My sole reason for writing this book was to attach, head-on, memories of Vietnam that have come back to ambush me after more than forty-five years. The idea of putting these memories on a pager was always there. I talked to my counselor at the V.A. about my plans to write a book. She was excited about the idea and felt it would be a great way to address my PTSD. For the next several months, I dove into the task, only to find myself repeatedly stopping, to ponder if this was something I wanted to do as the process itself was making my memories more vivid instead of helping them to fade. But after days of doing nothing on the book, I would start again, putting memories into short stories, which would eventually become part of the book. Sometimes, days or weeks would go by when I didn’t add a word to paper, but even these attempts to escape the memories didn’t help, and vivid images and memories of Vietnam would come and go, haunting my days and nights. The most challenging aspect of tackling this project was the idea of sharing it with others. I didn’t think I would print a copy or even let family or friends read it, and the idea of publishing was not even a remote possibility—just a crazy idea. However, as I continued to move forward, trying to complete this task, people in my group session at the combat center and family members began requesting copies once I had finished. My fear was that if I wrote honestly and completely about events that were so personal, I might not want to share them. People tend to take what they read, turn it into something totally different from what was intended, and then attach it to their understanding. I wasn’t sure I wanted to open myself up to that kind of criticism or deal with bullshit than necessary. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that perhaps an essential part of the writing process was stopping the relentless march of images and emotions. Be willing to share those experiences with others and let them go so that I can be free of their stranglehold and move on.
I knew that if I decided to share this story, I would do so in the hope that other veterans from other wars might gain the courage to share their experiences as well—adventures that may have been hidden or buried for much too long and continue to maim and destroy from the inside out. War is a nasty business, and the people who survive don’t always survive the battles with their own demons once they return home.
I know one day I will return to Vietnam. I require myself to visit those places that have become embedded in my memories, both in bad dreams and in remembrance, that I never want to forget. People ask me why I would like to return to a place that thoughts and memories have controlled for so long, and my answer is, Why not? Why not go back and face those memories and places head-on that have stayed with me for over 45 years? The bottom line is that, at some point, one needs to find peace, whether it be in life or death. I don’t expect anyone to understand that—unless they, too, have faced those fears and had to choose between life and death.
The title of the book—You Are Never Alone—came to me toward the end of my first draft. Throughout my experiences, both during the war and after, there were many times I felt depressed and alone. But I realized, during those early years and many times since, that I was not alone; God, my angel, and my comrades have always had my back. That has afforded me tremendous comfort and strength.
This book are my experiences of the Vietnam War, beginning with my induction into the U.S. Army and concluding with my homecoming twenty-two months later. Some names in this memoir have been changed, except for my own and those mentioned in the chapter titled “Retreat.” The dialogue helped to weave the story together and is pretty much as I remember it. The events in this story are as accurate as I can make them, considering it has been almost 50 years since I was in Vietnam. My wish for the reader is to understand that the veterans from the Vietnam War didn't have time to adjust before being home. One day you were in a battle, three or four days later you were back home. The War came home with them.