My Brother

Most people who meet me think I am a pretty nice person; but I need to confess that my brother, Charles W. Honaker (Bill) is the very nicest of the two of us! We are all that is left of our "family of origin". Our parents and our older brother, Tom, are dead and have left us as the matriarch and patriarch of the family. Sometimes that feels like a heavy responsibility to me, but Bill and his wife Bobbie (who I have known since I was 13) shoulder that responsibility the way they have walked through their 50+ years of marriage - with faith and joy.

Bill served two tours of duty in Vietnam and he has just written a book about that experience: The Dead Were Mine. It is a well written account of his service and work in Vietnam. He served in the Army as  a Non Commissioned Officer in the Graves Registration service. His duty, along with those who served with him, was to find and recover the remains of those who died in battle. These soldiers performed those duties with reverence as a sacred trust. Once a fallen soldier's remains were recovered, they were never left unaccompanied as they were returned to the US and to their families. I know something about that honor of  accompanying the dead at funerals where I have presided. From the moment the casket or urn was received into the church, it was my honor to "shepherd" that person's remains until they were buried, praying every step of the way. Most of the mortuary people I worked with knew that I took that responsibility seriously and always waited for me before they moved the remains. 

The first time I ever heard my brother talk about his experience in Vietnam was when our dad was dying. During that week we were often up at night together staying with daddy. I'm not sure how it happened but one night Bill began to tell me about the work he did during those two tours of the war. It was, for me, a tender time of getting to know Bill again. The experiences he shared were sobering. I do wonder now why it took so long for me to ask him about Vietnam. Part of it is, as Bill writes in the Preface to the book, an assumption that he would not want to talk about those experiences. But part of it too is my own feelings about war…in part formed by my participation in a generation that had grown to believe that the Vietnam War, which was taking the lives of friends and family, was not "our" war to fight. I am a pacifist who possesses a heart which is incredibly tender towards humanity. I hold on to Jesus'  teaching on the Sermon on the Mount as a hopeful guide for our lives. These things do not interfere with my respect for those who serve in the military…or for those who disagree with my point of view. Reality teaches me that we need to have both sides of any question represented as we make decisions and especially decisions about war. Killing others, even when it is justified, leaves a residue of pain in our heart. I am so glad that my brother escaped the PTSD that cripples so many of our war veterans. We have done those who have served our country in Vietnam such a great disservice over these intervening  years.

I was reading through a series of books written by Julia Spencer - Fleming recently. They are mysteries which are set in a small upstate New York town. They involve a female Episcopal priest (of course!) who is the rector of the local Episcopal Church and the police chief of the town. These two protagonists solve crimes together. I came to the book: And One Was A Soldier. It is a mystery, but much, much more. It details the struggle of 5 people who have just come home from serving in Iraq. They come home with varying degrees of PTSD and a variety of issues: drug addictions, memory loss, loss of limbs, depression and anger. This book is an excellent primer on the reality of how war affects the human heart.

The Dead Were Mine gives a picture of the Vietnam War that most of us would probably rather forget. But we need this book to remember that as my brother says, "there is a cost involved" in the freedom we cherish for ourselves and for others.