Forty-four years ago, on February 18th, my brother Lucas Ventline was killed in Vietnam.
1968 was a terrible year.
When news came, my parents and family were devastated.
Along with the 58,000 other Americans who died, I grieve the deaths of so many these days in battles across the globe, whether in Syria, Iraq or Afghanistan, among other tinder boxes awaiting to explode.
Lucas had months to go before returning home to Michigan.
Loss is never easy.
Grief becomes depression is left unprocessed and unfelt. Swallowed grief becomes depression.
Ever since his demise, I've had a special place in my heart for all service personnel and their families.
Ours in not to reason why, ours is but to do and die, comes to mind once more.
I miss my brother. At 23 he had much life to live yet.
War and its wounds wind around countless survivors, and those hurt in wars.
This primitive way of settling conflicts must be met with imaginitive and less violent means.
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