Photo Friday: Where it all began

When my dad and I had that first Wednesday meal together almost 10-years ago, I would never have dreamed where it would lead. Dad was experiencing symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), more than 50 years after WWII. I wanted to help him, if I could. Soon, having breakfast at Mr. Eds was a regular part of our weekly routine. Over time, he would begin telling me his story, sporadically giving me pieces of his past; photos, letters he'd written to his folks, and other memorabelia. But the whole story, took years to unfold.

Wednesdays with Murray - Final Edits

When I picked up Dad this morning, he was in the middle to retelling his harrowing tale about his friend dying in his arms. What caught my attention was the hopeless he feels at the prospect of never having a document to hold that verifies his story. Because he was told that records would not be kept of his naval intelligence work, he really doesn't have any hope that we'll be able to get ahold of records concerning it, no matter how detailed our request is. And maybe he's right, but I hope not.

This morning at breakfast, I brought the paperwork that we started filling out together. Two pages of instructions for one page of filled out form. The branch of service and years the veteran was in the service, determine where you will send your request. I also brought my laptop so I could have Dad read through the letter I wrote to attach to it (we didn't do that last time). I wrote the letter as if he was writing it. I wanted to be sure it was correct.

I left a long blank where there was information I didn't know. One of those blanks was for an injury he sustained. He was sitting on a box of ammunition (I know, crazy-huh?), on the deck of a ship when a Kamikaze hit the water nearby and shrapnel flew through the air. One sharp piece imbedded itself and stuck between my dad's legs. Instinctively, he pulled it out. But it was flaming hot and burned his finger. I remember the scar well. It actually looks like a boomerang shaped tatoo. I suppose soot or something got into the open wound, leaving not a raised scar, but a blue-black one on one of his fingers. In the letter, I sited the incident and asked for medical records concerning it. But I couldn't remember which hand it was.

Dad was reading the letter on my computer when I raised my camera to take a few photos. The one below just happened to be snapped when he said, "It was my left hand."

Anyway- I'm using my WORLD WAR II-A VISUAL ENCYCLOPEDIA http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?isbn=9781855858787&atch=h&utm_content=You%20Might%20Also%20Like edited by John Keegan as a reference for dates of Iwo Jima and Okinawa, as well as a few other things that we are unsure of.

And now we wait and hope (again). If this doesn't work and we again get general records that have no specifics at all, I will look into who I can get to help us. Problem is, Dad does NOT want to go to the V.A. for any reason, and that seems the most logical next step. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's just hope and pray that my letter gets into the hands of someone who cares and wants to spend the time finding what we request. ~Karen

Changing Perspectives

("Wednesdays with Murray" has been cancelled this week. My son had a dental appointment, so we weren't able to go to breakfast.)

I've had a few dental issues in the past few months and my dentist may be able to retire early because of it. But this morning, my son was the victim...uh, I mean patient. He's getting ready to have braces put on, so needed to get some work done first. Though he's old enough to do it alone, he wanted me to stay. The dental assistant was kind enough to bring me a chair by my sons feet.

As I watched from that angle, I learned a lot of things. It was completely different from me being the one in the chair. I could see each instrument clearly. I could see the "dance" between the dentist and her assistant-how they flowed through each procedure. My son's dental work wasn't all that different from mine and yet, from that perspective, it looked completely different.

Writing is no different. It's all about perspective, especially when it comes to freelance writing. I often come up with a thought which is not even an idea yet. It's just a fleeting thought about a subject that might make a good article. By taking the idea, setting it in one place and then walking around it, I can come up with a variety of ways to approach it. I may even decide to discect it and create several different articles. I may look at it from a first-person perspective, or perhaps it makes more sense to go at it in a less personal and more informational way.

Perspective is everything when it comes to writing. By looking at an idea from different angles, you can end up with several articles for a single idea. And more articles translates into more money. More money means more trips to Hawaii and who doesn't want more trips to Hawaii?

Wednesdays with Murray - Sending for Military Records

photo: military records form

I just love filling out forms, don't you? Yeah. I'd rather have a tooth pulled. OK, well maybe it's not quite that bad, but you know what I mean. A few years ago, at the prodding of my sisters and I, my dad finally sent for his military records. And then we waited. And waited. And waited some more. Almost a year later, the envelope arrived. I was hoping for some confirmation for my dad. He was beginning to feel like he hadn't experienced what he had. He was starting to feel like perhaps he was crazy. Unless you are a veteran, particularly of a war that was so long ago, I think it's really hard to understand. My dad was now suffering with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was plagued with nightmares and flashbacks. Still, he was feeling like maybe he hadn't experienced what he had during the war.

My solution was to send for his military records. When he saw it in writing, it would confirm that he was indeed in the war and was not imagining it. It would validate his feelings and his experience...something we all need. However, when he opened that envelope, that is not what happened.

His records showed that he was in the military, but that's about it. Many important details were left out. There were no medical records, no naval intelligence records, and no mention of the important battles he was a part of. I was disappointed for myself. I really wanted that information to use in my book. But mostly I felt bad for Dad. For him, it validated all the wrong feelings. But we'd done what they said. We'd filled out the forms as asked. I'd printed carefully and made sure every question had an answer. Still, when we received the records, it was as if they barely acknowledged my father was in the war.

A few years passed and recently I learned something helpful. I was on a website called Access Geneology. They have a page on obtaining military records. As I read, I had "lightbulb moment." I read that you must send enough information to help them identify your military records from among the 70 million contained there. 70 million? I don't know what I was thinking, but I definitely wasn't thinking 70 million. Many sites dedicated to help veterans obtain records, recommend the same thing. Be specific.

So this time, we are sending the same form, but with one significant change. On line two there is a space that says, "Other information and/or documents requested." Instead of trying to fit in everything on those two and a half lines, I will be attaching a type-written letter, which will include specifics about where my father was and when. Names, dates, and anything else that makes your record stand out from among 70 million is what's important. It's important to remember that the person opening your records request, knows nothing about you unless you tell them. If you are requesting medical records, include anything and everything you remember about your health care while in the military. Don't forget to request optical, dental, psychiatric, and any others you want copies of.

I am hoping that this time around, we will get a more accurate and more comprehensive look at my father's time in the service. But most of all, I hope that it will give my dad some peace of mind. The hardest part is the waiting. But time passes no matter what you do or don't do. ~Karen

Reference: http://www.accessmilitary.com/military/nprc.htm.

New Blog Feature - Wednesdays with Murray

The year was 2001 and the tradition started as all traditions do, without anyone being aware it was starting. My father had just given me more than 400 pages of letters he wrote to his folks during the war. Many were hand-written, the rest were typed. And though I thought I'd heard all of my father's war stories, the letters provided more questions than answers. Ultimately, I would learn that I hadn't heard the whole story at all.

My father told his three girls his war stories over and over throughout our childhood. But now, with letters in hand, something wasn't adding up. Something wasn't fitting. Something was wrong. So when Dad asked me out to lunch one day, I brought a couple of the letters with me. I began asking questions over chicken enchilada soup, one week at a time. The answers came haltingly, slowly, and sometimes they didn't come at all.

Hard to believe it has been seven years since the tradition began. It started as a simple quest to find the truth, to put the missing puzzle piece of my family history into its proper place. Over time, it became a book. BREAKING THE CODE-A DAUGHTER'S JOURNEY is the result. But our weekly lunch together didn't stop there. When I left my job as a teacher, we switched from meeting for lunch to meeting for breakfast.

Mr. Eds is a local diner. Other than a few times when there are lots of tourists in town, this is one of those places that always offers local flavor and I'm not just talking about the food. Dad still insists on paying for my breakfast. At first he said he'd pay for mine until I got published, but when I was published in a magazine for the first time, he decided he'd pay until I get a BOOK published. We split an eggs Benedict with extra sauce on the side (for him) every week. The cook knows us and starts cooking it when he sees us pull into the parking lot. It's nice to be known like that (every now and then we order something different just to throw him off).

So today, I am announcing a new blog feature called, "Wednesdays with Murray." Every Wednesday, I'll share with you, my readers, something about our time together. Whether it has to do with the war, the book, or a simple musing about a father and a daughter spending time together - you'll find it here every Wednesday.

Photo (courtesy of our waitress): Elvis poses with Dad and me.

I hope you enjoy this new feature. And please don't forget to...WRITE NOW-because it truly is later than you think. ~Karen