A LETTER TO MY COMBAT BUDDIES

Many years have come and gone since our actual participation in the Vietnam War, and though we never fully understood the reason for the war, there was at least one thing that we all knew we were fighting for because we all knew that we were fighting for our combat buddy, since we trusted him with our very life and relied on his faithfulness to be there when things got real bad.

With our combat buddy, we shared our water from the same canteen; we shared our rations; we shared everything that we had. We shared our letters from home with him and sometimes, when he was really depressed because he received no letter, we might even allow him to read a letter from our wife or girlfriend - if we thought it would make him feel better.

With our combat buddy, we shared our "when I get back to the world" thoughts, hopes, dreams and plans.

And we tried our best not to break down when we held the lifeless body of our combat buddy in our arms although it hurt us deeply and we wanted to cry like a baby. We held it all inside because we could not afford to lose control; so we just gritted our teeth and took a deep breath because all of knew fully damn-well that to lose control in combat is to give the enemy the upper hand which, in turn, could ultimately end with our own death.

The war took the lives of many of our combat buddies and the "wounds of war" took their toll on the body, mind, heart and soul of those of us who made it home.

Or have we really made it home after all? For isn't Heaven our eternal home? And, if so, shouldn't we share it with our combat buddy and, therefore, never be alone?

I will end this letter by stating something that I have known for a very long time and, although I didn't tell y'all then and I didn't shed tears, and this may surprise some of y'all, but I have loved my combat buddies for many, many years.

©Copyright February 10, 2001 by Loyde P. Arender