A story that needs to be told…
I have to tell you all a story. A recently developing story. A true life story. One that is happening to me, and my heart is just bursting–so much that I’m actually blogging about it instead of journaling to myself, because I feel it is a story that should be shared.
Some of you have already heard a bit about the beginning of this story because I may have shared it as the background to a song I wrote called “Your War” ( can be listened to here) Today that story picked up a new chapter, and I need to start at the very beginning…
This story begins back in July of this year. July 3rd to be precise. It was an ordinary Tuesday at the dental office where I work. Patients coming and going, small talk here and there… and then, one of our more recent patients (we’ll call him Jack) had just finished his appointment, and was sitting in the waiting area waiting for his fiance to pick him up. The thing I’ve noticed most about Jack as I’ve gotten to know him is his constant referencing to his days in the military. He always wears sweatshirts and t-shirts with military monograms. He confirms all his dental apppointments in military time. When referring to the sides of his mouth, he says, “I had the port side cleaned today!” I always enjoy my interactions with him. He is so approachable and up for conversation, and I always enjoy hearing the stories of my patiens’ lives.
This particular day, the day before the 4th of July, I was in a particularly reflective mindset about all things patriotic. My mind was in that mode because of the upcoming holiday, and I started thinking about how my Grandfather was also in the Navy just like Jack was. I knew he was a bit younger than my Grandfather, and I became curious as to which war/s Jack had been in, if any. The waiting area was empty except for Jack, and my phones were pretty quiet. So I thought I’d just ask. You know, just curious. One simple question. How could I have known the journey this one question would take me on.
When I asked him, his whole face lit up. I was relieved that he didn’t consider my question to be probing too much, and I soon sensed that it was almost like he had just been waiting for someone to ask him about his story. For the next half hour I ignored the phone ringing, and sat with my elbows on the desk, face in my hands, leaning in, listening to him from across the room tell me all about his life in the military, and all the countries and wars it took him through. I had so many questions, and he answered them all, each one more and more fascinating. He was so animated. And the thing is, he is a very quiet soft-spoken man. But there was a glimmer in his eye as he told me story after story. Our visit was too short, but he left such an impression on me that day. I kept thinking about all he had shared.
The next day, July 4th, I had off of work, and we really didn’t have any plans. I wandered into our study where my Yamaha keyboard was set up, the one my dad bought for me before I moved to Minnesota. My thoughts meandered to thoughts of my Grandpa Corby. My dad’s dad. The one who had served in the Navy. And I began to miss him so much. It just hits me every once in awhile at random times, the way it does when someone you love has passed away. He died of pancreatic cancer when I was 12 years old, before I really reached an age where I started asking questions about other people. And in that moment, I was missing him, but also missing all the conversations I’d never have with him. And so I sat down at my piano and started writing to him. I wanted to tell him about the wonderful visit I had with Jack. My letter to him became lyrics, and I titled the song, “Tell Me About Your War”. When I finished writing the song, I sang it through once, for him–kindof pretending he was there ( I know, we song-writers can be weird sometimes) and tears came to my eyes as I became choked up and almost couldn’t finish singing it to him. This song is one of the closest to my heart. I then played it for Eric, and he wasted no time in recording it with me. After several hours of recording and mixing, we had a demo of the song on a CD. My Eric is amazing like that.
So, the next day, I was telling a co-worker, who is also a musician, that I had written this song. I let her borrow the CD. Once she heard it, she told the whole office they had to hear it, and that it had made her cry, reminding her of her own father’s involvement in the military. Next thing I knew, the CD was being played over the office’s speakers, and one of the dentists I work for was having each of his patients listen to it. People were coming up to me at the front desk with tears in their eyes telling me why the song touched them. Each person was touched for different reasons. One lady, who is from a small farm town in Northern Minnesota, said that “their boys” had just come home from Iraq from fighting in the front lines, and that guys my age are now in wheelchairs. I listened, so humbled, so amazed at the power of a song to reach deep down into hearts. She said that more people should hear this song. For some reason, the one person I was too shy to share the song with was Jack himself. I even asked the dentist not to mention anything to Jack about it if he came in.
This was 4 months ago.
Today, I was making my usual phonecalls to confirm tomorrow’s patients’ dental appointments. I noticed that Jack was coming in tomorrow, and I smiled as I picked up the phone to call him, wondering if I should say, “You’re confirmed for the 1300 time slot tomorrow”. The phone rang twice, and his fiance answered the phone. (We’ll call her “Jill”–I know, so predictable) Anyway, Jill answered and I askedif she would pass along the message to Jack that he has an apppointment with us at 1:00pm tomorrow. She paused, confused, and quickly apologized, saying that she was terribly sorry, but there was no way that Jack could make it to his appointment tomorrow. I clicked the “cancel” button, and asked my standard question as to what was the reason for the cancellation so I could make the necessary notes in his file. Jill breathed a tired sigh, and asked if what she was about to tell me could be “off the record”. Of course it could, I said, with a new concern. She then proceded to tell me that Jack was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome from Vietnam. He was battling alcoholism, and recently was diagnosed as suicidal. She said that she takes him to the VA Hospital every day for counseling and therapy sessions with other affected and hurting veterans. He is there from early in the morning and comes home late at night. He has become more quiet and withdrawn. He is in a deep depression. Suffering from memories flooding back to him about pointing a gun at a young man and pulling the trigger to end his life. Jack was a sharp shooter, and trained for such things. Now these things are literally haunting him. They are coming back with a vengeance and attacking him with grief and guilt and remorse. He is also dealing with the part of his life that became so broken once he came home from the war. Jill told me stories of how Jack and other veterans would get spat on by other
Americans, and jeered at and told they were miserable failures. Jack’s wife left him because she couldn’t handle the man he was when he came back. He was a strong Catholic and would never have left her, but she cheated on him with other men and turned all 4 of his boys against him. Only his youngest speaks to him at all.
My heart started to pound, and as Jill went on, just pouring out her hurting and alone and tired heart to me, I cut her off– “Jill”, I said, “Jill, I have to tell you something. I have to tell you a story.” Jill is a very strong and talkative person, but she was completely silent as I began to share with her the story about how my conversation that day with Jack back in July had inspired me so much. I told her how I was a song-writer, and how his story inspired me to write this song. She was stunned. She said, “Did you ever tell him this?” I felt so sad when I said that no, I never had told him how his story had affected me. She was adamant that Jack needed to hear all this from me. She said that he never gets any positive feedback. His whole life. Nothing. She said that he would literally be beside himself if he knew that a song had been written as a result of his story. Oh, and did I mention that she told me Jack happens to be a writer of poetry himself? She and I both began to talk excitedly, exchanging ideas of how we could get Jack to hear my song. His song, really. We talked about how this song could be brought into the VA Hospital and sung to the men there. I offered to bring my keyboard to their house and sing it for him. I offered to have them both over into our home and I’d play it for him. I offered to meet them somewhere and bring the CD. All of a sudden, it just became the most important thing in my world to sing for this man. To let him know that we DO appreciate his service in Vietnam. That we have NOT forgotten him. And that he is NOT a failure, but a real life hero. That his story needs to be told, and I want to help him tell it. I want to help him heal. I want to empower him to help others heal, because he’s been there.
I have not been this excited in a long time. I have been shaking, literally. My heart is pounding with a new energy. A new affirmation that God has given me this music thing for a PURPOSE. I can’t even really express the depths of my joy right now. I told Jill that it is not a coincidence that my path has crossed with Jack’s. And together, we are committed to helping Jack hear a song–hear hope, hear love, hear that he’s not alone, hear that what he did mattered to someone. Hear someone say “Thank you”