A memorial to my uncle who died in Vietnam

[Bruce McAuley]

The following was written today, Memorial Day 2005 by my wife, Wendy, upon reflecting on her uncle, Michael Bannon Dooley, who was Special Forces, and died on Aug 25, 1968 in a NVA assault on a Special Forces outpost.

"Am I the only one left to cry?
After 4 decades have gone by?
For a young man who went to die,
in a war that still has us asking why?
Now we're at war again,
losing more of our young men.
Leaving us wondering the why of war yet again,
maybe so we won't see the aristocracy where a democracy had been.
Do we notice the homeless on the street,
While the infrastructure crumbles at our feet, while the elite run operations
profiting multi-national corporations?
War makes money for the few.
and makes people forget what they once knew:
No quarrel is worth the price
if it's our loved ones' life that must be paid
for the profits the corporations made."

Slightly tweaked by the word elf, me.

Bruce

[Eloriel]

1. Oh, no, Mrs. McAuley, you most definitely aren't the only one

left to cry. In fact, the depth of my own sorrow and anguish over the Vietnam War -- rediscovered after all these years thanks to the Iraq war -- has been a real surprise to me, and not a pleasant one.

And I'm so fucking angry: did we lose 58,282 of my brothers, my generation, only to forget ALL the lessons while the rest of us are still alive to remember, and the soldiers who are generals now are still alive to remember, and the anti-war heroes who have become the men they once protested are still alive to remember?

For me, this damn war desecrates the memory of all those who died in Vietnam precisely BECAUSE we chose to forget one of the most important lessons they gave their lives for us learn. This war is, of course, quite bad enough on its own, but this additional outrage, this desecration of the sacrifice made by my generation's war dead just sends me in a fury whenever I think about it.

And then there are so many thousands of others who died of their psychic wounds, from self-inflicted causes -- sometimes a bullet to the head, sometimes self-medicating until the body can't take it any more.

No, I'll cry about the loss of my brothers until the day I die.

It's a wonderful poem. Thank you so much for sharing it. And may your uncle -- and all of our lost loved ones -- rest in peace.