 names, cast in stone for all eternity. Over a decade of conflict, death, atrocities, loss, grief. And yet- there is a peace, a sense of rest, that surrounds the Viet Nam War Memorial. A sense that in death, those whose names are cast there get the respect and the care they did not in life. A sort of justice if you will.

I can only speak for myself, recount my experience. I didn’t want to go. Eleven years of my life was imbued with that war. Am I glad I went? Some days I am. Some I am not. Do I want to forget it? Some days. Will I forget it? No.

I’ve lived long enough now for some of the rough edges to have been smoothed by time. Some wisdom and perspective has come to reside within me.

These men were more than names cast in stone to me. They were living, breathing people that I knew. They stepped up and took the task of serving their country to heart. They paid the highest price possible in doing so.

Olszewski, Joseph Verne Panel 14 W Line 72

Masteller, Allan Dean Panel 41 E Line 74

Ross, Doug Alan Panel 31 W Line 61

Rest in peace. I miss you guys.

"IN HONOR OF THE MEN AND WOMEN OF THE ARMED FORCES OF THE UNITED STATES

WHO SERVED IN THE VIETNAM WAR. THE NAMES OF THOSE WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES AND

OF THOSE WHO REMAIN MISSING ARE INSCRIBED IN THE ORDER THEY WERE TAKEN FROM

US."

And today is the day to honor all our Veterans and say "thank you" for their sacrifices in the name of freedom.

Cali

Soon, another wall(s) will be erected for those that served our country.
Wisconsin, this past week, donated two names for a new wall.
A man and a woman who chose to answer the call will not be coming home.
Additionally, another man and woman were wounded.
The incident has been labeled "A man-made disaster."
CJ

Your story was very moving and needs to be told over and over, lest we forget. Even now, at this stage in my life, I feel the loss of school mates and friends.
Thank you for letting me remember.

CAST IN STONE is beautifully written and deeply felt.

...............thank you Sherri. I know we were all effected as a nation. All gave some, some gave all.......

...............this has always been a hard day for me for forty years now. It just doesn't get any easier.....

Thank you, Erik.

I stood in silence when I saw the stone
in D.C. Standing alone, I recalled the days
when my friends were sent and wondered
what agonies they underwent.
So many, so long, who knew the reason?
How many families affected and grieving?
Today I honored the Veterans, so sad
the flags at half mast and Taps. My own son,
sent to Iraq, watching his friends lose their
lives, causes my tears as the flag is revered.
A new generation succumbs to war and I
repeat the memory forty years before.