To my dear long-dead brother on Memorial Day 2013:
Once again, time to honor your memory with my words. You were only 20 years old when you left for Viet Nam and then came back in a box covered with thick glass. I could see you lying there in your dress uniform, with medals on your chest, but I couldn't touch you. They said the glass was because you died of "jungle fever" which could be contagious. Later, we tried and failed, over and over, to find our why you were awarded a purple heart and the bronze star if all you did was fall over dead on a combat mission in a swamp.
How determined you were to become a soldier. It was like a lifetime dream of yours, and when they turned you down due to high blood pressure, you carved off 50 pounds and got your BP down so they finally let you enlist. Life had been harsh for you and I'd never seen you looking so happy and proud as when you stood tall in your dress uniform; you actually glowed. All you ever wanted was to serve your country.
You would be 67 years old now. You would have had 47 more years of life to live. I would have had 47 more years to be your sister. My kids would have had 47 more years of having the loving Uncle you were. You would have had children of you own to love and be loved by. You might have even fulfilled your dream of being a famous chef some day.
But most of your life was un-lived, because you loved your country so much you were willing to give your life for it. As did so many thousands of others, in a war that should never have been.
I've done my best to move past the anger. I can never get past it all. Not when I have to watch today's willing young people being marched off to the middle east and coming home in boxes, or without limbs, or healthy brains. They all seem to have your face, to me.
What I can and do honor is your courage. And your commitment . You truly believed that was a justifiable war, and that you were defending the country you loved.
I just want you, and all others who have died in wars, to know you are not forgotten. I have kept you with me in memory for every one of those 47 years that were taken from us. Sometimes, I still feel so close to you I think I can smell your aftershave.
I also hope it's true that once we cross over, we get to see each other again, because I'm getting seriously old and that day is drawing closer. Oh, baby brother, I am going to hug you SO HARD!!