Brother’s Death 21 Years Later

It was 21 years ago last month that my brother was killed in Vietnam. That means he has been dead for as many years as he lived. How can that be! I am shocked and startled every time I think of it, which is often lately.

Ironically, on the very day he died, a student’s letter appeared in the opinion section of the (Cal State Los Angeles) University Times, the student newspaper on the campus where I work, describing the Vietnam Memorial and memories of soldiers gone to war. I too visited the memorial in Washington, D.C., several years ago with my young son.

I was very moved by that awesome, incredibly effective salute to the absurdity of war. Seeing my brother’s name was overwhelming--yes, I had to touch it over and over and have my son touch it so he would somehow capture through the marble the uncle he never knew.

Now it seems I need to talk and work out what I feel about this strange equation. He lived 21 years; he has been dead for 21 years. My only sibling--how could he be gone so long! I wanted to have a sister-in-law. I wanted to know, to see, what my brother would be as we grew into middle age together. I counted on the friendship we would always have.

There are so many painful things to reflect on--the military man coming to the house to tell my parents their son was dead on their wedding anniversary; my parents burying their only son; the letters, dozens of them, from heartbroken mothers and other family members across the country sharing their pain and sympathy.

Looking back, my youth and certainly my blind naivete were gone forever when I opened the door to that military man. I grew up that night in a way none of us should have to. But it was an important beginning for me too. From that day on I no longer accepted what the society and the 11 o’clock news told me without full investigation. In fact, at that time my entire generation began to question and seek solutions that avoided war and foreign intervention.

I so want young people today to understand all the implications of the Vietnam War. We are frighteningly close again to interference, invasion and war in El Salvador and Nicaragua. Haven’t we learned that we can’t impose our will on countries with different cultures, languages and histories? Can’t we understand that the measure of our own maturity is the ability to let go, to tolerate differences and support self-determination? Naivete, blind patriotism and ignorance of the true rationale behind U.S. involvement in these “conflicts” persists 21 years after my brother’s death.

Throughout these years it’s been hard to really enjoy my own birthday (just a few days before the anniversary of my brother’s death) or to completely pretend on my parents’ anniversary. It never really stops hurting. I still can’t talk about him more than a minute without tears welling up in my eyes. How can I impart my grief, pain and the knowledge forced on me by the Vietnam War to those coming of age today?

Please, America, think of my brother’s senseless death at the beginning of his life. If my family and I knew for sure that he died so that there would never be another Vietnam, perhaps we really could celebrate each October.

CHARON D’AIELLO

Altadena