by Karen Crumley

Created on: May 26, 2008

I guess you could say that I was one of the younger teens at the time of the Vietnam War. I watched the reports on TV and knew of people who went off to war, but it was not personal because I had no close friends affected by it. It was something that happened to someone else.

Then, I got lost and found the ugly truth. My father was in the military and he needed me to pick up some prescriptions at the Beach Pavilion at Fort Sam Houston. Either, I did not listen to his instructions or he was all wrong on how to get there. Regardless, it did not take me long to get very lost in the maze of the building.

As I wandered through it, I stumbled onto wards... wards and wards of wounded men. Most of the soldiers were victims of vicious burns and they were in so much pain that I could not help tearing up just seeing them.

These guys were almost my age... young. And, they were suffering so much. A quiet realization came over me as I witnessed their agony. Suddenly, there were pain-ridden faces attached to the numbers reported on TV.

My first reaction was to try to get away as fast as possible. I walked a little faster as I tried to find a way out of there. But, my learning experience was not over yet. I found a hallway on the ground floor and was quickly moving through it toward an exit when a set of doors flew open in front of me, forcing me to stop. As I waited, ambulances were unloading gurney after gurney of wounded soldiers into the building. I held my breath and silently wept as boys my age were wheeled past me moaning in pain and obviously in danger of dying.

That picture is permanently forged onto my memories. I felt so bad that I could not help them and all I could do was pray for them as they came by. I also felt bad because I had basically ignored the fact that this was happening all the time. I had not joined in the outcry to bring them home and end the war.

After that, though I could not outwardly riot against the war because my soldier father would have killed me, I prayed constantly for all of the soldiers. They still touch my heart as I drive past the military cemetery and realize that some of those soldiers are probably buried there. I thank them for what they did for me and I tell them I love them for it. Now, with the new war in Iraq, I continue to pray for our men daily. I thank people who are veterans when I talk to them. And somewhere in the back of my mind I wish I could go back to the hospital and visit and pray with our wounded. Maybe I will. A little dose of reality can stick with you for a lifetime.

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