General Westmoreland Writes That He is Deeply Distressed

For those that didn't know, my father was a writer, a journalist a reporter. I personally think a very good one and others have agreed. People much more qualified than me and less biased than me. Something I've noticed over the years of reading his articles is that, while all of his writing was wonderful, I could always tell when a subject was near and dear to his heart. You could feel his passion in the way he weaved the words so that they would really touch you and move you and cause you to feel what he was trying to paint with the written word.

The following is an example. I was typing all his articles for him so he could put them in book form and I remember typing this one - it stood out amoung many and I remember crying as I typed it over 13 years ago:

General Westmoreland Writes That He is 'Deeply Distressed'

By William Gordon

The earliest photo in the family album shows him as a youngster holding a pet skunk on the summery lawn of his backyard.
There are more formal shots of him, too, portraits. He has a very wide grin, a boyish, ingratiating grin, just a bit mischievous. It's obvious from these that he's all boy.
Ohter pictures show him growing up; nothing formal, just routine snapshots, the kind everybody has of their kids. He looks a bit gangly in these. Never had much weight on his bones. There's one snap of him playing with his dog.
Then there is a long photographic gap. It was as if he was too busy in his adolescence to stop for the camera. These were his best years, his happy, running, swimming, playing years.
After that you find him suddenly in the uniform of the U.S. Army. He has finished basic training at Ft. Dix and the official Army photo of him is just like all those you have seen of your brothers and sons--unsmiling, military cap pulled down over his eyes, his blouse looking as if it had just come off the shelf at Supply.

Looks a Bit Pale

He looks a bit pale in this picture, prematurely serious, a trifle lost in the strange new world of the Army.
Then he is Airborne. And the black-and-white photo of him at the training camp shows a striking change. He's tanned, deeply, and more mature looking. He is sitting on the barracks steps holding a grease-gun. His look is not grim. It's just settled.
Tucked beneath the plastic folds of the album is his personal history recorded on an Army form. It says that his very first job was jerking sodas in his hometown icre cream emporium.
A long interlude puts him in Vietnam. He performs well and comes home safely after his tour.
The next snaps, in color, show him at home on furlough. He is tanding on the lawn again. It is summer. He is in khaki. He is unsmiling in most of the pictures. But in one he has his arm around a pretty blonde girl in Bermuda shorts. In this one he has a trace of a grin on his young face. He is 19.
There is a mimeographed letter on the next page -- the kind the Army wiseacres put out, alerting parents to the return of their son from Vietnam.
"Humor him upon his return," the letter says. "Be sure to lock him up at the first sign of rain as he mnight grab his soap and run nude into the front yard." This being the only way to shower in Vietnam.

Checking for Mines

"Don't get angry if he starts poking around in the flower bed and digging jup the front yard. He's just checking for booby traps and land mines." It goes on like this at length.

The Army sends him to Germany. He spends six months there struggling all the time to get back to Vietnam. He writes letters to high places and finally gets his wish.

While back home on furlough again, all his friends tgry to talk him out of it. He'll have none of it. He is drawn to teh war as a nail to a magnet.

He is back in Vietnam. The next document in the album is a letter of recommendation from his company commander. "He is a man who knows what to do, how to do it, and he gets it done," he said. "His morale, appearance and attitude are beyond reproach."

That was in June. Months pass. Then comes a telegram. "The Secretary of the Army has asked me to express deep regret that your son died in Vietnam as the result of gunshot wounds received while on combat operations when hit by hostile automatic weapons fire. Please accept my deepest sympathy."

This came in the fall. Another telegram followed, giving the local funeral home instructions to pick up the casket.

Presidents Wire

The President of the United States writes, "I have learned with deep regret...."

Gen. W.C. Westmoreland writes that he is "deeply distressed."

Gov. Hughes expresses "heartfelt sympathy." He goes on to say that "the people of New Jersey realize that they owe an unpayable debt of gratitude for the great sacrifices your son has made for his country and in the cause of freedom."

There are elogquent letters from generals, from New Jersey senators and congressmen --"Distressing"..."there is no more poignant grief..."

The captain of the soldier's company writes: "Your son was killed instantly in the first few seconds of contact with the enemy while on a search and destroy mission." This letter, too, goes under the plastic in the black album.

The family is disbelieving. They do not think their boy died this way. Dead, yes, but not this way. And they are proven right.

A month goes by and the company commander writes again. "After investigation of the battle, the study revealed that we sent some erroneous information to you... We found that your son did not succumb in the initial burst of enemy fire. But rather, he fought fiercely against an overwhelming enemy force for a period of 30 minutes which allowed the remainder of his comrades to escape an otherwise hopeless situation."

And a week ago, another letter came from the U.S. Army adjutant in Washington. "I have the honor to inform you," he said, "that your son has been awarded posthumously the Bronze Star Medal with First Oak Leaf Cluster for heroism."

Other Documents

There are other documents and articles in the album which the family wants to serve as a memorial for the soldier. There is a letter sent to him in a pink evelope from his sister. It's stamped in red ink "Verified Deceased, Return to Sender."

And there are the boy's shoulder patches and insignias, Christmas cards he sent, newspaper clippings reporting hsi death, and sundry other momentoes of a boy who died at 20.

But what stands out is the cold-looking Army document announcing his death and the diffident-looking photos of him playing with his dog on the lawn of his home in the summer, with the leaves all green and young behind him.

All my love, Dad

It's been a little over 3 months since my dear father passed away, and the pain over losing him has intensified over time. I'm not certain if I was in shock for a period after his death...it was so sudden, but I can say with certainty that not a day goes by that I don't miss him terribly.

My family has some difficult decisions to make regarding his estate and we will be gathering during the Easter weekend to discuss some of these decisions, one of which is what to do with the house we grew up in. While I love the house, it's the home I truly loved. It's what my father created and how he was the anchor and now the anchor is not on this earth and we are just floundering around trying to make sense of how we feel in the aftermath of his loss. I can only speculate how my other siblings feel based on what I feel, but it is incredible grief that comes in gut wrenching waves, when it repeatedly dawns on me that he's not here and won't be coming back. I'm pretty certain my siblings are going through similar experiences and I am so sad for all of us.

As part of the decision making process, my sister Katherine, who is the Executor of the Estate, ran through some of the numbers with each one of us individually so that we could come to the table somewhat prepared. With me, she went over all the accounting on the phone, while I reviewed a spreadsheet that she meticulously prepared. What she might not have realized was that I was crying while we were reviewing the numbers....I was looking at these numbers and thinking that this is not my Dad, this is not what he was all about. He was an incredible father, human being, with human flaws -very few and he wore them humbly. There is nothing he would not do for his children, nothing. If I asked him for his arm, he would have replied, "how much do you need darlin?" I'm sure if you asked any of my siblings they would agree.

We are our father's legacy. Everything he believed and what his life exemplified, is in us all. It was always Dad holding us all together and now it needs to be each of us holding each other up and trying to do right. This is what he would have wanted us to do. We as a family have a very important decision to make that transcends numbers and property, it is, what I believe,our father's last wish. That as a a family, if one of us is in trouble we ask in one voice, together "how much do you need darlin?" When all is said and done and the numbers are gone, the property divided we only have left the decisions we made and our own personal knowledge as to whether or not the decision was the right one.

I believe my father is here with me and with my brother and sisters...I feel him all around me and my hope is that someday, I can be a quarter of the person he was, a little more selfless, humble, decent, and to be the parent to my children the way he was a parent to each one of us up to the very end of his spectacular life.

Thank you Dad for everything you have given me and continue to give me. You will live on in each one of us and your messages will continually surface throughout my life to my very last breath. I hope I make you proud and smile in heaven and say in your soothing voice that has calmed me too many times to mention during my life, "that-a-girl Mary".

I love you Pop.

My Fathers Daughter

I was driving home from work today thinking about what a crazy couple of weeks I had and thinking to myself that I have to call my Dad and fill him in on all the things that have been going on.

I would tell him that Gabby is healing fine from her gallbladder surgery and we can just put that behind us, but she missed so much school and there is a lot of school work to catch up on. We were in touch with the guidance counselor and she has been a huge help in rallying the teachers so Gabby doesn't get to anxious about how behind she is. I would tell him that me and Matt were doing everything we could to get her caught up.

I would see how he is doing with all this snow and I'd ask him what he's reading. I love to hear him talk about the books he's reading because it makes me want to run out and get a copy of the book. Or he might tell me what he's been up to, going out with his lady friend, projects around the house - we might even touch on some of the latest political news which always makes for interesting conversation.

I thought, I have to tell him what happened to my Dad and how my whole world just crumbled and everything else that was going on just didn't matter. My dear father passed away and I am walking around lost and I'm not sure what to do. I want to scream so he can hear me. Scream and cry until I'm so tired I just sleep and forget it all and then when I wake up it's all just a horrible dream. I can't tell him this, because it is him that has left this world and left a void that I wonder if it can ever be filled and will I ever feel normal? I'm driving home and when it dawns on me I can't call him and I'll never be able to call him again. I can't catch my breath because the loss is overwhelming and I'm scared and I'm so incredibly sad. I'm a grown woman with my own family and I just want my Dad... It was so nice to talk to him every weekend and I look forward to our phone calls. It was never considered an obligation....it was a pleasure and I looked forward to our conversations. I always hung up feeling loved no matter what and I left with some bit of knowledge that he gave me.

As time goes by I believe I will be ok. All of us will be alright because my father lives in us all. I might not be able to talk to him on the phone but I will be talking to him all the time. I will constantly ask him what he would do to be sure I am doing the right thing.

I remember one day a long time ago, sitting on his bed having one of our chats and I asked him about his father. "Hey Pop, what was your Dad like?" He looked down in a very thoughtful way and when he looked up his eyes were watery and he shook his head and said, " He was a great man. A great man.." I think I now know how he felt at that moment...to think the world of someone and to lose them.....

Someday if my kids ask me what Pop Pop was like I know I will tell them the same thing. "He was a great man, a great man".

Dad

I believe I let too much time go by between blogs. I probably lose a few readers along the way when I do that, not that I had a lot to begin with, but that doesn't diminish the value of each and everyone on of you. You know who you are.

If you will indulge me, I'd like to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl, let's call her Mary. She adored her father to the ends of the universe and back again, still does and always will. Most of what she knows to be true, she learned from him.

He is a strong man in character, and seemed so big and invincible when she was young...I guess all adults then seemed big, especially when your 3 foot tall. A gentle man with an intuitiveness about people and humility that is just breathtaking. He is an amazing listener with abounding empathy for people and their human conditions and situations. She thought he hung the moon, she still thinks he hangs the moon and always will.

Mary adores her father...when she is upset or sad, she needs to hear his voice, because it calms her as only Daddy can do. There was never a time she didn't feel his love through a look, gesture, word. She adores him. Mary would sit with him in his room and they would talk about everything and everything he has to say is precious and important. She stores all these wise and important gems in her head and she uses them constantly in throughout her lifetime, his lessons spill from her mouth to her children, spouse, friends, co-workers, siblings..

He is a smart man...very, very smart. Mary hopes that maybe someday she can be like him...wise, humble, giving, generous...she aspires to be all these things because she loves her Father for all these qualities and wants to be more like him.

As Mary got older, the conversations continued over the phone... she didn't feel like herself if she didn't talk to her Dad at least once a week. He is always there for her and she can still feel his love over the phone. She adores him.

Then came the day Mary's father became ill. It is hard for Mary to accept...because he is her Dad, he can hang the moon, she adores him. She hopes she can make the pain go away with her sheer will and love for him....she prays...she prays...she will continue to pray because this is her Father, this is a wonderful gentle man that is good to the bone and should not be in pain.

She loves him and thinks he can hang the moon - I love him and I'm pretty damn sure he can hang the moon.

My Not So Secret Garden

It is the season for gardening. For sprucing up the yard, cutting back the overgrowth, weeding, planting flowers and all that cool stuff associated with spring and summer.

When we first decided to start a vegetable garden we just thought it would be a fun, family type thing to do. Plant some vegetables, tend to them and watch them grow! Sounded like a good idea at the time and it's funny how my brain thinks I have a lot more time than I really do. It always works out really nice in my head then we actually start the project and it's cram time. Trying to pick a few weeds and maybe get a watering in after work....keeping in mind I still have to cook dinner get kids ready for bed, make sure homework is finished, etc. etc.

In the beginning, as I said, it was just a fun thing to do. Now it is a matter of necessity and I'm getting the gist of what it must have been like 200 years ago when this was a way of life. There was no "produce section" in the grocery store. If you didn't grow it you were out of luck. As of late, I have been experiencing major anxiety attacks at the grocery store, just bracing my self for when the final item has been scanned by the pimple faced snot at the register who has NO clue as to how much money I am actually spending for these 2 - 3 bags of groceries. $175.00 later I trudge from the store, deflated and beaten, for food that will only last a few days - if I'm lucky. I'm beginning to rethink the way we are handling this whole recession thing. When I actually do the math in my head (yes, I know...my head doesn't work properly), I think I can quit my job and stay home and focus all my energy on saving money, by the time I've mastered that, the money we save will be the equivalent to my salary!!! Yeah me!

While hoeing and weeding and watering the garden I pondered briefly, because when I stopped moving the horse flies would zoom in for their feast. Little bastards. Once they latch on to you, it's difficult to get them off - but makes for an interesting and humorous show for the neighbors, let me tell you. Where was I? Oh yes, I was pondering what it must have been like 200 plus years ago when woman tended to the gardening, in full dress for that period. Full length, tightly fitted dress, layers and layers of undergarments, corset. You get the picture. I was in our garden wearing shorts and a tank top and the sweat was pouring off me in buckets. I nearly passed out from dehydration, so I couldn't even imagine what it must have been like for the woman of years ago. I wouldn't have lasted a day. Surely I would have been stoned or dragged behind a horse for disrobing in the garden. I would have had all undergarments removed, skirt hiked up to my hips, shoes discarded, sleeves ripped off the damn dress - you get the picture. That would have been considered naked back in the day. I would have been the talk of the town! "Scandalous" they would all whisper in the corner of the general store. Then there is the bath once or twice a month (if you're well to do). That would have never worked for me. I would have been in the creek with my homemade lye soap every single day! Imagine people thinking you odd, not right in the head for bathing daily! Oh the shame of it all! Like I said, I would have never lasted. Me in a pond with skirts bubbling up around my lifeless body all because some townsfolk wanted to see if I was a witch for all my strange ways.

So back to the garden...it is a necessity, unfortunately because that put a little more pressure on the whole project and making it work. I'm going to research canning this year as well to make our bounty stretch into the winter months. My husband and I were sitting on the back screen porch looking out into our yard and we were discussing the ample food sources we have. Squirrels, chipmunks, humming birds.... ever try to put a humming bird into a rotisserie? Or roasting pan? It just wouldn't work. The spit is wider in diameter than the bird itself and it would fall through the rack in the roasting pan. Not to mention you'd need like 100 of them to make any kind of a meal. It almost wouldn't be worth it - oh who am I kidding, it wouldn't be worth it. Since I'm being all honest and stuff, I'm not that strong...I cry when I watch Bambi. I tried to rescue a baby bunny from a hawk in our back yard, only to have the baby bunny die and a hawk go with out it's meal. I caused an upset in a fragile ecosystem right in my own back yard.

I think is more realistic to put all my efforts into the garden and cutting coupons.....I'll let you know how that works for me.

Mothers

Happy Mother’s day to all the Moms who have given up their identities for their children. I am now either, Gabby’s Mom or Aidan’s Mom, Matt’s wife, “hey you over there!” I am an employee all day, cook and house cleaner at night, accountant when I’m not having anxiety attacks about the check book and I struggle to keep down a meal while trying to pay bills. Every now and again, when I get the courage, I navigate my way down to the basement to throw in a load of laundry only because someone has run out of underwear or socks. I don’t care what anyone says, you cannot have it all, you cannot do it all and anyone that is either is able to, or claims they are able to; well I’d like to either see their medicine cabinet, or look in their closets. They “perfect Mom” is either stocked up on Mama’s little helper, or their closets are ticking time bombs from all the crap they’ve stuffed in there to keep the appearance of tidiness and order.

Ever hear the saying “the squeaky wheel gets the oil”? That’s how it works in my house. Whatever, or whoever is making the most noise, gets the attention. For example…the heat goes out because we ran out of oil, why all bills get shoved to the side so I can buy some oil…works for me. A child gets stuck in a cobweb, I might vacuum depending on the severity. Kid is hungry, I feed them. Actually, I have to according to some law (I haven’t actually seen the law)… I believe it is our responsibility to give them a semi-clean, somewhat safe, warm place to stay, food, medical attention and clothing and our job is done. In most cases I have done all of those things, maybe not at the same time, but I do believe the children can attest to the fact that they’ve had those things at some point.

My idea of a perfect Mother’s day, is not brunch with the family (don’t get me wrong, I love brunch and omelet stations), plop me down on some deserted Island with a lawn chair and a thermos of Starbucks Sumatra and a good book (don’t forget the sunscreen – I’m very fair). I might need a sleeping bag too, because I plan on spending a couple days. I don’t want a computer, a cell phone, facebook, Internet, newspapers, TV – NOTHING! I would like to totally disconnect for 2 days. Just me, sand and ocean. No demands, no anxiety, no throwing up or dry heaving….not that I do that too often...ok, maybe the dry heaving, which I'm told by close friends and family isn't really attractive.

Any who, I certainly never knew it would be like this. There was no disclaimer to sign…no contract… nada. I didn’t get the instruction book and I won’t know for certain how much damage has actually been done until their about 45 – 50 years old and they come to my mobile home in Florida waving their stack Psychiatry bills. With any luck, I’ll have lost my marbles by then and will be in an “institution” eating pureed food and won’t understand a thing they are saying and I’ll think the stack of bills they are waving in my face are tissues. Honk.

Regardless, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Happy Mother’s Day!

No worse for wear

Well, here I am. Took me awhile and I do believe we left off with a cliff hanger....what happened to Mary, her family and guests after eating the corned beef? I'd like to say I just got home after a lengthy stay in the hospital recovering from EXTREME food poisoning... after eating the "beef" we needed to call a fleet of ambulances to come collect us all for a trip to the ER...they would have pumped our stomachs if we didn't already spew all the foulness from our bodies (the drivers are probably still cleaning out the ambulances). But, I cannot say that, because it didn't happen that way, it just would have made for a better story. Beef was delish! Everybody seemed to enjoy it and no one suffered any illness from it, that i know of. We would absolutely do it again, however, we wouldn't make so much....we were just following instructions from Julia.

The reason I haven't written in awhile, was even though I really enjoy writing. It is something that I feel comfortable doing, it makes me feel good....almost as good as a bowl of coffee ice cream with hot fudge (I'm pretty easy to please), I had to put on my Mommy hat and I had to stay focused on just that part of my life for awhile. I have two children that I adore and would gladly, without a second thought, chop off my right arm for....I also have a full time job that demands much of my attention as well, although my children and family always come first. I've pretty much made it a point not to really discuss my kids, my job or politics, but the first two have caused me great distress as of late, and here it is, in my blog for good or bad I'm not sure, but I do know it needs to come out....and here it is.

My daughter is 14, beautiful inside and out, and I look at her and wish I was more like her when I was younger. She is incredibly smart, funny and just amazing to me. I'm in awe. She has been going through a difficult time lately and I want to take it all away from her...let her know I understand exactly where she is and what she is going through because I have been in the bad place and I came through to the other side. I think the worst part of all is just not knowing what is going on in her beautiful mind and hoping we are doing the right things and making the right decisions.....because of this worry, I've been all consumed with over thinking and obsessing over everything we are doing or not doing and about the path we are on. I want to grab her and hold her tight and just hold on until everything is better and whatever pain she is going through is gone.

My son is 8, and full of life. He such a little boy and wonderful kid! He loves to play outside and I've looked out the window at him on his swing set, just swinging and singing and falling to the ground to just lie there and look up at the sky with the spring grass against his back....lying there for what seems to me like a long time, a spec in the grass, but at that moment owning the whole world, and I smile. He has Dents Disease which is a rare genetic kidney disease. While that might sound terribly scary, it is much, much better than what we originally thought he had. We thought he had FSGS which was far more serious than Dents. When his nephrologist changed the diagnosis, and we learned about Dents we were somewhat relieved. He is on medicine and it is working and we are addressing some of the side issues connected with Dents, which requires monthly urine & blood samples and just recently a 24 hour urine specimen which had to Federal Expressed from my job...the receptionist just loved when I let the "specimen" on her desk for pick up. Bottom line, I worry about him too and trying to take care of all the Dr's visits and just stay on top of things.... It is difficult. At times just exhausting.

So, these things along with a full time job have sucked me dry and all I could think about at the end of the day was going to bed to stop my mind from racing around and the furthest thing from my mind, was to write... I just couldn't.

I'm hoping things calm down a bit and I can get caught up on my everyday life...which seems to have gone to hell in a hand basket (I love that expression!). Once again the cat litter has gotten past that pivotal point of "oh, its dirty and needs to be changed" to "call the Department of Environmental Protection and tell them to wear the hazmat suits" - I believe I tend to use this as a gage for how far out of control my life tends to get. Cat litter clean - all is right with the world. Cat litter causing the paint to drip right off the walls - life is a mess. How profound and a shame the cat has to suffer for my mental issues!

With that I'll end this blog and go to bed. I will write again soon, and maybe I can find a balance between blogger and mommy?

Thank you for letting me (like anyone had a choice) emotionally vomit all over this blog.
Mary