Stories We Tell: Jeannie Puckett
(Installment 8 of 14)
Collected and arranged by
Amy Uptgraft
Edited by
Audra Edwards
“I knew this day was coming. I knew I had married a man who was a professional soldier and there was a war to fight. I had no right to make it harder for him to go, but, for me, having the three children made it much harder to say, ‘I support your decision.’
The day he was to leave, the rains came down in torrents. I woke up in tears, and, every time I looked at Ralph, I could not control myself. He spent the day playing board games with the children on the living room floor, and I stayed in the bedroom trying to get control of myself. My father called to see if he could take Ralph to the airport instead of me. I insisted that I would be up to it by the time we had to leave. That proved to be untrue. I was an emotional wreck and called my father back, asking that he come to get Ralph. I am not sure how the final goodbye came about, but Ralph said that, on the way to the airport, both he and my father were in tears. When they reached the entryway, Ralph asked to be let off and for my father to leave him. Ralph walked into the airport alone, only to find another officer was leaving on the same plane and his entire extended family was there to send him off. I am sure that the entire group must have thought “poor Ralph” was dropped off with no family send-off! All I can say is that we all react differently to events in our lives, and we should never judge anyone by our standards.
Several months after Ralph arrived in Vietnam, I received a ham radio call from Ralph. Ham radio is not an official telephone line but is used by civilian people who use this type of communication as a hobby. They would connect people in distant places to reach someone in the States. How this all came about, I am not sure, but when I answered the phone, the ham operator told me that I had an incoming call from Vietnam. Ralph’s voice came on the phone, and he said, “Jeannie, I am calling to tell you that I have been wounded but not too seriously. I did not want you to hear it from anyone but me. I cannot talk now, but just know that I am OK.” I said something, but the line went dead. Not until Ralph returned to the States did I know the full story. Ralph had been seriously wounded when a hand grenade exploded 18 inches from his head. Why it did not kill him, we do not know. It blew out both eardrums, and he had a concussion. The Chaplain insisted he let me know what had happened. The Chaplain placed the call and Ralph told me what happened, but he could not hear anything I said in response. The Chaplain was writing down everything I said in return. That is why the call was so short.
Sometime during Ralph’s time in Vietnam, some friends took me to Auburn to a football game. I know this was an outreach to me to help keep me busy. It was a beautiful fall day while sitting in the stands; the crowd was cheering wildly as the score was neck-and-neck, and Auburn had the chance to score the winning point. Everyone was on their feet as if it was “life or death” on the goal line. At that exact moment, I had what I could only call an “out of body experience.” I felt myself floating above the crowd and thinking, “What am I doing here when my husband is on the battlefield and could be dead at this very moment?” It was just a momentary experience, but it was very real to me. I cannot remember who won the game, and while I appreciated the invitation for the day, I went home with the feeling that I was living a different life from most of my friends.”
Reflections from Amy:
It was one of those purple-black-night mornings, hazy and hot in Tennessee. All the kids were passed out, after crying themselves to sleep saying goodbye to their daddy. We had gone room to room to snuggle, tuck in, wipe tears…outnumbered with the parent to child ratio. We crawled into bed, exhausted but not sleeping, but each second counted. I whispered into his neck, “Please come back. Please come back. Please come back.” Him not saying a word in return because he knew. His ride pulled into the driveway, and I leaned in for one last touch, felt his beating heart, sobbed into his shirt. “Don’t, Ame. I love you. I gotta go.” I felt so guilty for not taking him myself, but he insisted. It was easier this way, to picture us all asleep in our house so when he got there, he could just focus on work, getting through the next year. Like Jeannie, I felt like I was letting him down somehow, but she’s right. We all have our own way, and this way was ours.
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