By the Grace of God: Chapter 9

Someone to recognize the man instead of the disability, see a partner not a wheelchair

Veterans throughout history have found it difficult to cope with civilian life. They turn to suicide as their final chance at peace. In their quest to quiet their demons and shed the mental and emotional anguish torturing them, they lose themselves and their families.

The public believed veteran suicides to be isolated incidents, tragedies that happened to those who couldn’t cope.

The propaganda put out by the military supported that theory. No one wanted to believe it was as widespread a problem as it was or that it happened as often as it did.

The veterans’ experiences in war zones made it difficult for them to assimilate back into civilian life, which made it difficult for them to cope.

The red tape and bureaucratic bullshit their government forced the veterans to wade through to get what they owed them bogged the veterans down further. It all worked against their survival instinct and sometimes, too many times, suicide was the only way to ease their pain.

Never having suffered a level of depression or desperation that precipitated suicide attempts, I considered myself one of the lucky ones.

Their pain was not unfamiliar to me, I understood it, but lived it in a different capacity in my life. To say I was blessed seemed inadequate.

The way these veterans presented their memories to me enabled me to live the war in a way most people could never imagine. I realized how lucky I was to live the life I did.

My life was the gift given to me by veterans such as Chappy, Roy, Loo and their Canadian counterparts. Veterans who served before, during, and after Vietnam. They fought so I could live free, decide for myself and choose the life I wanted. I wish more people saw that.

It was important for me to tell them that. They needed to hear they still impacted civilian lives.

I can tell you both that I am in awe of your strength and fortitude regarding your service in Vietnam. The veterans brought to me, including yourselves, have immersed me in their memories of that war. It has been an irreplaceable experience. I only wish I could help take away your pain. To watch those experiences affecting you the way they still do, decades later, hurts my heart. It hurts even more knowing that the government you served inflicted that pain and suffering on you, often aware of what they were doing.

Sad smiles on their faces, Chappy and Loo nodded. It was clear they not only knew what I meant, but agreed with my words. Chappy put his hand on my cheek, giving me chills. Loo nodded in agreement as Chappy spoke to me.

Captain Reynolds was right about you, Sarah. He told us how compassionate you were. It’s refreshing to meet someone like you.

Even years after our service ended, we experienced ridicule and judgement when people found out we were Vietnam War veterans.

It’s been nice to speak with someone who listens to us without judgement, someone objective and sympathetic to our experiences.

You are a unique person, Sarah. I wish I met someone like you when I returned from Vietnam. There may have been a path forward for myself that didn’t include a pistol to my temple if I had.

I found myself choked with emotion, unable to speak. Chappy was a loving soul. It pained me to know that no one recognized the value in him as a man, driving him to take his own life before I was born.

Oh, Chappy. We may have hit it off. Those women who couldn’t see the value in you were the ones that lost something in their lives. That realization wouldn’t have made it easier when you were alive, I know. Loneliness feeds your insecurities, isolating you from the world and making you think you are unloved and unlovable. Everything turns into a vicious circle at that point, one near impossible to escape from on your own. I am sorry you lived with that.

Chappy was at a loss for words, overcome with emotion. Even in death, he was trapped within his human tendency to keep his feelings bottled up, not sharing how his service in Vietnam affected him.

He never shared his true feelings with anyone, even Loo, and getting that reaction from me when he found the strength to share them overwhelmed him.

Loo took a deep breath and clapped a hand on Chappy’s shoulder.

Man, I get it. I got married three times and my kids didn’t know me. My first wife, their Mom, and I split when they were teens, but I was never the father they needed. I didn’t spend enough time with them before the divorce and walked away from them afterwards. My kids distanced themselves from me and embraced my wife’s second husband as their Dad. He was their dad in every way that counted. He was there, paid attention to them and made memories with them. The only memories I made with my kids were missing special events because I was off on assignment or busy with the Corps. Things are different now. The Corps sees the value in families more now than they did then, but nothing can give me back the years I lost with my kids.

Face it, Sarah, in a lot of ways you are a veteran’s dream woman. I served with guys who would have loved to have met a woman like you. I know I would have loved to have met someone as loving and understanding as you have been. Some veterans did, but not many. Even now, all these years later, it is difficult to love a jarhead and stay married to them. I know more divorced Marines than married ones and, if they are married, more than likely it’s not their first.

I knew Loo’s words to be true. The stress in military marriages differed from that in non-military ones. They married the military first, their spouse second. That was living your life between a rock and a hard place. It saddened me that so many veterans, active and retired, missed out on that relationship.

How can I help you from here, gentlemen? I sat back in my chair, one leg crossed and swinging to a silent beat.

Well, I’m not sure. Loo looked at Chappy, their eyes speaking far louder than their voices could have. I have no memories weighing on my heart and mind. My job tonight was bringing Chappy to you, making sure he had his turn to talk and share his memories. He has started that process, so my job has ended. Thank you for listening, though. It was fun to talk about things long buried, like Puck. He was a pain in my backside, but ended up being an invaluable asset in the long game.

Chappy looked thoughtful while Lieutenant Walters talked. His eyes, clouded with pain, turned to me, pleading for help in his quest for peace.

Sarah, Chappy licked his lips, if someone had asked me if I needed to get something off my chest, I would have told them I was fine. I don’t think I was fine, not once after I left the Corps.

The events of Vietnam were never far from my mind and caused me distress. That line of lost souls and what happened to Yarrow bothered me, it always did. I wished I could have helped more souls find peace or stopped Yarrow from taking his life. I might have saved him, but now I see I did all I could for him.

It was difficult for me to see the connection between what happened to him and what happened to me until now. I thought I ended my life because of the way they treated me when I got home, but it was more than that. It was far more than just the way my fellow Americans treated me.

A lot of my problems were rooted within the war itself, and in the magnitude of lost souls I watched die only to meander through the jungle. I felt powerless to assist them, unable to help them cross over because of the sheer number of them. That helplessness bothered me more than I realized. I never failed to do spirit’s bidding, to help those who couldn’t help themselves, but it was different over there. Over there I was just one medium, powerless in the big scheme of things.

Once I got home, the way they treated me contributed to my dissatisfaction and unhappiness with my life. I was a wounded veteran with one leg, ignored to my face and ridiculed behind my back. It was easy to feel as if I just didn’t matter anymore.

I wanted, no… I needed… to feel as if I mattered. My life needed to have made a difference to someone.

Like any young, healthy man, I liked women. A lot. Chappy laughed and mimed an hourglass figure in the air. He shot me a sheepish look, as if caught by his mother, and continued. I wanted to find someone to love, someone to share my life with. That was difficult when women treated me like a eunuch, as if I left my manhood in Vietnam with the rest of my leg.

I wanted someone to recognize the man instead of the disability, see a partner not a wheelchair. To acknowledge I didn’t differ from any other healthy young man. Debbie Winston was that woman.

Debbie was from Chicago, but moved to my hometown of Everett, Washington to attend Everett Community College.

We met at a coffee shop downtown. I stopped in for a coffee after an interview at Boeing. They told me I didn’t get the job because I lacked the qualifications. I saw the side looks, heard whispered comments among the employees. The qualifications weren’t the problem, my disability was. It made them uncomfortable. Their attitudes made me angry.

Debbie was working on her thesis in the coffee shop, pen flying across the paper, when I knocked into her. I apologized, angry at my clumsiness, but she just moved over and invited me to join her in the crowded shop.

She was beautiful, her golden hair falling over her shoulders, eyes sparkling with life. She wore a long patchwork skirt and jersey knit top, as if she stepped out of the pages of the Sears catalogue. We sat together for over an hour and ended up dating for the next two years.

At the end of her course, when she graduated with honours, I asked her to marry me. She looked embarrassed and told me she didn’t feel the same way and apologized for leading me on. She flew home to Chicago the next day.

Her leaving devastated me. She made me whole again. Debbie reminded me of the man I was when I left for Vietnam. She showed me the man I could be after I came home. When I was with her, I forgot the wounded half-man the rest of the world saw.

I expected and craved a future with her, but she didn’t love me enough to share it with me. I imagined us married, having children, living a life and growing old together. The life I always envisioned with the woman I loved.

Debbie threw it all back in my face and left Everett, heading home to Chicago without a backward glance.

I hope she found a man to give her the life she deserved. The life, love and happiness she stole from me, I wouldn’t begrudge her that.

There was a haunted tone to his words, his love for her intermingled with an intense bitterness towards their break-up. I wanted to help ease the uncertainty and pain in his heart.

I straightened my spine and raised my eyebrows excitedly as I tried to give him some hope.

What if I could help you find Debbie?

Continue reading Chappy and Debbie’s love story in By the Grace of God: Chapter 10 here:

To start at the beginning, see By the Grace of God: Chapter 1 here: