Robert Howard (RH) and Roberta Vincent (RV)
RH: I was four at the time and I remember not crying at the funeral.
RV: I can’t imagine that you even knew what was going on.
RH: I thought it was a magic show.
RV: Really?
RH: Yeah… Seeing him, and then, when they draped the flag, all of a sudden the casket is closed. I’m like, Where did he go?
RV: I remember you writing a paper about him in third grade; but the paper was written as if he was still here. So I remember sitting down, talking to you, and you cried; I cried.
RH: It kind of made me angry, especially coming from a small town where everybody knew my father but me. I just felt cheated.
RV: I could see you struggling but I didn’t know how to help you. And I would envision that God would take me and bring your dad back, because, at that time, you needed him more.
RH: That’s something you never told me, Ma.
You know, I went through a lot of turmoil. And as I grew older, drugs were a way for me to escape; and I really didn’t care whether I lived or died at that time. So I kind of put the blame on him. I used to say to myself, Well things would be different if you were here.
And then I was sleeping one night. I was having a dream and this dream was real vivid. There was a whole bunch of bodies on the ground and I was looking for my father’s body. And I know he was there; but I couldn’t find him. So I think he was trying to wake me up then. And I knew I had to go to Vietnam for me to lay him to rest.
I used to wear that medallion that I had created with his picture etched in gold. I carried it around like it was a part of me; I never took it off. But, when I got to Vietnam, that’s when I took off the medallion. And when I took that chain off, I felt a sense of relief. I didn’t have to carry him anymore.
RV: You certainly have walked in your dad’s footsteps. You honor him daily. I know that he is proud. And I love you dearly.
RH: I love you, too, Ma, and I thank you for sticking it out with me.