This is Hawkeye's reply to Madison's letter. I thought she deserved one.
Please respond. The subject is kind of dark but really important, I think
anyway. Tell me if you think I should write more.
Dear Madison,
I don't know whether you were expecting a reply, or just writing to write. When I was in Korea I wrote countless letters to my father, most of which were more for my own sanity than his edification. There's something about writing that helps to delineate a problem. And once you can figure out what the problem is you can attempt to solve it. Now I sound like my favorite psychiatrist; Sidney Freedman. You know, even he wrote a letter once; to Sigmund Freud. At least you wrote a letter to a person who is still alive.
I can understand your fear. That's the last thing you're supposed to say to someone but I really do understand. The closest experience I can say I've had to what you've been going through was Pearl Harbor, and I was 15. Even then the attack was far away. It didn't touch me. I wasn't of draft-able age, I had no brothers, and it was halfway around the world from Crabapple Cove. I never smelled it.
I was always very concerned for the soldiers who had to fight. But it seemed like they had a clear purpose. Maybe they didn't think they did. I don't know, really. All I know is that I pretty much made it to 25 without having to feel that pain of loss, fear, and uncertainty on a global level.
When you're a kid, you're supposed to feel invincible. You're climbing up the right side of that bell-shaped curve. You're not supposed to fear death. You realize it could happen, but it's supposed to seem far away.
That's how I think you're generation is going to be different from mine. Or at least people like you in your generation. We had that respite, despite a war. We had our chance at invincibility that September Eleventh took away from you. You have no right to feel what you're feeling at your age. No right.
Once I went to Korea, I began to really understand death. I stared it in the eye. I challenged it to duels; I dared Death to take away my patients. And sometimes it did. I began to realize that not only was I not invincible, but I couldn't make anyone else invincible. "Some patients insist on dying, Hawk. You knew that going in. And you had to be a doctor anyway."
It was this discovery of death that helped to contribute to that breakdown I had. It had a lot to do with the baby, but it had more to do with death. I couldn't take it anymore. What was the point? If little and big lives were taken so haphazardly? And the most distressing thought of all was that none of it even mattered. I could work, and work, and once a person was gone they were gone. Forever. And forever is a really long time. Forever scared me. Because one day, I was beginning to realize, it could be me who was leaving forever. And that thought petrified me.
I was about 27 when I first began wrestling with this concept in full. It's a difficult concept to grasp, and one that can lead to some very down days. I still wonder about it now; about 50 years, a wife, 3 kids, and 10 grandkids latter. It still hurts me in a place I can't quite put my finger on when I think of all those who never did make it.
I have figured something out - and I figured it out in Korea - life goes in cycles. There were times when I just couldn't face another body, another bomb, another box of personal affects. I couldn't imagine that I would ever live to 30. There were good cycles when I just couldn't stop laughing, babies were born, people gave selflessly, and I couldn't imagine not making it to 30.
The same thing goes for civilians and life in general. Maybe the cycles aren't so pronounced, but they're there. I married the most beautiful girl in the world, my children were born, I won awards, and everyone laughed at my jokes. And on the down swings people got sick, close friends and family died, and I didn't even have the wit to make a joke.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that life makes no sense in a really rhythmical way. You know there are going to be good and bad times, but you don't know when. Life is full of unexplained coincidences, both good and bad. As a good friend of mine once said "have you followed the way I've drifted?
This is just a really long letter saying that I have no answers. But you knew that anyway. If I could make your fear go away I would. I can't truly understand your fear at the present because I can't imagine any terrorist cells would target Crabapple Cove, but I have understood that fear in the past.
My mother died when I was very young, and that was my first real glimpse of death. That was a more personal realization of mortality and I know you've had a similar experience. Death is one of the scariest things you have to come to terms with as a human being, and I wish I could help you out. As I said before, you have no right to be wrestling with these issues at your age and on such a wide scale.
You said something else that really touched me. Something about feeling claustrophobic, as if you cannot escape the uncertainty of life's course and the certainty of its end. You also said that you knew I would understand that. I do. I think that along with the looks and the humor, you also inherited my fears. Sorry about that. I used to get that feeling all the time, especially in Korea. The feeling that the world isn't big enough. I'd lie at night staring at the roof of my tent my heart pounding, trying to talk myself out of it. I felt trapped in a way that no one else really understood. No matter what I did, or who I touched, I would still die, and that would be it. I couldn't escape it, and that's what claustrophobia's really all about. I hope that me telling you my experiences doesn't scare you more, but helps you to feel that you're not alone.
In some ways I'm glad that you're so much like me, and in other's I'm not. I wish you weren't such a thinker. It would make things one hell of a lot easier on you. But the thinking people, though sometimes the most tortured, are also the most rewarded. I'm sorry again that I can't give you any real answers but maybe my experiences can help you to formulate your own theories.
Don't stop dreaming. That's the goal of these murderers. Don't live so much in the present that you forget to look into your future. It's hard, when you keep thinking "but there may be no tomorrow". But try and reverse that and think, "what if there is a tomorrow." I'm sort of throwing a stone in a glass house on this one, but it's worth a shot.
I would love to hear from you again. It was great to get your letter. You need to come up and visit sometime, all of your friends up here are asking for you. Your Grandma included.
Hang in there Madison, I love you:
~ Grandpa
Dear Madison,
I don't know whether you were expecting a reply, or just writing to write. When I was in Korea I wrote countless letters to my father, most of which were more for my own sanity than his edification. There's something about writing that helps to delineate a problem. And once you can figure out what the problem is you can attempt to solve it. Now I sound like my favorite psychiatrist; Sidney Freedman. You know, even he wrote a letter once; to Sigmund Freud. At least you wrote a letter to a person who is still alive.
I can understand your fear. That's the last thing you're supposed to say to someone but I really do understand. The closest experience I can say I've had to what you've been going through was Pearl Harbor, and I was 15. Even then the attack was far away. It didn't touch me. I wasn't of draft-able age, I had no brothers, and it was halfway around the world from Crabapple Cove. I never smelled it.
I was always very concerned for the soldiers who had to fight. But it seemed like they had a clear purpose. Maybe they didn't think they did. I don't know, really. All I know is that I pretty much made it to 25 without having to feel that pain of loss, fear, and uncertainty on a global level.
When you're a kid, you're supposed to feel invincible. You're climbing up the right side of that bell-shaped curve. You're not supposed to fear death. You realize it could happen, but it's supposed to seem far away.
That's how I think you're generation is going to be different from mine. Or at least people like you in your generation. We had that respite, despite a war. We had our chance at invincibility that September Eleventh took away from you. You have no right to feel what you're feeling at your age. No right.
Once I went to Korea, I began to really understand death. I stared it in the eye. I challenged it to duels; I dared Death to take away my patients. And sometimes it did. I began to realize that not only was I not invincible, but I couldn't make anyone else invincible. "Some patients insist on dying, Hawk. You knew that going in. And you had to be a doctor anyway."
It was this discovery of death that helped to contribute to that breakdown I had. It had a lot to do with the baby, but it had more to do with death. I couldn't take it anymore. What was the point? If little and big lives were taken so haphazardly? And the most distressing thought of all was that none of it even mattered. I could work, and work, and once a person was gone they were gone. Forever. And forever is a really long time. Forever scared me. Because one day, I was beginning to realize, it could be me who was leaving forever. And that thought petrified me.
I was about 27 when I first began wrestling with this concept in full. It's a difficult concept to grasp, and one that can lead to some very down days. I still wonder about it now; about 50 years, a wife, 3 kids, and 10 grandkids latter. It still hurts me in a place I can't quite put my finger on when I think of all those who never did make it.
I have figured something out - and I figured it out in Korea - life goes in cycles. There were times when I just couldn't face another body, another bomb, another box of personal affects. I couldn't imagine that I would ever live to 30. There were good cycles when I just couldn't stop laughing, babies were born, people gave selflessly, and I couldn't imagine not making it to 30.
The same thing goes for civilians and life in general. Maybe the cycles aren't so pronounced, but they're there. I married the most beautiful girl in the world, my children were born, I won awards, and everyone laughed at my jokes. And on the down swings people got sick, close friends and family died, and I didn't even have the wit to make a joke.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that life makes no sense in a really rhythmical way. You know there are going to be good and bad times, but you don't know when. Life is full of unexplained coincidences, both good and bad. As a good friend of mine once said "have you followed the way I've drifted?
This is just a really long letter saying that I have no answers. But you knew that anyway. If I could make your fear go away I would. I can't truly understand your fear at the present because I can't imagine any terrorist cells would target Crabapple Cove, but I have understood that fear in the past.
My mother died when I was very young, and that was my first real glimpse of death. That was a more personal realization of mortality and I know you've had a similar experience. Death is one of the scariest things you have to come to terms with as a human being, and I wish I could help you out. As I said before, you have no right to be wrestling with these issues at your age and on such a wide scale.
You said something else that really touched me. Something about feeling claustrophobic, as if you cannot escape the uncertainty of life's course and the certainty of its end. You also said that you knew I would understand that. I do. I think that along with the looks and the humor, you also inherited my fears. Sorry about that. I used to get that feeling all the time, especially in Korea. The feeling that the world isn't big enough. I'd lie at night staring at the roof of my tent my heart pounding, trying to talk myself out of it. I felt trapped in a way that no one else really understood. No matter what I did, or who I touched, I would still die, and that would be it. I couldn't escape it, and that's what claustrophobia's really all about. I hope that me telling you my experiences doesn't scare you more, but helps you to feel that you're not alone.
In some ways I'm glad that you're so much like me, and in other's I'm not. I wish you weren't such a thinker. It would make things one hell of a lot easier on you. But the thinking people, though sometimes the most tortured, are also the most rewarded. I'm sorry again that I can't give you any real answers but maybe my experiences can help you to formulate your own theories.
Don't stop dreaming. That's the goal of these murderers. Don't live so much in the present that you forget to look into your future. It's hard, when you keep thinking "but there may be no tomorrow". But try and reverse that and think, "what if there is a tomorrow." I'm sort of throwing a stone in a glass house on this one, but it's worth a shot.
I would love to hear from you again. It was great to get your letter. You need to come up and visit sometime, all of your friends up here are asking for you. Your Grandma included.
Hang in there Madison, I love you:
~ Grandpa