I lost my brother to war

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?

My brother John left in late February 1968 for Vietnam. I was too young to understand what laid ahead for him. 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.

We could turn the television set off and end the sight of war. Soldiers like John did not have that luxury. They had to endure it day after day after day. Until their tour ended 365 days later.

My brother experienced the horrors of combat and paid greatly. 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.

John rarely spoke of Vietnam. If he did, it was when he was drinking. One story I will forever remember was that of a trapped 1st Cavalry platoon. Cut off and surrounded. They kept pleading for help over the radio. John's platoon themselves were in a fight for their lives.

All afternoon over the radio, he heard their cries for help along with the sounds of bullets firing in the background and soldiers shouting, the Vietnamese were shooting the wounded. John and the others were sick to their stomachs knowing that there was nothing they could do until darkness. That night under heavy enemy fire his Lieutenant, John, and eight others led a rescue. They saved sixteen men and recovered the bodies of thirty American dead.

The 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 visited my brother and convinced him to get help. He received treatment at the VA for his drinking and post-traumatic stress syndrome. Helping 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 years I had been sending cards and letters, hoping we could be brothers again.

Finally, in 2009, I gave it one more try. I sent John a birthday card with a message along with 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.

In 2017, John invited me to the yearly Memorial Day reunion of the 5th Battalion of the 7th Cavalry. I could not have been happier. It allowed 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 compared to those men that I met at that reunion. I felt I was not worthy to sit in a room surrounded by those heroes. Sitting with John and his army brothers. I saw for the first time the brother I knew before Vietnam, laughing, joking, and looking the happiest I had seen in decades.

Listening to them talk, the laughs they had, and the tears they cried, it was easy to see the bond they shared. A unique bond that only those who have fought in combat can share.
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 this story will understand how our soldiers suffered along with their families.

They will forever carry those memories of their time in combat.

So, 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.

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