Back in the summer of 81 one of my drinking buddies would pick me up on his Harley on the weekends and we would drive through the Vermont woods to his bar on a small lake. We had many escapades and "lost" weekends. It all ended one weekend when he put a bullet through his head.

My drinking buddy was haunted. A decorated Vietnam Vet with a Purple Heart. He never seemed to have left the war. In the end, it seems the war finally caught up with him.

As I think about Memorial Day, I can't help to think of him and many veterans of Vietnam. It seems that age and disability somehow places me in the same "zone". I've known many veterans of the war. Often times I am "adopted" into the group as being one of them. There was a particular group in Arizona who not only adopted me but swore I was well known over there.

Anyways this isn't about me. Its about homeless vets with deep psychological issues left alone while the rest of us remember those who have gone on.

Why do we always think of folks after they are gone?

Terry, this Buds for you dude............

And yes Mom I rode Harley's too. :)