In Honor of His Death

We are coming up to the two year anniversary of my oldest brother's death.
Here is a poem in memory of his sacrifice.

Cost of War

He withstood the insults and jeers from the hippie crowds
tried to get back on track but never made it.
Didn't talk about the war except for a story
about being under attack from the Viet Cong -
bullets flew as he lay spread out as flat as he could
on the jungle floor. If he moved he would be killed.

He had gone to war to save lives, signed up as a medic,
spent most of his time caring for the wounded,
and on this day, under enemy fire, one in his squad was struck.
He heard the scream and then the call, “Medic, I need a medic!”

His normal response was to ignore danger and attend
to the injured, but on this day he stayed pressed to the ground
and within minutes the wounded soldier, picked up a machine gun,
and fired at him... he cried and never finished his story.

He died several years later from the affects of agent orange,
a Vietnam Veteran whose name won’t appear on the wall,
whose life was so changed by the effects of war,
his soul never returned from the frontlines.

He tried rehabilitation from a life of debauchery;
women, alcohol, drugs, anything to bring that adrenaline rush.
He said, "The cravings helped quiet the nightmares."

At the time of his death, of course I was sad,
but the feeling in my gut was pure anger.
I said out loud to the office personnel,
"Was his sacrifice worth it?"

A Vietnamese refugee, who now worked as a translator,
put her hand on my shoulder and said,
"To me and my family it mattered."