Family Ties

I'm an only child, a victim of a war. My "siblings" left me to live life without them. Our relationship was not of blood, but yet in one sense it was blood…and sweat and tears.

We bonded during basic training and then found ourselves in combat, walking through rice paddies. On patrol, choppers passed over. We heard gunfire and knew Vietcong were near.

Then POP-POP-POP, the shit storm hit, and several men fell dead. We looked at one another to confirm we were alive, and exchanged signals to meet up once it was over.

Then we headed towards our pick-up point just as all hell broke loose. The blast of an explosion tossed me back into a ditch.

When I raised up and saw the mess, the blast site, and the smoke, I called out to my buddies. But there was no answer. They were gone; I was alone.

Evacuation took me to Da Nang, then stateside, where I was discharged. My brothers gone, I was an orphan. Do I miss them? Sure, I do.

But they’re not dead because I will not let them, for their spirits dwell inside my heart.  They're part of me. They're family, they're my brothers.

I have often wondered if, when that shell hit and took their lives, they realized they were in heaven. Did they do a headcount? Did they wonder where I was?

I smile and speculate that they assumed I went to hell. But one day, though, we'll meet again, and knowing them, my soldier brothers, we’ll kick ass all over heaven!