My sister recommended the book "Surviving Hell, A POWS Journey" by Leo Thorsness. I picked it up a while ago but I just read it today. I wish I had read it earlier, before Col. Thorsness had passed away, and could write to him to tell him how this book changed my life. Since I can't do that, I decided to share my thoughts with you, my friends and family whom I love so much.
Reading Col. Thorness' account of being shot down allowed me a glimpse of what happened to my dad. I have never before read a first hand, uncensored, shoot down account. Much of the way I imagined things to be were imagined in little girl's brain. I feel now that I have a much better picture of what happened to my dad in his final hours.
Because my dad was unaccounted for after his shoot down, we didn't know if he had died or been captured and was a POW. We did know that he was an MIA. My mom became very active in the National League of POW/MIA families and, as a little girl, I put my dad in the category of POW. After the war ended and we realized that he was not a POW and had never been a POW it was hard to let go of the "daughter of a POW" identification I had assigned to myself. I still wondered...what if? For the first time ever, while reading this book, I was able to thank God that my father was not ever a POW imprisoned by the North Vietnamese. That is a huge healing step for my and my little girl heart. As we have met people who were in the Vietnam War and they have shared their story andI have shared my story, people inevitably say "Your dad was the true hero. He gave all." Yes, he gave his life, but I really believe that that POWS of Vietnam gave THEIR all. They are the true heroes.
At one point in the book Col. Thorsness describes how the POW families began to be allowed to send packages to their loved ones. He mentions that the packages had to be sealed up at the post office. That immediately took me back to 1970 or 1971, riding in the back seat of my mom's car, talking about what we each wanted to put in a box to daddy. I also vividly remember standing at the old, beautiful, Aberdeen post office mailing our box. I remember that red, white and blue air mail envelopes that we used to send him letters.
And then comes the story of Col. Thorsness' homecoming. I KNEW my dad wasn't coming home, but my mind still whispered "What if...?" I remember sitting in my grandparents' living room, in a chair in front of the television, watching the men walk, or in some cases, be wheeled, off the air plane. I remember the wives and children standing at the end of the red carpet. I remember the wives running towards the men, children following, being swept up in huge homecoming embraces. I watched and I watched and my daddy didn't ever come off of one of those airplanes.
I frequently tell people who are grieving that I believe God gives you a certain amount of tears to cry and until you cry them, your heart can't heal. I thought I had truly come to the end of that grieving journey, but not yet. I have cried many, many tears this afternoon. I am so grateful that Col. Thorsness wrote this book, shared his memories, with the world and with me.