My father had finally found peace.
A few days later, an old man stood in the silence of the morning. Peace surrounded him as he gazed up at the flag erected in memory of his friend and comrade. He gently held each flower in his aged hand before placing them, one-by-one, at the base of it.
“When we were in Hawaii, did you say good-bye to Mal?” I asked.
He looked down, shook his head.
“Never good-bye,” he said. “Just…see you later.”
Afterword
If this book had been published within the year after the memorial in Hawaii, it would have had a “happily ever after” ending. I’ve come to believe in the power of an intentional time of remembrance and the peace it can bring. For an entire year, my father didn’t have a single nightmare or flashback. He described the time at the end of the pier as a peace he just can’t explain. He held on to that peace for a year.
But then the symptoms of PTSD slowly crept back in.
Many of our veterans suffer from the traumas of war long after they’ve left the battlefield, and their wounds are every bit as deep as a physical wound. Although it would have been nice to end the book on a happy note, that is not reality. The wounds of war may never completely heal. But joy and peace can still be realized. That is my wish for veterans today.
The comrade referred to as Jonesy in so many of my father’s letters was never seen again after my father returned from Okinawa.
Thomas Coldwell (not his real name), the man whose life my father saved, returned from the war. He married and had children and grandchildren. He never knew what my father did for him.
We sent for my father’s military records. A lot, but not all, of what he did during the war was contained in them. While this is a big disappointment to my father, I still believe that it is possible to have peace without all the pieces. If my father found it once, he can find it again. As he recently joked, “Maybe I’ll just have to go to Hawaii every year.”
My father never found out why there was an office set up for him, as if he worked there every day. It remains a mystery.
For the veterans whose stories remain untold, I hope this book is a beacon. Our WWII veterans are dying at a rate of more than a thousand every day. Each day draws us closer to a time when there will no longer be anyone who can tell us firsthand what their experiences were.
Post-traumatic stress is real. Although there is more awareness for today’s veterans, help is often sporadic and sorely lacking. When we send our young men and women to fight a war while we stay home enjoying the freedom they’re fighting for, we owe them whatever it takes to make them whole again. Whether the veteran returned from war sixty years ago or six days ago, one thing remains constant: it’s time for us to talk and to listen.
About the Author
Photograph by Kimberly Miner
Karen Fisher-Alaniz is an author and writer who began the journey of writing this memoir when her father handed her a collection of letters on his eighty-first birthday. She lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest.
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