This letter was written by a soldier in the Vietnam War, 48 years ago today. The soldier was my biological father, Robert (aka Bob; aka Bobby), who I never met. In a few days, Feb 11th, he would have been 70 years old.
Dear Family
I haven’t written a letter for some time, so I thought I’d write while I’m supposed to be working. I’d much rather do it now than do it on my time off.
I am planning a trip to Washington D.C. for my birthday. I was planning on New York but it’s a bit far for me to go. I’ve gotten a three day pass and plan to use it in its most liberal sense.
Anyway, it’s birthday month for the Trotter’s, (except for my weird sister who was born in that odd month of September), so this is my birthday card to everybody, because I’m too lazy to tromp through the birthday card racks, and too cheap to buy three let alone pay for the postage.
I’m getting along fine here. As usual, I do as little as possible and hide as much as I can. Sometimes I read a dirty magazine I get out of LT Cook’s desk drawer so I don’t go illiterate. I’m working for the government so I have to act like a government worker. Look as busy as possible–fool everybody– don’t do anything you don’t have to do– never give a direct question a direct answer–and most of all, do as little as possible. I’m enjoying myself immensely.
I haven’t heard any word about my trip around the world. Our passports must have hit a snag while floating down the Bureaucratic River. If everything goes according to military logic, our orders should arrive by 1984. If that is so, I won’t be able to go with the guys. DARN.
Write soon and all that stuff.
Later,
Bob
Several years ago, mainly out of curiosity, I contacted the Department of Defense as Bob’s next of kin and asked for any information they could provide as it relates to Bob’s time spent in the Vietnam War. They sent me what I believe to be his complete file and five medals he earned during his active duty, which he never had the honor of receiving.
Bob was drafted to the Army in May of 1966. He was two years out of high school and taking courses at the community college when his number came up in the draft. His dad, Willie, owned a plumbing store called “Hollywood Plumbing” that he started from scratch and he pinched every penny he could. He provided a nice life for his wife, Trudy and for Bob and the other two kids, Gaynelle and Bruce. I feel sure that Bob’s dad was hoping he’d one day take over the family business, but that would not happen.
My birth mom, Kathy, met Bob shortly after he spent time in the Army — he was released for medical reasons in 1968. They were young and in love — crazy for each other. It wasn’t too long before Kathy found out she was pregnant with me… It was 1969, a pretty tricky time for a young lady to be pregnant and unwed. Bob decided he wanted out of the relationship because he wasn’t ready to be a dad and Kathy had trouble making sense of her predicament to her own mom and dad so she found herself alone. She remembered a friend who had given a baby up for adoption so that’s what she decided to do with me. She and Bob broke up but he helped her a little financially until I was born and then that was the end of their relationship, at least for a while.
I was three days old when my parents came to pick me up from a place called Waverly Children’s Home. I was #5 of six kids (Susan, 12; Todd, 10; Doug, 4, Kenny, 11 mths). I was the second of the adopted kids — Kenny was adopted 9 months earlier, also from Waverly. (The 6th kiddo came five years after me and was from Korea — Mary, who was 10-years old.) It’s confusing, I know, but it always made perfect sense to me!
I’ll skip over my entire childhood to the time when I was 23-years old and holding my first daughter in my arms thinking to myself, “how would someone have the courage to walk away from this experience?” I mean, there’s no other way to grasp the situation but by resolving that it is LOVE that causes a woman to be able to give a child away. There could be a number of different short reasons but the main reason is that she loves her child and wants her child to have a better life than she could provide. In my mind, that’s how adoption happens. Adoption is a loving act from the giving end and from the receiving end.
I decided to reach out to Waverly Children’s Home to request “non-identifying” information about my birth mother. Mostly, I wanted to find out if there was any medical history I could have for my own daughter’s sake. But as a footnote to my letter to Waverly, I asked also for “identifying” information IF it was available. I waited for a response for several weeks before the phone call came telling me that I had made a connection with my biological mom.
My birth mom, Kathy, and I spent hours on the phone. We shared so many letters and pictures with each other. My initial questions were things like, “do you believe in God?” and “I’m left-handed, who else is?” They were all just really random questions but things I had pondered for 23 years. Her first picture she sent to me was such an affirmation that she was indeed “my people”. I looked just like her. I looked just like Bob too.
Kathy had the sad duty of telling me the rest of her story with Bob. It didn’t end when I was born. I was expecting to hear that they had broken up and he got married and I have half brothers/sisters out there somewhere but that was not the case. Once I was born, Kathy moved on and so did Bob. He married a pretty gal named Patty and Kathy married a nice man named Ron, but both of their marriages ended.
In 1978, Bob showed up on Kathy’s front door step with a vase filled with flowers. He told her that if she would forgive him, that the vase would never be empty again and with that, Kathy and Bob were reunited.
They planned to get married and Bob suggested looking for their baby girl they gave up for adoption nine years earlier. Kathy had to explain that it didn’t just work like that and that they couldn’t just ask for their baby back and expect it end like a fairy tale.
Bob’s sister, Gay, believed that his reuniting with Kathy was his attempt at making amends with her (and me). He made attempts to “make things right” with other people in his life. For example, he had borrowed a tool from a man 10 years earlier and returned it with a note stating he was trying to clear his conscience. Most people were quite receptive to his attempt to make things right.
One morning at Bob’s parent’s house, everyone was getting ready to go their separate ways. Kathy had work… Willie had the plumbing shop… Bruce had school. Trudy, Bob’s mom, noticed Bob seemed “off” and asked him what he had up his sleeve. Bob, indulging her, grabbed his sleeve and acted like he was taking a peek inside. He said, “why don’t you go to the farm and pick some fresh green beans for dinner”. She agreed it was a good idea and invited him to go with her but he declined.
When Trudy returned home several hours later, the curtains were drawn and the doors were locked, which alarmed her. She called Willie, who came home. He searched the house and finally found Bob in the basement. He had committed suicide.
Kathy said the next bit is a blur to her. Based on an essay Gay wrote on “Death & Dying” after Bob died, it was a blur for everyone involved — there isn’t a lot anyone could tell me during that time other than how profoundly sad they all felt. I can’t imagine losing a sibling or one of my children to death, let alone suicide. But I would imagine being in Kathy’s shoes and trying to wrap my head around what was happening in her heart. To lose the love of your life not once, but twice. That is something…
When I met Bob’s parents for the fist time, Kathy was with me. They always liked Kathy but she’d be hard to not like. They were so very sweet to me and my little family. I didn’t know what to expect and I certainly didn’t know how to act. As we were pulling up to their house, my (ex) husband asked Kathy how Bob “did it”. I had never asked because it didn’t matter to me. But Kathy responded that Bob had hung himself in his dad’s office in the basement of the house we were pulling up to. Suddenly, if I wasn’t already nervous enough, I was kind of a wreck. It was as if there was a dark shadow hovering over the house… As I looked around the neighborhood, the other houses were so cute and the bushes and trees were well-groomed, but my grandparent’s house was overgrown with bushes and grass. As we walked in the house, there was a shrine-like area for Bob. All through the house, there was evidence that time had stood still for them since Aug 7, 1978, the day Bob took his life. It was actually devastating for me. But my grandparents were more than welcoming and sweet to us. I’m so glad I got to spend that time with them.
Willie died in 2001 of complications of Type 2 diabetes… A short time later my sweet Aunt Gay died of uterine cancer. Trudy died about six years later of a stroke — she lived to be 89-years old. Bruce is still living as well as Bob’s two first cousins who have been wonderful in helping me to understand Bob and the family as a whole.
It’s hard for me to reconcile the fact that Bob ended his life, period. But when I read some of the letters he had written to his family when he was in Vietnam, I think about how clever and funny he was. (Now I know where I get it — haha) But seriously, he seemed to be very casual in those Vietnam letters he wrote to his family (the one above was probably written after basic training because it looks like he was still in the US). Was he just covering for the atrocities he was witnessing? His file states that his “job” in the Army was clerical but then it goes on to talk about the training he had, which included learning how to use rocket launchers and grenades. It’s just so hard to know. He was released almost two years after being drafted for injuries to his hearing. He had tinnitus, and it caused him a great deal of pain after his service to the Army. It’s natural to wonder if his pain went beyond physical, as it did for so many of our servicemen who fought in Vietnam.
I do wish I had known Bob. I think I would have really liked him. He was a leftie, like me! When I re-read his letter the other day, I was struck with an urge to call someone — to call him — and just laugh about the casual tone of the letter and the crack about being too cheap to buy a birthday card. That is SO me.
I think he would have liked me and it’s a shame we didn’t get to have that chance.
Noble things 