A Letter to the Grieving

Grandpa Harve, Mama's stroke-disabled father, sat nearby in a lawn chair. A white-woven hat and green-lensed sunglasses shielded his eyes.

I don't know if he was watching us or the military jeep headed up the entrance to Slaughters' Trailer Court in Rogersville, Tenn.

I can remember endless details of that day, yet, trying with all my might, I still cannot recall the exact moment when the soldier told us that Daddy had been blown up in the battlefields of Vietnam. I hear with aching clarity the wails Frankie made as he punched the walls of that trailer and the sobs of my mama as she walked up and down the hallway, pleading, "Why me, God?"

You might be wondering the same thing: Why you? Why your parent? Why your family? It's normal to ask, but, trust me, there isn't an answer that will ease the ache in your gut. Or the anger and frustration that such a loss ignites. Mine was the first generation of children to have war blasted into the living room each night. And, like many of you, I lacked the tools to articulate the confusion I felt as I watched it unfold. So, I retreated to a place of woundedness and began to self-destruct. First out of fear, then anger, then sheer rebellion. At 17, desperate for male attention of any sort, I became pregnant and had an abortion. Frankie was just as confused. He tried to numb the hurt with alcohol then drugs. That only created more problems.

Once she was handed that flag Mama never spoke of Daddy. As a child I resented that. I needed to hear his name, Dave, the way I'd heard it every single day of my life until then. But I was afraid such talk would hurt Mama or Frankie or Linda. Decades passed before our family learned there was healing in talking. The friends I made at Sons & Daughters in Touch and the veterans I've befriended have encouraged me honor my father's memory. They don't ridicule my tears. They don't prod me to find closure. I don't miss my father less with each passing year, I'm simply more aware of all the life he's missed. You don't need closure.

You just need acceptance.