My Brother Fought Two Wars

Sadly, the following story could be written by thousands of other brothers.

I have considered writing this story for several years. However, for one reason or another, I seemed to put it off. Not because I did not want to write it, but how could I write a story about my brother that would truly reflect what he went through in Vietnam and the life he had after he came home?

Plus, I wanted to pay tribute to the men he served with that helped in Vietnam and, just as importantly, how they saved his life after he came home.

My brother John left in late February 1968 for Vietnam. I was only thirteen years old at the time. Too young to understand what laid ahead for my brother.  The only war I knew was what my friends played in our backyard or saw in the movies. In those movies, when someone was shot. They just fell over. There were no reality movies like Platoon, Saving Private Ryan, or We Were Soldiers Once… And Young.

The horrors of war could be seen every night on the evening news. I saw exhausted soldiers staring into the camera with no expressions. The wounded being treated, dead soldiers lying on the ground with their bodies partially covered, and soldiers having to load choppers with their friends' dead bodies.

For us, we could turn the television set off and end the sight of war. Those soldiers did not have that ability. They had to endure it day after day after day. Until their tour ended 365 days later.

I could watch every movie or television program about Vietnam or anything to do with combat and still never know what John went through. Only those who have been in combat know what it is like.

My brother experienced the horrors of combat and paid dearly. He may not have been physically wounded in Vietnam. But like thousands of others, he came home mentally wounded. That would lead him to a life that only alcohol could ease the demons of war. As a result, he paid dearly.

That war destroyed my brother and took away every chance he had for a normal life. His never-ending drinking took its toll on our family. I reached a point where I never wanted to speak with John again. I could no longer deal with his anger and hateful words. It finally came to a head when we had a bitter argument over our mother. However, I never stopped loving my brother. I prayed and prayed that God would help John.

Well, God did help. It came in the form of his old army buddies. They had been searching for John. When they finally found him, they were able to get him the help he needed. They got John to go to the V.A. hospital in Chicago. Where he received the help, he needed for both his alcoholism and his post-traumatic stress syndrome. John successfully completed the program.

What helped him just as much, his army brothers were able to get John to attend one of the yearly reunions of the 5th Battalion of the 7th Cavalry in Washington DC.

Those two events were the turning point in the relationship between John and me. I loved John and missed having my brother in my life. For several years I had been sending him Birthday and Christmas cards. I even wrote letters hoping we could make peace and settle our differences. John never responded. Finally, in 2009, I gave it one more try. I sent him a birthday card with a message and my cell phone number. One evening my phone rang, and it was John. I could not have been happier. That first call was a bit awkward for us both, but it was a start. Over the next couple of years, John would just stop talking with me. I never gave up. I loved my brother, so I kept reaching out to him.  It would take a few more years before the past was closed. Since that day, John and I talk by phone at least twice a month.

In 2017, John invited me to the yearly Memorial Day reunion of the 5th Battalion of the 7th Cavalry in Washington DC. I could not have been happier. It would allow me to meet in person the men that saved my brother's life.

I have met several important people during my life, including three presidents. None of them compared to those men that I met at that reunion. I felt I was not worthy to sit in a room surrounded by heroes.

With John amongst his army brothers, I saw the brother I knew before Vietnam. He was laughing, joking, and looked the happiest I had seen in decades.

Sitting there with all of them listening to them talk, the laughs they had, and the tears they cried, it was easy to see the bond they share. A unique bond that only those who have fought in combat can share. You could watch a million programs or war movies. But unless you were there, you have no idea what it was like for them.

 I was a police officer, and I share a bond with all my brothers and sisters in blue. Our bond is unique to us, just like John's and his buddies is unique only to them.

I personally thanked each of them for what they had done for my brother, although how could I put into words the feeling I had inside of me for those men? All I could do was try my best to let each of them know how I felt.

As I flew home, I realized it took John forty-six years to come home from Vietnam. But my brother was finally home, and I could not be happier.

I hope those of you that read my story will feel what I felt. My brother went through hell in Vietnam and hell for forty-six years after he served.

I will forever be proud and grateful for my brother and all of those that served our country, both past, present, and future, for the sacrifices they made on our behalf.

Those that served in combat will forever carry memories of those days. Some memories fade over time, but the nightmare memories never go away and are just as vivid to them as the day they happened.

I ask that those that read this story take a moment to say a prayer thanking those men and women currently serving and those who served our country, especially those who fought in combat.

The next time you see any of our military veterans, especially those who fought in Vietnam. Walk up and thank them for their service. Your simple words will help make them feel their sacrifices were not in vain.

God bless our military, for, without their sacrifices, I would not be able to write this story, and you would not be able to read it.

This story was inspired by my brother John Frohm and his Vietnam Band of Brothers: Tim Curry, Neil Meyer, and Jim Bolden.

                                                                                                Gary Owen