Deployed home—no more exciting words for military family members. As an 11-year-old child in 1969, I was told that my beloved Uncle Billy was coming home from his second tour of duty as an army signal corpsman in Vietnam. During his first tour of duty, it seemed to me that he was only on a short vacation learning how to ski in Colorado and ice skating with the famous Peggy Fleming. I promise he insisted that he had a date with her (where they ice skated). I soon learned the truth and reality that being in Vietnam was drastically different from state side service. Every evening as the nightly news came on during supper time, my daddy insisted that no one talk so he could hear reports of the casualties and war activities. This was a stressful time one that I’m sure is probably more compounded today with 24/7 news availability through so many media forms. At the time, we craved news, but now I understand how then no news was good news.
When my parents told their four daughters that Uncle Billy was coming home, I initially thought my parents meant that he was coming home for a short visit and would have to return to Vietnam. My parents and grandmother assured me that this time his arrival home was different as he was coming home “for good.” I was skeptical, but immediately began to plan how I would be the first one to see him. Being the second born of four daughters, I always aspired to be the first or the best at whatever I tried to do. I would be the first one to see him! Now how was an 11-year-old child going to make that happen? So, I went to my thinking tree, the great big mimosa tree in our front yard. My tree often served as a refuge to escape from three sisters, one of those a special needs sibling with a pugnacious personality, and where I would read books or just think. While thinking about my self-imposed challenge of how I had to be the first one to see my Uncle Billy when he came home, I peered high off from my perch in the mimosa tree and soon realized that I was sitting in the answer to my dilemma. I’d climb my mimosa tree on the day that Uncle Billy was scheduled to come home so I could be the one to first see the car as it made its way from the high point of the street we lived on aptly named High Point Drive. So on the appointed day, April 1969, I couldn’t wait until I got home from school. The school bus ride home seemed longer than normal.
Despite being told that his arrival was still a couple of hours later, I went immediately to my tree, climbed up, and waited and waited. Unfortunately, his arrival home was delayed due to a mechanical problem with the plane. I had to be “dragged” out of the tree. I was not happy! My plan had failed. I hardly slept at all that night wondering when I would see him. The next day word came through a telephone call to my grandmother’s house that Uncle Billy’s plane was diverted back to Mississippi and his arrival time was as yet unknown. So, I went to my mimosa tree and sulked, cried, and generally expressed my hurt and disappointment. My tree “listened” and brought comfort to an otherwise inconsolable child. After two days of angst, I was worn out and sleep came easy. I awakened the next morning to learn that Uncle Billy had indeed arrived home in the middle of the night and that I was NOT the first one to see him. Understandably, his mother, my grandmother and my daddy got that honor—they deserved it. I learned that it didn’t matter that I didn’t see him first. Once I saw his smiling face, I was simply happy to have him home and secure in knowing he was safe from the far away mystery of Vietnam and the fear and angst that the nightly news reports gave of casualties.
For the next forty years, he was a strong influence in my life challenging me to be first in my love of God, family, country, and always for my Uncle Billy. Six years ago on October 22, 2009, Uncle Billy, flew to his Heavenly reward after an eleven year battle with cancer. No one fought harder to beat cancer and the ravages of Agent Orange that he did. I’m happy he’s free from the effects of post-traumatic stress too which at the time of his deployment home in 1969 was unknown, untitled, and horribly misunderstood. I’m looking forward to seeing him again one day healed from that horrible malady and the ravages of cancer. I won’t care if I’m not the first one to see him this time, just so I get to.
Article by Brenda H. Truelove, M.A, program manager at Bama At Work. Her training and development training portfolio with the College of Continuing Studies includes the manufacturing and technology sectors with special emphasis on Maintenance and Supply Chain Management for industries and service professionals. She is also the Program Manager in charge of the Service Member to Civilian Summit.
This testimonial is the third one we received in our #DeployedHome campaign. #DeployedHome is an effort created by Bama At Work to help share the stories of returning veterans and how they have made it through their struggles. This campaign is part of the Service Member to Civilian Summit’s effort to bring together service members, veterans, their families, and community stakeholders to meet with advocates, researchers, clinicians, educators, and policymakers from around the nation, They want to better understand and explore ways that all stakeholders can improve the transition from military service to civilian life.Through the use of #DeployedHome we hope that many of these veterans will see how their fellow soldiers have made it through and can see that they aren’t alone in this battle. If you are interested in participating, you can also submit your transition stories on our website militarytransition.ua.edu .
We invite veterans to tell us their story using #DeployedHome on Facebook and/or Twitter. We want to let our veterans know they are not alone, and there is still hope for them to overcome any challenge they may be facing.
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