I often speculate how long after death does it take for a person to be lost to history… if there’s an afterlife, no doubt Michael Coomes was happy to be remembered 50 years after his passing.
My wish for all of our children and those who follow, that you never see or smell death and destruction, that you never have memories of the most horrific, that you never have to take the life of another in order to save your own, that if you ever walk in the shoes of one who has been to war, that you learn compassion for a soul that is changed forever. Jim Oberg Vietnam, Special Forces, 1968 - 1969
This made me cry so much. While I may have never been to war myself, seen a dead friend so quickly like that, I have lost people, suddenly too, with no warning. And I get it. I can't imagine searching for 50 years though. You know, we may just be animals, but the way humans connect with one another.... our grey matter gives us a bond, an ability to connect in a way that I'd venture most animals couldn't even comprehend. Can you imagine a wolf searching for 8 years (over half of its life) just to come and mourn at the site where one of it's packmates died? This level of bonding.... of caring..... it makes me just want to give every human a hug and be friends, but at the same time..... I know thats not how humans are, at least by nature. Humans are a mixed bag, some good, some bad, some complicated and not really good or bad. In some ways, our conscious thought betrays us like that. Because unlike say, dogs, who can all be good, caring, and loving given most circumstances (not all though, if abused they can become downright murderous), but you can have a human who is nothing but cared for all of their life then they decide to become a greedy heartless business man or something else that tries to do nothing but play god with people's lives and doesnt care if a few die. I'm so happy this man could get some closure, and it just wrecks my heart knowing I didn't do more with my dad before he passed when I was 18. Days are fleeting friends, and to quote country singer Garth Brooks, "So tell that someone that you love, just what you're thinking of, in case tomorrow never comes"
I mean if I had to give my life for my country, I think the biggest honor I could ever have would be someone carrying my memory with them until their old age (which I aided them in getting to) and going to spend it with the people who I loved the most. Theres something wholly..right..about that. This man saved this man, then died. But this man carried his memory and now spends cherished time with his (Coomes) loved ones, no doubt telling them all the stories that Coomes himself never got to tell them.
It’s weird to think about how that kid wasn’t even alive when he died, this will probably be a memory he’ll have for the rest of his life and will only know it as “that one time my parents dragged me to some graveyard”
Another messed up thing about Vietnam: If you were born during WW1, you would probably serve in WW2, if you were born during WW2, you probably would serve in the Vietnam war.
I was out in the field for a month of training with my company. Our LMTV had gotten stuck in the mud and we had left our rucks in the bed of the rig. It had been raining a whole week, so we were wet and miserable, but we embraced the such like we had always done. Our boots were wet, our socks muddy, uniforms covered in stickers. We had our assault packs, camelback, flk's and weapons and the ach with nvds. Our woobies and body heat saved outer lives in temperatures of about 15 degrees. I opted to man the gun that night while we were in the patrol base so the others could sleep, I took the extra shifts cuz I wasn't as wet nor muddy, Salinas, a damn good friend of mine was soaked to the bone, suffering trench foot, and so I gave him my woobie to lay on and cuddle next to our rifleman Buck on his left, a machine gunner Uchida to his right, a woobie on top of them and our squad leader laying on top of them with a third woobie over them. I had a wet weather jacket and all my remaining gear on to stay the cold. The trucks came in the dawn and we were able to recover properly and change into dry gear so we could continue the mission.. it really is the man to the left and right that decides if you live or die.
Sergeant William Coomes was born in 41 and died in 66. He was 25 when he was killed in Vietnam by a sniper. May he rest in peace and his friend and family find solace.
thing's like this make's me wish we would make war no more. but what can we do? all we can do is wait behind the sideline's hope they make it back. but when you get the letter it only mean's one thing...there not coming home. we must remember them for the people they where and make war no more.
Imagine having to live the rest of your life with the grief of your slain brothers in arms vividly manifesting in perfect clarity every time you close your eyes, while some dipshit at Dow Chemical is throwing agent orange dollars, wealth purchased at the cost of your comrades lives, at strippers and sipping margaritas on the beach.
