Korea

I was writing this in the morning, and then realized that it was time to get to church.  Peg and I were to play for the 9:00 a.m. Mass.  So I meant to come home and active this and kind of forgot.  Sorry.


We visited with my sister yesterday and took her out for lunch at Bob Evans.  She really enjoyed herself and then gave us stuff that totally loaded up the car for the trip home.  She's cleaning out her house from the ground up and getting rid of a lot of things.

So I have items to spread out among the family or give to the Salvation Army as I choose.

During our conversation yesterday, she reminded me about Don Heubel, a friend of hers from high school.  Since my sister was 14 when I was born, I got to know some of her friends if they happened to come over.  One of those visitors was Don, and when I was about two and a half, he started coming over to visit with me on the front steps.

He would ask me a lot of questions -- I can remember that much -- and then he would laugh like crazy.  I loved the attention and was rather surprised at his reactions to my statements since they sounded pretty obvious to me.  My sister was always so surprised that he'd come over to see me, this little kid, when she was pretty and 16.  Funny huh?

Well, Don was adopted only he didn't know it.  One day during his senior year in high school, he happened upon some paperwork at his house that showed he was the adopted son of the parents he thought were his "real" parents.  He was very upset with them.  So upset, in fact, that he enlisted right afterwards in the Marines.  After graduation in June, he went to basic training in August, came home for one brief visit and then he was off to Korea.  He got caught up in that horrible fight in Korea in November 1950 when we lost so many men at one time. 

My sister said it was very cold in Korea when Don was killed.  She said that at 82, she still thinks about him shivering and cold and away from home.  I told her that I hoped he had a moment's time or two to think about the adoptive parents who loved him so much at home and that maybe he could forgive them and think that if he got out of that place, he'd go home and make amends.

I don't know.  We'll never know. 

After Don's death, maybe a year or so later, we went to visit his mother.  My sister took me and told me not to mention Don.  And there were pictures of him everywhere, my friend Don.  I remember the conversation as being friendly and nice, but a little tense and stilted.  I remember being uncomfortable, not knowing what to say and feeling sorry for his mother.

Don is buried at Arlington National Cemetery in Washington, DC.  His name is displayed at the peace statue in downtown Cleveland at the base with all of the other local men who gave their lives in Korea.

These are the stories that just get to a person.  Such a miscommunication and misunderstanding.  And what a sad outcome of it all.  God understands our hurts and He relates to our hurts because God in the person of Jesus experienced those same hurts.  There were miscommunications and misunderstandings among his disciples. 

I hope that while he was in Korea, Don came across a dedicated chaplain somewhere and found God.  And that when he was alone in the foreign country, he wasn't really ever alone.  No one is really ever alone, even though it might feel that way.

Have a great day.