This book reminded me of a conversation that I had with my grandmother several months ago. We were talking about the effects war has on people and that brought up the subject of her oldest child and only son, my uncle Donnie. He died several years ago during a motorcycle accident, so it’s rare to have conversations about him with her. She told me of how it was for him, for all of them (the family), when he returned from the war. How there was this change in him. He left as this bright eyed kid of 18, connected to his family and returned this hardened and lost man who had seen more than his 20 years should have. How several times she and my grandfather had gotten calls in the middle of night to come and try to talk my uncle down from rooftops. How for seven years following, they would follow him in the middle of the night (per advice from the army therapist) as he would sleep walk to bridges in the town and on occasion try to jump off of them.
My memories of him are of a big round jolly red faced biker guy (who I could always count on) …..he is always laughing in my memories….but as an adult now, and putting all of my pieces together of him, I realize the jolly was just a facade of sorts, that he couldn’t cope with the pain that he had been exposed to so many years before…..the jolly was the whiskey he drank, the motorcycle was his way to keep on going fast, to not get caught….
I can’t help but to wonder what he carried with him when he returned…
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