Steven Moore:  

Veterans Day ¿ 11 Nov 2005 Vietnam Women's Memorial Washington,DC Guest Speaker L. Steven Moore In 1967-68, I was a young 1st Lt with the Dusters in Vietnam. We were in support of the Marines and constantly running the road to Khe Sahn. It was a crazy way to grow up. After being slightly wounded near my DEROS date, I was sent home where I was promoted to Captain and became the Senior Advisor to the Army Reserve Center in Wilmington, Delaware. Part of my duties was to notify families of the death of a soldier. I truly love this monument honoring all the women who served during the Vietnam conflict. The nurses helped the men, giving them aid to survive and even holding them during their last moments alive as the woman holding this soldier. Then there are the Red Cross women who entertained, brought laughter and comfort as they traveled from place to place as the woman kneeling might show as she takes care of the soldiers¿ need. Also very involved were the women who served here in the US as they recruited men for combat, helped returning Vets to adjust to civilian life, and just being there for the many Vets who needed help as the woman standing might depict as she looks to find those needing help. But there is a group of women who are not shown here. I believe another memorial would be appropriate and placed on the side of this area. A mother and a wife with a look of hope, despair and yearning as they desire to hold their loved one just one last time as this woman is holding the soldier. These women need to be honored for their sacrifice, their loneliness, and their love for the one they lost. I would like to read to you a chapter in a book I am writing, one dealing with my actions when I would notify a family. The chapter is entitled ¿ The Knock At The Door As the Senior Advisor of the Wilmington, Delaware Reserve Center, one of the most disliked duties, and yet one of the most honoring, was my assignment as the Survivors Assistance Officer. This is when I would receive word from the Department of the Army that one of our men had been killed in Vietnam. It was my job to notify their next of kin. Each time this would happen, my insides were thrown into such a turmoil that I just needed a time of quiet to prepare myself. When I received my first notification, I remember driving to the home and stopping several houses away. I read the papers over and over and stared into space. My mind began practicing what I was to say and just how I would tell them. Then I said a prayer and finished the drive to the designated home. I prayed that somehow I might be able to give a little bit of comfort to this family. A family who I would soon give information that would change their lives forever. I remember getting out of the staff car, an Army sedan, turning slowly to look at my reflection in the window. Who was this man that bore such terrible news. I slowly placed my hat on my head and performed a ritual that I still do to this day. I slowly dropped my hand over my face, locking down all emotions. My training from combat made this easy. After all, it would not be professional for me to shed tears at this time. How odd it felt, being more hesitant and afraid to knock on the door, than it ever was to go into combat. I knew that as soon as the door would open, the people would know why I was there. I slowly walk up to the sidewalk and rang the doorbell. It opened ever so slowly. An older man answered the door and I asked if Barbara Adams was there. She was in the living room and I watched this young woman walk toward the door. Their eyes looked at my uniform, then the Army car, they knew at once why I was there and their faces began turning pale. As her Mother came out from the kitchen I took a deep breath and began to recite the opening statement that later was to become all too familiar to me. "On behalf of the President of the United States of America, I regret to inform you that your husband, LT James Adams, has been killed in Vietnam." The reaction was one of disbelief, the cries of anguish grew heavier and the tears began to flow like a river. I watched as her father embraced both of them, trying to comfort their pain. I stood stone cold, wanting to ease the pain and sorrow, but there was nothing I could do at that time. I slowly removed my hat, dropping it over my face to further lock down my emotions. I then asked if I could come in and talk with them. We sat down on the sofa and I shared the few details give to me with the actions resulting in his death. When, were, how, but I could not answer the why. Interesting, my first notification was the same rank that I was in Vietnam, at 1st LT. this couple had only been married for several months before he was sent to Vietnam. The time seemed to last forever as I absorbed their pain and listened to their sorrow. But as much as I wanted to take away the hurt, I couldn¿t. Finally I bid farewell and slowly walked out the door, listening as it closed behind me. I placed my hat on my head and moved toward the car with my emotions still in a locked down mode. As I got into the car I removed my hat in an upward motion, unlocking my emotions. The tears began to flow and I quickly drove a block away so the family could not see me. My heart was now taken to new heights of pain as I parked the car and allowed the tears to flow so freely that it took quite some time before I could continue. I have no idea how many minutes passed before I could see well enough to drive away. Once again my heart would cry out, Why! This ordeal began to take place on a regular schedule, as I was the one designated to notify all the families in Northern Delaware. There were times that I was allowed to provide a shoulder to cry on and there were times when I was blamed for what had happened. There also were times when we would just sit and wait for the shock to wear off. When the time was right, I would share as many details about the action that I could since very little information was given to me at the time. Next, arrangements were made for the funeral and burial. When the day of the funeral came, my insides would again churn. Questions would haunt me, as some of the people would ask why I made it when their son or husband didn¿t. I would many times ask the same...Expand for more