Unlike many
of the
conscripts of his generation, he had volunteered for army duty and was
proud to serve. By nature, he wasn’t much of a fighter and he
absolutely detested the thought of killing another human being. But he
was loyal to his country and believed with all his heart that their
cause was just and right. And so he served with distinction and honor,
and was even decorated for valorous conduct on the field of battle.
But
something
happened to him out there. Something horrifying. He never talked much
about it, but it was always there. You could see it in the way he sat,
like he was anxious to be someplace else — anyplace else. You could
hear it in the way he talked, like his
mind was never really focused on
the subject at hand. And you could feel it in the way he looked at you,
like he was always trying to decide if you were friend or foe.
Don’t get me
wrong; he was still a good guy, just like he’d always been.
But he was different. Vastly different. The war had changed him, just
like it had changed the entire nation. And neither would ever be the
same again.
“When
I volunteered to
fight,” he wrote in his journal, “I thought I knew the risks. I had
seen veterans return home blinded and maimed, and I had attended
several funerals with flag-draped coffins. I understood that could
happen to me, and I accepted the challenge. But nobody told me that the
war might cost me a piece of my soul.”
The
soldier’s name
was Andrew Wilson. You’ve probably never heard of him because he never
really did anything extraordinary — before, during, or after his term
of military service. But if his story sounds familiar, it’s only
because it has been repeated time and time again throughout the course
of human history. Wilson rose to the lofty rank of corporal in the
Union Army during the Civil War, but he could just as easily have been
a doughboy during World War I or a World War II G.I., or an Army nurse
in Korea, or a chopper pilot in Vietnam, or a member of a tank crew
during the Gulf Crisis.
Millions
of men and
women have represented this nation in the armed services during the
past 200-plus years. Most have done so nobly, bringing dignity to the
uniform they wear and the country they serve. With tenderness and
appreciation, we honor those who have paid the ultimate price of
freedom with their own lives and the lives of their loved ones. But on
this Veteran’s Day, let us not forget the walking wounded; those whose
hearts and souls are forever scarred by their experiences on the front
lines of man’s ongoing inhumanity toward man. For them the battle isn’t
over. They are prisoners in a war still raging in their own minds, and
it is our duty to reach out to them with love, patience, and
understanding. Even if we can’t restore peace to their souls, we can at
least welcome them home. Really. And completely.