This documentary of the Vietnam War featured letters from home read by just about every working actor in 1988, along with actual footage from the war - nothing reenacted. It was amazing. If you haven't seen it, see it now.
I can't do my usual witty review, because I sit here, lacerated by what I've seen. All I could think was - my God..my son...my son...my God...my son.
Do you know what it's like to have feelings of profound and overwhelming dread come over you at random times? To suddenly and irrationally fear going home or looking out the window, because you envision an Army officer standing at your door, waiting to tell you that your child is dead? My son is surrounded by people who would love nothing more than to decapitate him and drag his body down the streets of Bagdad. Do you know how that feels? Can you possibly imagine?
And yes, my dearly beloved husband, who is supposedly my rock of Gibralter through all this - you, you fine upstanding man, have never ONCE asked me how I am...never ONCE held me as I cried...NEVER ONCE interrupted your precious 8 hours a night on the internet to tend to my broken mother's heart. Whatever may befall YOU, endure it alone - because you can be damned sure I won't be there.
In the interest of time, dear public, let me answer all the "usual" barrage of questions at once. NO, I never hear from my son. NO, I have no idea how he is. NO, I don't know what he does every day, and NO, I have absolutely no support at home. YES, I'm just thrilled that your sister hears from her son in Iraq every day of the friggin' week. That makes me so happy I could just vomit all over your shoes from the joy of it all. Thank you so much for MENTIONING IT every time you see me, because I love being reminded that you have what I don't. NO, I don't know when I'll see my son again.
Dear God...my son...my son...my son.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
CHECK YOUR EMAIL- KAS
ReplyDelete