TO THOSE WHO GAVE SO MUCH . . . .

WE CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH!

Take a stand -- let them know what you think.

Every voice does count!

It is another voice for the POW/MIA who cannot speak for himself:

FROM THE OTHER SIDE

by Patrick Camunes

At first there was no place for us to go until someone put up this granite wall. Now, every day and night, my brothers and sisters wait to see the many people from places afar file in front of this wall. Many stop briefly and many stop for hours, and some come on a regular basis.

It was hard at first, not that it's gotten easier, but it seems that many of the attitudes towards that war that we were involved in have changed. I can only pray that the ones on the other side have learned something and more walls like this one needn't be built.

Several members of my unit and many others who I do not recognize have called me to the wall by touching my name that is engraved on it. The tears aren't necessary, but are hard even for me to hold back. Don't feel guilty for not being with me, my brothers. This is my destiny, as it is yours to be on that side of the wall.

Touch the wall, my brothers, so that we can share again in memory the time we spent together. I have learned to put the bad memories aside and remember only the pleasant times that we had together. Tell our other brothers there to come and visit me, not to say goodbye, but to say hello and to be together again, even for a short time, and to ease the pain of loss that we all share.

Today, an irresistable and loving call comes from the wall. As I approach, I can see an elderly lady and as I get closer I recognize her .... it's Mama! As much as I have looked forward to the day she would visit me, I have also dreaded it because i didn't know what reaction I would have.

Next to her, I suddenly see my wife and immediately think how hard it must have been for her to come to the wall, and my mind floods with the pleasant memories of 30 years past. There's a young man in a military uniform standing with his arm around her .... My god! .... It's...... It has to be my son. Look at him trying to be a man without a tear in his eye. I yearn to tell him how proud I am, seeing him standing tall, straight and proud in his uniform.

Mama comes closer and touches my name on the wall, and I feel the soft and gentle touch I had not felt in so many years. Dad has crossed to this side of the wall and through our touch, I try to convey to her that dad is doing fine and is no longer suffering or feeling pain. I see my wife's courage building as she sees Mama touch the wall, and she approaches and lays her hand on my waiting hand. All the emotions, feelings, and memories of three decades flash past between our touch, and I tell her that it's all right. Carry on with your life and don't worry about me. I can see as I look into her eyes that she hears and understands me and that a heavy burden has been lifted from her.

I watch as they lay flowers and momentos of my past against the wall. My lucky charm, taken from me and sent to her by my C.O., a tattered and worn teddy bear I barely remember having as a child, and several medals I earned that had been presented to my wife. One of these is the combat infantry badge that I am very proud of, and I notice that my son is also wearing it. I earned mine in the jungles of Vietnam, and he probably earned his in the deserts of Iraq.

I can tell they are preparing to leave and I take a mental picture of the three of them together, because I don't know when or if I will see them again. I wouldn't blame them if they never return and can only thank them for remembering me. My wife and Mama near the wall for one final touch, and so many years of indecision, fear and sorrow are let go. As they turn to leave, I feel the tears that have not flowed for many years form as dew drops on the other side of the wall.

They slowly move away with only a glance over their shoulder. my son suddenly stops and slowly returns. he stands straight and proud in front of me and snaps a salute. Something makes him move closer, and he puts his hand upon the wall and touches the tears that have formed on the face of the wall. And I can tell that he senses my presence there and the pride and love that I have for him. He falls to his knees, covers his face, and the tears flow from his eyes, and I try my best to reassure him that it's all right and that tears do not make him any less of a man.

As he moves back wiping tears from his eyes, he silently mouths, "God bless you, Dad." .... God bless you, son.... we will meet someday. But in the meantime, take care of your mother and grandmother, and go your way. There is no hurry. There is no hurry at all.

As I see them walk off in the distance, I yell out to them and to everyone here today as loud as I can, "Thanks for remembering!" And as others on this side of the wall join in, we salute the stars and stripes that so proudly fly before us every day.

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