The Untold Casualties of War

War killed more than my husband.

January 11, 1969.  I was almost twenty and Doug was nearly 22 when we exchanged our vows and put our wedding rings on. 

Months later, when he was notified that he would go to Nam, it had been a huge blow, something we resented.  It was both an intrusion and a heartbreak, but something we had to grudgingly accept.  It took a lot of tears and talking, but together we came to a decision.

Doug would be on loan for a year.  Out of a lifetime of happiness, it would only be one year.  We could do that and he could do so much good for our side as a combat medic. 

I would do what I could here at home.  I would donate blood when the Bloodmobile was in town, and donate my time in the children’s room at the public library.

I would also continue to help Doug’s mom and dad cope with his absence.  They said they would feel closer to him with me there, so I agreed to stay with them every other week, even though they lived in the same town as my parents.

At the end of that year, though, it would be our turn.  We would resume our married life and it would be a good life, a wonderful, beautiful life.  No more letters that only promised happiness.  We both clung to that thought as though it was a life raft and in a way, it was.

And then suddenly, it was September. I felt like I had fallen into a deep well with no way to climb out.  This was not how our story was supposed to go.  It was 1969 and I was a young widow when I was really a new bride, a newlywed. 

How could my story be finished when it only just started? I barely had any time at all as a wife.

Doug had only been gone four months but it seemed like forever. I was working every day as a secretary in a manufacturing plant two blocks from my parents’ house.

The army sedan came with two officers on the 13^th to report Doug had been killed in the line of duty on September 5^th, a full week before. 

I don’t know how I could have functioned during that time without both Mama and Daddy to help. My brain had turned to pea soup and I couldn’t put a full sentence together.  I could only keep asking “Why?”

It was a heartbreaking time for more reasons than just the obvious.  I must have been in shock, because I remember so little about those first few weeks –-only what I’ve been told years later. Even now, parts of it remain a blur.

Mama stepped in right away. She went with me to talk to the funeral director to make arrangements; she helped me write the obituary for the local newspaper; and helped by setting up appointments with the different Army departments who needed to talk with me.

In between, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other or even form an unscripted thought.  My world had collapsed and I was part of the debris that surrounded me at every turn.

The thought that kept surfacing was how this was not how we planned it would go.  He was on loan for a year.  That was all it was ever supposed to be, a loan.  Nothing more.  Life had been greedy and unfair.  It took everything from us.  I couldn’t breathe.

Thank God for my parents.  There were so many people who needed something from me, i.e., the Army was sending someone to present medals. The newspaper also wanted to be there; someone else from the Army needed to talk about insurance and benefits; and the funeral home called every day wanting to know if we heard when Doug’s body would arrive at the airport from Vietnam and which of his combat friends would accompany his body home.

Mama knew I would eventually be sending out thank you notes. She made lists of who brought what food dish to the house and listed who each sympathy card was from with addresses from the envelopes.

Daddy helped immensely. He ran interference when Jehovah’s Witnesses made disparaging remarks about war and wouldn’t leave.  He also got involved when Doug’s father came to argue with an Army Rep. His father felt Doug’s medals should be presented to the parents instead of his widow. The Army disagreed and because he was so angry, they asked him to leave.

Doug’s father also argued with another Army Rep that the insurance payout should go to the parents. “He was our son longer than he was her husband!” Doug and I had only been married for four months when he had to leave for Nam. 

Daddy told the Army Rep how in the car on the way to the airport the day he left, Doug had mentioned to all of us that changing the beneficiary on his life insurance was the only thing he hadn’t had time to take care of. 

Doug’s father assured him that nothing was going to happen and if anything did, he was sure the Army would take care of it because they would see he was married.

The Army insisted that his father respect his son’s wishes and give up beneficiary rights since Doug was married.  There was an argument and my father had to step in to keep it from coming to blows.  It was decided that the beneficiary status would not be rescinded, but it would be split 50/50.  Daddy again had to ask Doug’s father to leave.

Daddy also intervened when Doug’s parents wanted wedding gifts back. “Doug would want us to have them.  They were married such a short time --January to September! They didn’t even have any children!” 

In so many ways, those days were more than hurtful.  They were devastating and it was so unnecessary.  I was made to feel like I was so much more than a daughter-in-law when he was alive. When we buried Doug, I felt as though they had buried me, as well.

I have come to understand that grief can change good people, sometimes for the worst, and grief did change Doug’s parents.  It took many years, but I was finally able to forgive them.

I can’t think of anything more my parents could have done to show their love support. They were wonderful, just like they had always been my whole life.  I am certain I couldn’t have made it through those days without them.

Just for the record, I would have loved for Doug and I to have had a child …

Poet/Writer/Author of 5 books.
Quora Top Writer 2018.
CJ’s World is reader supported.
If you enjoy reading my work, please,
be a paid subscriber so I can continue 
writing.  Thank you!