I was so embarrassed when I returned home from my tour of duty in Vietnam that I did all I could do to avoid being recognized as a Marine. I had seen so much yet I could tell so little. I liken it to what happens when you come upon a horrible accident just as it happened or if you were in one yourself. By telling someone what you saw it validates that you actually saw it. Not that I wanted to tell people all of what I saw but I now know that it would've helped to have shared certain things at the minimum.

That wasn't the case for me and thousands of other Vietnam Vets. I buried my experience and never spoke a word, at the risk of shaming myself in public.

In the meantime I wrestled with deep emotions as I tried to make a new life. I hardly ever thought about my service over the next 10 years but I always felt a sort of hum in the back of my brain. Like white noise or maybe it was "dark noise". It never really stopped and I never wanted to find out what it was. I ignored anything to do with military groups or celebrations or gatherings or anything like that. I just wanted to be totally disassociated with all of it.

One day Christine saw on the news that they were dedicating the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington DC. Against my strong resistance she urged me to attend and asked my parents to go along. I had no expectations or even the slightest idea of what the whole event was.

We started strolling through the grounds and noticed a huge crowd in one particular area of the Mall. It was obvious that something big was gathering there so we headed in that direction and saw this long black polished granite wall with thousands of names on it. We were about 100 feet away and the last thing I wanted to do was get close to it. But, we all made our way to one end, following a stream of people passing slowly by each black panel. Some laying flowers, others scraping names with a pencil on paper over the name. It was so powerful it is indescribable.

And then we took the walk along the Wall. I came upon the very first panel, a sliver with only about 10 names on it. The next one was larger and contained maybe 50 names, then the next, much larger. I'm tearing up right now as I write this. In fact, I'm really sobbing profusely. Need to take a break........

It was the slowest, most painful stroll I ever took in my life. There were over 10,000 people there and the silence hurt so much, I'm weeping again right now........

We passed the names, thousands of names. We were given a guidebook with the names and where to find them on the wall. I couldn't do it. I just looked at the names. Thousands and thousands of names, each one with a family in excruciating pain. The Wall was designed to reflect the viewer's image as he or she read the names. I couldn't look at myself in the reflection.

We eventually got to the end and I was so emotionally drained I could hardly stand. I had nothing to say to Christine or my parents and there was little they could say to me. What the hell could be the right thing to say?

We walked several yards away from the wall toward the middle of the growing crowd. Still absolutely no noise. The dedication ceremony was drawing near and the crowd really began to swell. It was huge and packed, everyone standing very closely together.

Then, from somewhere over to the left side of the crowd a loud voice began to shout. "They killed us all". "They ruined our lives". From over to the right side someone else rebutted with, "We left too soon. They gave up".

As controversial as the war was, there were hard feeling between the veterans themselves. It began to spur more and more anti-war and pro-war comments. It began to completely pollute the mood. I was getting sick to my stomach and asked to leave.

Just as we began turning to make our way out through this sea of humanity, the voice of the man next to me began singing all alone, "Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain".

We stopped for a second and adjacent to the man were friends, apparently singers in a military band, who joined in on the second line, "For purple mountain majesty, above the fruited plain". The next line drew a hundred people in the immediate area to sing in the most beautiful harmony, "America. America, God shed his grace on thee." It spread quickly way out into the crowd, instantly drowning out the shouting, all in one massive chorus, "And crown thy good with brotherhood", my emotions were so overwhelming I shivered while I sang... "from sea to shining sea."

They started singing the 2nd verse and the crowd listened intensely, even though it was low in volume. And by the time it came around to "America, America" all 30,000 people in the crowd sang in unison. I mean in unison as if joined in one voice that spoke to me in the most healing way. I sang to the top of my lungs with tears flowing down harder than I ever cried before.

I never stayed for the ceremony but did watch the parade from the sidelines. I just couldn't march myself. I had such a low self image of my involvement and the things I had done, there was no way I could accept thanks or be celebrated for it. I left for home after completely forgiving the government, the enemy, the protesters, the naysayers, and yes, even myself. I really felt like I came home that day and I thank Christine for having the courage to coax me into going. It changed the direction of my life forever.

I shot the video below to document three of the most riveting minutes I have ever filmed. Hopefully, you will share this story to inspire or give hope to others who may struggle with forgiving egregious acts or with the demons of war. 

Years later my older brother Jim sent me an incredible song he wrote and recorded about how vets were treated returning home from Vietnam. He surprised me with this on Veterans Day and I'm honored to have it. Hopefully, this will help other vets reckon with their experiences as I did. Please share this with others. Thank you!