Facing the Wall - Reflections

By Elizabeth Suita

On a beautiful Fall Day in1966 Elizabeth and Sam said their, I dos ~ day one of their happily forever. February 1968 the date their lives would be changed forever. Sam was deployed to Vietnam. Upon his return, he was not the same person. It took many years to realize he physically returned from Vietnam but his spirit was lost forever.

The life experience of 53 years plus continues to this day. It is truly a never-ending journey with: hopefulness, joys and sadness. Only armed with faith and love of her husband-Elizabeth and her family were able to move forward on the most challenging days.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669867449

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Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Suita.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/14/2023

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CONTENTS

Author’s Message to The Readers

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1Memories

Chapter 2Alone

Chapter 3Special Times

Chapter 4Farewells

Chapter 5Emotions

Chapter 6Hope

Chapter 7The Same

Chapter 8Going Back in Time

Chapter 9A Revelation

Chapter 10Face to Face

Chapter 11Compassionate Support

Chapter 12An Uncertain Chapter

Chapter 13Tomorrow Comes

Chapter 14After The Wall

Addendum

AUTHOR’S MESSAGE

TO THE READERS

Many of our Vietnam veterans never spoke of their war experience. They were reluctant to talk about it because of the ramifications’ of having served in Vietnam. It would take many years for our Vietnam Veterans to be welcomed home ~ for many it would be too late.

As a result of their silence for years, it resulted in a mental injury (PTSD). PTSD is not new.

It has been known since the beginning of wars-under assorted names throughout the years. It wasn’t til our Vietnam Veteran made a lot of noise-it was officially given a name.

In years gone by, our troops came home in ships. Most times it took days maybe weeks to return home. They had the chance to talk with their fellow veterans about their experiences. Because of technology, the Vietnam Veterans traveled alone where at home within a day or two from the war zone-In my opinion was detrimental to their mental health.

This book is

dedicated:

To my husband and my sons

Welcome Home

To All Veterans

And

Appreciation to loved ones waiting

for their return

God Bless America ~ Always Respect The Flag

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The Black Wall Sliced into The Earth

PREFACE

To present this, I have meticulously delved into myself. I have searched back into my experiences and thought out each word and phrase. My aspiration is: for the reader to feel as I do, to see by means of words, a picture of how it is living with a victim of trauma.

This book is about my husband, my boys ~ our journey with the legacy of war. Intertwining the present with the past, I want you to feel the trials and the lessons of my husband’s battle with demons (PTSD) after his return from Vietnam.

My wish is that after reading our story, readers dealing with trauma will identify with many of the emotions and issues associated with the aftermath of a devasted incident in your life ~ be it war or other pain. My prayer is that all who read it ~ will find understanding and compassion for victims of both emotional and physical torment~ maybe even help you.

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Path way to the wall

PROLOGUE

Passage

The time is near. It is 1989, twenty years after his return from the Vietnam War. We are approaching the entrance to The Wall, a memorial that has carved into granite the names of our Vietnam veterans lost in war and dedicated to the service of our surviving patriots. We are four couples searching for closure for the personal tragedy of the Vietnam War.

We are here now in Washington, DC, ~ within walking distance of The Wall. The moment of truth is upon us.

Our reason for coming today is very significant. I must believe it will be the beginning of the healing process for my veteran. It is time for him to face his demons. What will happen today? Will it be something good? Will the healing process begin at last? Can my husband deal with his feelings? Will he show any emotions? So many questions with no answers, but the time for response—good, bad, or indifferent—is here.

My desire is that the outcome will be good and he will come back home. Be here, not only in body, but also in spirit—really be here for the first time since he returned from Vietnam.

My husband is a Nam vet, as these veterans prefer to be called. Since his return from Vietnam, he has suffered from flashbacks and nervousness and has been unable to hold a job. He does not trust very many people. There are many times when he will not even believe me. He also cannot show any emotion or affection toward his two sons or me. So, you may say that we are on a mission to find a soul lost in Vietnam.

He and I are here with George and Carol, John and Sharon, and Steve and Amanda (three other couples who share our problem). Sam and I are older than the other couples. The wives all move and speak tentatively, looking cautiously at their husbands and worrying about what their reactions would be. Their veteran husbands all remind me of my husband not in their appearance, but in their withdrawn silence and their stiff movements. Even the sun and the air have a strange quality and are hovering nervously over the scene. We have traveled from Maine to DC, to see The Wall, it was many miles away. Now we are here at The Wall. Slowly, everyone leaves the safety of their vehicles to approach their past. I am extremely anxious and concerned for my husband. It is a big step he is taking today. I do not worry about myself for I am the strong one in my family. I feel I can handle anything.

After all, I am and have been the breadwinner in our family for twenty years. I can take care of my husband and children; it is no problem. My husband has been in so much pain and suffering, physically and mentally since returning from Vietnam, and he deserves some relief. Despite all my strengths, I too feel the scars of war. Whatever pain he feels, I must share. We have heard that The Wall helps the healing process. I pray this is true for both our sakes and that of our sons. It is with great dread and hope that I am making this journey with my husband. I ask myself, Will the mending really start today? Will I have my prewar husband back again?

For the vets, there are counselors to help them. They have been here before. I am glad they have a lifeline. Nam vets themselves are aware of the feelings that one would experience upon approaching The Wall for the first time. The counselors move and speak with a quiet confidence that tells me they have made friends with their inner self. They give me hope.

When we finally arrive near The Wall to approach it, I can feel and see my husband getting extremely edgy. I feel as he feels, and I know what he is thinking. I know he is scared. I notice he is wearing his white tee shirt as he did in the military; in fact, most of the men are wearing their shirts in a similar way. Since he had been in the Marine Corps, Matt has always done that. When he goes to the VA Hospital for checkups, I notice he wears his tee shirt that same way, my guess the soldierly decree. What a strange awareness to notice at such an important moment like this! My mind must be diverting me away by pursuing trivia. How much harder it must be for him!

Ever so slowly, we start the walk toward the memorial. I notice how obscure the path is; then I see a wire fence and the trees that line the pathway. All at once, the black granite wall appears out of the earth, challenging us with its austere message.

Then I recall seeing a large, much-used book at the beginning of the walkway. I think maybe it will help us to understand what each panel represents. We return to the beginning of the path. It is but a short reprieve for him. When I read the directory, I find out that each black granite panel is engraved with names of servicemen who were killed in action. The book also lists the month and year of their deaths. Their names (all 58,196) are listed in the order that their deaths occurred. The Wall begins in the month of July 1959 with the first casualty and ends in May 1975, when the last casualty occurred. The starting point for the panels is at the vertex (center and highest ground), which rises to a height of ten feet. Near the book, there are small, tissue-thin pieces of paper. On each sheet is the beginning and ending date of The Wall engraved on them.

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These papers are placed next to the directory, so when a relative or friend comes to The Wall to locate the name of a loved one or someone they may have known, or just maybe to get a sense of the memorial’s meaning, they are able to make an impression of a name on The Wall by rubbing the paper with a pencil gently over the name. It creates a special memento—bringing home a name as it is engraved on the shiny black granite—almost like bringing home a special memento of one of the heroes listed on The Wall.

Picking up one of these papers, I start writing all the months he was in Vietnam. The first month I jot is February 1968 when he first arrived. I want these dates in case he mentions a certain month or a name of one of his fellow Marines he knew that was killed. With this information, I will be able to help my husband locate the correct Vietnam Memorial panel. One of the dates is Mother’s Day, May 12, 1968. He had confided in me previously that it was the date of one of the worst battles of the war. They lost many men that day. (Many years later, I read that May 1968 was the time of the second TET Offensive. This battle was bloodier than the first.) Jim had said, Imagine all those mothers being told on Mother’s Day that their sons or husbands had been killed in the war.

The irony of this is that our first son and namesake was baptized on that very day—Mother’s Day in 1968. Funny, I was feeling so blessed on that day, having our son baptized on Mother’s Day—the very day he was in Vietnam losing many comrades. Until this moment, I never made the connection. It helps me appreciate why for all these years he has avoided recognizing Mother’s Day. It is just another step in the long process of understanding my suffering husband.

We start walking toward The Wall. The other vets and their wives are a short distance ahead of us. As we approach, we can tell that it’s unique. I am sure everyone can feel a change. I am suddenly unaware of the noise of the traffic on the highways or the closeness of airplanes landing at a nearby airport. The experience can only be described as the sensation you get when you walk through the door at a wake. It is a feeling that you cannot really describe, I cannot imagine anyone not being affected by it.

As we continue walking toward The Wall, everyone is solemn. They are quiet and filled with heartfelt respect. I can both hear and feel the deep silence. I can sense the sacredness of the place, as if the spirits of our dead where present.

At this point, my husband is looking around the area, carefully avoiding The Wall. He is taking some pictures with his camcorder. It is a beautiful day in early fall, but I am sure he is not aware of it. I can tell he is very fearful and uneasy. I can tell that he is trying not to see or visit his past. He is purposely turning his head away from it, busying himself with something else, anything else. This is usually how he handles a difficult situation when he does not want or cannot face. If he were at home, he would lie down on the couch, face the wall, and go to sleep. I always thought it was the way he detached himself from reality. The sad result is that when he detaches himself from the pain of war, he loses touch with everything. Once again, the boys are without their dad in their life.

In an effort for his attention, I start reading the list I had written ~ the year and month each panel of names represents. After all, we are here to see if facing The Wall helps; it is something we must try. The first panel I mention to him is February 1968. He looks at the panel with no reaction, and he walks on. The next date I say is March 1968—still no response, just a quick glance. He reacts in the same way to April 1968. I then say May 1968 to my husband.

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He looks at the black panel, and his head drops to his chest. He starts crying uncontrollably. I have always heard that a Vietnam veteran does not dare cry for fear that once he starts, he would be unable to stop. I find out that this is true.

While sobbing, my husband runs thirty or forty feet away from The Wall and cannot face it again. I am unable to comfort him. I try to touch him, but he pushes me away. I try to talk to him, and he says, Leave me alone. As usual, he is not open to my words of comfort. I am very concerned for his anxiety. I cannot comfort him.

At this moment, I notice Lance, one of the counselors, sitting on a bench. I ask him to talk to my husband. He walks toward him. There is nothing I can do or say, but the counselor, being a Nam vet himself, will be able to help. He surely is more capable of giving support to him than I am. They are at least, at some level, on the same wavelength. Nam’s vets have a special communication with each other. I have seen it many times. It is in the eyes. Generally, the vets do not have to say anything. They just understand and accept each other. I must say, after these many years, I usually can pick out a Nam vet. It is the look in their eyes; they, without exception, have the same look of unhappiness and suffering—a faraway look. Every time I see this look in a Nam vet’s eyes, I just want to hold him in my arms and say, Welcome home, you are safe.

Lance slowly approaches him, when he is standing just a few feet from The Wall. Without betraying his own emotions, he gently leads him to a nearby park bench and sits down next to him quietly. I watch the pain in his eyes and I am become aware that his look of fear and terror are slowly fading. Lance continues to speak and my husband starts to relax. Thank God, Lance is helping him.

After he talks to him and settles him down somewhat, Lance comes to me. He explains that he has handled The Wall in a healing way. His explanation is that it is good, the first time, to feel emotions as my husband has had. He explains to me that his next visit to The Wall, because of the loss of his comrades, will be in anger about the war. Lance tells me that this is all part of the healing process. He explains that after some time, he will come back and actually feel like he is visiting friends.

Earlier, when I walked with him, I remembered that while looking directly at The Wall, I saw reflections. It felt as if someone was looking at me from within the granite wall. I grasped what it meant when Lance said, A place to visit his comrades.

He stays sitting on the bench after Lance leaves. I walk over to him and try to talk to him. He turns his head away, but not before I see that he still has tears in his eyes. As I gaze at my husband, I notice that something has attracted his attention. I turn to see what it is. It is a group of young men in uniform paying their respects to The Wall. He says very quietly, Look how young they are! I know that he is thinking of the boys of the same ages eighteen and nineteen who lost their lives in Vietnam. He