My father arrived at my house to pick up my kids for the afternoon, clearly there was something wrong. His eyes we red and watery. He begins to tell me, "there was a house on fire, it was my friend Hank's. " I asked a firefighter if Hank got out, he told me no. " My dad is the strong force in my life, isn't that usually the way it is? His voice quivered, his eyes watered and my kids were clamoring for Pop pop. I told them to go upstairs and find their shoes, which usually takes a half hour, but of course took less than 3 minutes today. My heart was breaking for my dad as he was telling me this. I was a firefighter in times past, I knew from details my dad had learned that the outcome was grim for his friend. I knew I could find out more details, I still have "connections" to the fire service and work as a paramedic in the same area. My Dad said he didn't need to know, he already did. He also said that he was told because the homeowner was a "hoarder" the firefighters had a difficult time getting in, and didn't want to take unnecessary risks. I understand this, very clearly. But the risks and service Hank gave his fellow men exceeded any expectation.
The thing that makes this all the more heart wrenching is how my dad and Hank became friends. They both were at a memorial day parade wearing their Vietnam veteran hats. Hank was by himself, he was disheveled and appeared homeless. My dad found out that Hank did have a home, but he was basically a recluse. Hank had the kind of scars from his service in Vietnam that can't be seen with the naked eye. He was a medic. His specific job was to be with any man waking up from a surgery/injury when a limb or limbs were lost. Hank had to tell these boys that they we missing an arm or leg, or multiple arms and legs. He stayed with them until they were "ok." He stayed with so many young men for hours trying to help them grasp that they were severely injured. He never faltered in his job.
When Hank came home from Vietnam, scarred and weary and adrift, society did not help him. He became the " freak", " weird guy". The person mothers told their children to stay away from because he was a "loner" that still lived with his mother. After all, what decent young man chooses to live with his mother? For years Hank suffered with his internal pain and no one helped. When a nurse in Hank's unit became afflicted with leukemia and was dying, Hank took care of his friend until she died. Hank died in a fire today, because the community he lives in cast him aside, wrote him off. In the United States of America, a veteran should never be left to suffer with any type of wounds. Internal or external. Where is community when one who gave so much to insure our freedom is suffering?
My dad gave Hank a ride home from the parade, he saw that the home he lived in was in bad shape. There were notices from the "authorities" about fines if things weren't cleaned up, made right. Hank could not run his lawn mower without seeing countless faces of injured boys. So, he didn't run the lawn mower and he hid in his house. My dad mowed his lawn. My dad reached out to a fellow vet and today my dad grieves in a way that I may not quite ever understand. I have not lived through what my dad and Hank lived through.
I feel so much pain and heartache for my dad though. I hope he knows that when everyone else failed Hank, he did not. Nothing he could have done would have prevented today's tragedy. Hank needed more help than one person could give. Hank needed his community to help, to respect, to appreciate, to thank a veteran. Hank is now at the right hand of God, resting in the peace he so deserves.
In this day, there are many war seasoned vets, young guys and girls, older men and women who suffer the suffering of all that they witness and laid eyes to. Thank our veterans, they provide our land of the free because they are the brave ones. Please don't let a veteran suffer alone.
*** Hank is not my dad's friend's real name.
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