Return to Vietnam - The Memories

Stan, a Vietnam veteran who served thirteen months in Vietnam, only to continue the War after returning home. His thoughts still in turmoil, hallucinations and nightmares continued for more than 50 years. It wasn't until he was diagnosed with PTSD and received consulting from the VA that he knew that one day he might return to Vietnam. Luckily, his cousin made that happen.
This book, Return to Vietnam, documents this journey. It was November 3, 2019, and the two-week journey began. My cousin Greg and his wife, Clare, met me in Los Angeles, then on to Tokyo, and finally arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) on November 5th. We met our guide and interpreter, Giang, pronounced Yang. Every place we went, from hotels to shopping areas and various tours, we were treated with respect and welcomed. Giang made the trip enjoyable by sharing the history of his country during and after the War.
This journey wasn't about sightseeing or nostalgia. The primary mission was to find an orphanage, to returning decades later to the very ground that once held tragedy, guilt, and buried memories. Where two children died in an enemy attack, children I loved as if they were my own. Children, I ultimately had to save them from unspeakable suffering in the only way I could. I have carried that burden for over 50 years.
The trip covered a number of places, including meeting a Viet Cong (VC) soldier, touring the tunnels that the VC used to move supplies and soldiers. Visiting places that document the War, but they were more propaganda in favor of the VC. But our goal was a gripping emotional journey, tracking down the location of the orphanage, through crumbling churches and disappointments, to uncovering long-lost stories of survival and destruction, then finally confronting the trauma I had suppressed for decades. After 50 years of changes, it became difficult to locate any clues. It was November 11, 2019, which happened to be Veterans Day weekend; we eventually located a convent next to the orphanage, which was a notable difference. We found that the original orphanage was destroyed in 1974 and rebuilt in 1978.
That's when the story climaxes when I confirm with Sister Renee, the last of the living nuns from the Vietnam War. Through our conversation over two days, we found she was a school principal at the time and was located next to the orphanage. I shared with Sister Renee that when we entered the courtyard of the orphanage in 1967, we found a nun and a baby who were dead. I found that the nun was a friend of Sister Renee. I asked her about the two kids who were killed. She knew about it, but didn't know how or why. I told her that after we made our way to the main building, we took fire from the VC.
We took cover behind a rock wall that was in front of the main building. The wall was about three feet high. After a few minutes, I could hear some kids whimpering and smell the fumes from diesel fuel. I looked over the wall and saw two Viet Cong soldiers standing next to the generator building, holding the two kids: I could see an empty gas can next to them, and that's when I noticed the kids were soaking with diesel fuel. I loved them like they were my own. My heart sank to my stomach. I had a bad feeling and prayed please GOD protect the kids. Then I heard them screaming. I looked up and they were on fire. The Viet Cong was using the kids to try to get to us. I stood up and shot both, not realizing bullets were whizzing around me. I didn't care as I could not allow the two kids to die in so much pain. However, I carried that guilt for a long time, and vowing I would never father children, I felt I didn't deserve that honor—a decision I now regret.
Through this journey, I open my heart to the healing process. I received unexpected grace in a simple prayer from Sister Renee; I felt different, as if someone had lifted an elephant off my shoulders —a feeling of forgiveness. That was the beginning of the end in dealing with my horrific nightmares. Yes, I still see the faces of the kids, smiling, and still miss them, but not the horror they suffered.
Throughout the two-week journey, we also experienced an overnight cruise down the Mekong River in a sampan and learned how to cook Vietnamese food. But later, we found that one of the crew members had stolen money from Claire's bags during the cooking event, and we only discovered this days after the cruise.
We met schoolchildren in a market conducting interviews with foreigners about their impressions of Vietnam. A Vietnamese girl noticed my Vietnamese hat and asked me when I was serving. I told her, then asked if the new generation knows much about the War. She said they studied what the school wanted them to know, but she also studied books about the War and learned how the Americans and their allies were trying to gain us freedom. She asks if the American kids learn about the War. I said that, based on what my granddaughter told me, the answer was no, they didn't know the truth. Before leaving, she thanked me for my service. Wow... when I returned home in 1968, I had eggs thrown at us as we left the airport and headed to Fort Lewis for discharge.
In the book, I mention that there were two other events during my tour in Vietnam, besides the orphanage, that haunted me. One was when my friend Stewart died in my arms. I could not let that go and blamed myself every day. Why Stewart and not me? How does GOD choose who dies and who lives in War? Stewart was married and had two kids. I had none. GOD wasn't high on my list of friends.
The second one was when I killed NVA (North Vietnamese Army). I was going through his pockets, looking for intel, when I found a picture of a lady and a baby—his wife and child. I didn't feel as though I killed an enemy, but I killed a husband, father, and a dad—a human being—not a soldier. I always wondered if the baby grew up and had a family, or even knew about her dad dying. The image was just a reminder of War, and I was no longer stressed about it—maybe because of my visit with the schoolgirl in the market, who told me that the new generation of Vietnamese children has a promising future. That provided me with some solace and some peace.
The return trip to Vietnam was an invaluable healing experience, and I will be forever grateful to those who contributed time, energy, and funds to make that trip a reality. My Vietnam experience has dominated my life for over half a century, and now I believe it may be time, at last, to put that experience to rest.