How many vets can relate to the author’s story and have followed in his footsteps? Help is available and only good will come of it.

By Perry Walker

The plane thumped hard against the tarmac, and a loud cheer erupted down the aisles. We were safe, we were home. After 13 months staring into the blackness of night, shivering in the cold, or sweltering in the heat. Of hunger and thirst, and shaking with every sound, or shadow. And last, the feeling of tears running down our cheeks as we watched helicopters lift our friends to safety, or to their final trip home.
We shuffled toward the door, the smell of California smog filling our nostrils, and the sun still hiding below the San Gabriel mountains. Some of the men dropped to their knees at the bottom of the stairs. Relief on their faces, some with tears streaming down their cheeks. Vietnam was behind us. Our lives were ours.

The expectation of starting our lives anew, of College life, and of families, wives, and children. That life was in front of us. We were sure the world we left behind would be the world we came home to. ‘I can honestly say not one person aboard that aircraft had any idea of how much baggage we brought home.’

A thirty-day pass greeted us when we stepped off the plane. In a short time, I was home, visiting with family and friends, sharing laughter and barbecue. The backyard was full of faces and smiles. Everyone anxiously waited to hear “what was it like?” Then, I watched their eyes go glassy and dart away. Nobody really cared, and if they did, they didn’t understand. So the silence began to slowly surround me.

Three weeks into my leave I was sitting at the breakfast table, my sister still in bed, the dog under foot waiting for scraps. ‘Have I changed? Why are people afraid of me? Am I different?‘ My Mother stared at me, slowly lowered her coffee cup to the saucer. She looked down, bit her lip, then quietly said, “You’re not the person that left us, you will be ok, give it time.” I felt hurt, like I had let them down. ‘Was I supposed to show remorse? Apologize?’ I was scared, I wanted to run.

It didn’t change, though I learned to cope, or not talk about Vietnam. I pushed it to the recesses of my mind. I survived….. Until…

Twenty years rolled by, and the nightmares of Vietnam occasionally visited me. Now, they became nightly haunts. I had no idea what was happening to me, so I started seeing doctors. I tried in vain to explain the problems; test after test came back negative. My fears began to show at work, and symptoms affected me there. On one occasion, my wife and I were sitting in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. She hesitantly passed over a magazine and, in a quiet voice, said, “This is you!” I read the article, “PTSD and Veterans.” We arrived home that afternoon, and I started searching the yellow pages for counseling. The VA offered help for Vets. That was thirty-eight years ago.

To this day, I remember sitting in the outer office waiting to see my first counselor, scared to death. Since then, with their help, I’ve learned that crying is not something to be ashamed of, that guilt and regret can be forgiven, and understanding your pain helps to control it. The Vet center has offered me tools to help control my PTSD, someone to talk to, and group meetings with other Vets to share my pain. Ways to express my feelings, such as writing and talking to outside groups. Or just meeting vets that suffer as I do.

I thank the Veterans Center for providing counselors to hear me, new ideas to cope, and a shoulder to cry on, but most of all…Someone to not look away.

To learn more about PTSD, goto https://www.ptsd.va.gov/

The author has contributed other articles to this website. To read more, go to the magnifying glass at the top right of this page, type PERRY WALKER in the search box, and hit enter. All his articles will appear in a drop-down menu.

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