Photo Journalism & Reflections by Patricia Feager
Friday night, May 23, 2025. This evening before the sun went down, I went to the Flower Mound mound. It was covered in wildflowers. I had my own personal Memorial Day Vigil. The ground was hot; sweat poured down and covered my eyes, but I marched on. In the distance I saw men in uniforms putting up photographs of soldiers who died during the Vietnam War. Each one was pinned below an American Flag.
I was reminded of the years 1967 through 1970 and all the aerogram letters I sent to Jerry Feager. He was just a pen pal at that time. I was just a young teenage girl who did not go to parties. I spent my days keeping up with the news, praying for all the soldiers in Vietnam. All I wanted was an end to the war and peace.
These soldiers who died now lie in peace. Each flag around the Flower Mound mound represents the reason why I continue to keep our fallen soldiers in my thoughts and prayers. What was their motivation for going to war if they volunteered, like Jerry did? Did JFK have anything to do with their decision.... Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country?
The wind was blowing but it was not cool. I walked for miles around the fence and across the fields at the Flower Mound mound covered in wildflowers. With each step I took I thought about the helicopters, the marching, and the dangers each solider faced. To them, this was no vacation. I received many aerograms from Jerry. I kept his words close to my heart and stored them in an old jewelry box.
I wondered if the faces I saw today were loved by someone from back home. Did they receive enough aerogram letters? Were they in good company among soldiers in their units who had their backs? I'm afraid the violence I see today are from people who never served our country and perhaps never felt love either. There is danger getting on social media and thinking you have friends when they are just a figment of your imagination.
Respectfully, I lowered my eyes to each flag and read the soldier's bio. The concrete sidewalk was steaming with heat today. I needed to find the opening to walk among the wildflowers on good old American dirt. Oh, what a soldier wouldn't do to kiss the ground and get out of Vietnam!!!
I left the shadows of Vietnam behind me and kept moving forward. I parked my car along the side of the road. How many soldiers in Vietnam had their own car or truck before leaving for Vietnam? I wondered.... Now, in Vietnam they were in trucks, tanks, with boots on the ground, or flying in helicopters. Yet, there is no doubt each one had a gun and knew how to shoot. Sadly, many soldiers never did get the keys to their own car or their own home. So many of them just wanted to go home. Others re-enlisted.
What makes a soldier a grown up? Does it have anything to do with following orders? The strenuous physical exercises all the time? Is it possible for a Platoon Sargent to love their soldiers or is it enough to care about each and every step and move they make?
When darkness came did a soldier really sleep? Did they think about home and the people they left behind? Did soldiers love to get news from home? Or was it more important for them to divorce their thoughts about home life and more important to focus on staying alive?
There is nothing more beautiful to me to see the American Flag. I like when it dances in the wind. You never know what shape it takes or if you can capture the right photograph? Each flag is beautiful. So are the soldiers who fought in wars.
I continued to think about a lot of things I remembered about Vietnam. The new vocabulary and phrases I learned from the news kept my mind thinking. In my hometown, Chicago I waited impatiently to receive aerograms. And when received, I read them over and over and over again.
Isn't it nice that we never run out of flags? You see them everywhere you go. They are always on my mind because they mean something important to me.
Memorial Day weekend is a time for remembrance. I can't imagine what life was like for a POW. I still remember the first time Jerry came home from Vietnam. I remembered the smell of his uniform. I do believe he brought home the scent of Vietnam. He didn't smell like fresh flowers, but in a short amount of time, I came to love him. I'm home now, I'm looking up at my piano with his flag that was presented to me after he died. He is still in my heart.
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