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Veterans Day in America 2012

11/09/2012 16:58:00

Veterans Day in America 2012
America, the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
Have you ever noticed? They are all around you.

We have young ones, and old ones, yellow and red ones, ones from the south, ones from north, ones who are peace nicks and ones who still fight. We have compassionate ones too, mothers and fathers, plus sisters and brothers. We have wounded ones, and ones who are still intact. We have mentally ill ones, and homeless ones too. We have generational ones, and ones blazing a new trail. We have poor ones and well off ones, conservative ones, and liberal ones. We have gay ones (we are allowed to say that now), and straight ones. We have black ones, and white ones too. We have angry ones, and hurt ones, and ones with PTSD. We have ones who love their community, and ones who want to be left alone. We have proud ones, and ones who never talk. We have addicted ones, and cold stone sober ones. We have women ones, and men ones too. We have ones who have been raped. We have ones who have seen horrible things, and ones who have created peace. We have P.O.W. ones, and ones who have given the ultimate sacrifice, they will never be forgotten. We have ones who hate, and ones who love. We have poisoned ones, and amputee ones. We have ones who beep in metal detectors, and ones who saw no action. We have mid-western ones, and west coast ones. We have aggressive ones, and passive ones. There are abusive ones, and ones who have been abused. We have gun hating ones, and gun loving ones. We have in-country ones, and desk jockey ones. We have proud ones, and ashamed ones. We have immigrant ones, and hometown ones. We have ones with mixed emotions, and ones who are assured. We have ones with wanderlust, and ones who are homesick. We have ones with little children, and ones who have lost children. We have ones who'd never re-up, and ones who have over and over. We have suicidal ones, and ones who have died from suicide, lots and lots of ones. We have lots of different types of ones.

They may come from a different walks of life, political persuasions, or moral ideals then you, but they have laid it all on the line for your parents, you, your children, and your children's future children. We are celebrating all the ones, the Americans, who have served in the U.S. Armed Services on this eleventh of November, 2012.

Children of Vietnam Veterans Health Alliance, honors our Veterans today, and everyday. Thank you each for your service, and welcome home to the land of the brave.
-Heather A. Bowser, MsEd, LPCC, Copyright 2012

The Bastard Children of the U.S. Government

05/03/2012 12:02:00

Well it's that time in my life again, I am aware. I feel it, it's like an old wool sweater that first feels warm and inviting, but suddenly turns itchy and uncomfortable. I've been here before, but this time it is very different, because I am no longer alone. See, I started as an Agent Orange activist at the age of four or five when my parents would attend rallies in the Canton Ohio, area to bring awareness to Agent Orange issues. I would wear a skirt so all could see my prosthesis and a tee shirt that said Agent Orange Makes Me Sick. I turn forty this October. I am almost as old as the Agent Orange fight is long.

So many years in this fight, I have been so isolated in this struggle of Agent Orange. It was easy to say, "enough, I am done for awhile," to walk away, to gain perspective, rest. I am no longer afforded that ability. Being a part of the creation of the new group, Children of Vietnam Veterans Health Alliance, means my circle has expanded significantly, and now instead of focusing on my own thoughts and feelings about Agent Orange. I am pushed to listen, learn, and experience the struggles of my own peers dealing with devastating unexplained birth defects and illnesses.

How can I take a break to rest, when my fellow peers go to the doctor and are laughed out of the office when they bring up dioxin exposure in their Father as a cause for their unexplained illnesses? How can I rest when some of my new found friends are finding cysts on their brain and various cancers in their body? How can I rest?

Almost weekly, I reply to a tear filled email asking for guidance on how to file a claim with the US government, and I have to tell them,

" I'm sorry, but your claim will be denied. The government only recognizes Spina Bifida (not Occulta ) in the children of male Vietnam veterans, but please apply anyway."

The following conversation usually happens;

Me, "Yes, I know there are birth defects listed on the VA website, but those are only for the children of Female VN Veterans."

Agent Orange Survivor, "Why?"

Me, "Well I believe it's a number game. There were around eight thousand women who served in Vietnam, there were 2.8 million men it would be really expensive to take care of the children of male Vietnam Veterans so our government looks away."

Agent Orange Survivor, " Oh, but I need help, I don't have insurance, or my insurance won't pay for my needed treatment."

Me, "I'm so sorry to disappoint you, let me give you the link to our private support community. "

A link to real support is great, but it doesn't fill the hole dioxin has created in the lives of the children of Male Vietnam Veterans. I have heard us called "the bastard children of the U.S. government" Many of our Dads came home from war sick, suffering with PTSD, they created sick children, they died, and now their grandchildren in many cases are sick as well. That cycle has been repeated, repeated, repeated, over and over. I know, because I get the emails, and see my peers stories in our support community, daily.

The emotional and physical toll the Vietnam war has taken on my generation of offspring is tragic. I have often said myself," I wasn't even born during war time, but the Vietnam war has defined my life since day one, even long after my father's death." It has never been but a few thoughts away. There has been no rest.

Many, many of us now have to watch our children, the third generation suffer from unexplained birth defects, and developmental disorders such as autism. As a matter of fact, autism is the most reported issue in the third generation in our self reported survey in our support community, but it is by no means the only. Our children have cleft palate, congenital heart problems, club feet, auto immune problems...The list goes on and on (And looks very similar to the list of birth defects covered in the children of female Vietnam Veterans). The fortunate ones who have seemingly, healthy children worry that like their own fathers, and like themselves, their beautiful children are ticking time bombs ready to explode into rare cancers, uncontrolled diabetes, debilitating autoimmune disorders, and the like.

The current state of our movement to get the Government to acknowledge us is in its infancy stage. Actually we are still in labor. So many of us have been so used to working solo on this issue, are new to the issue, or have relied on our elder generation to fix this problem for us, we are adjusting to what it means to have each other's support. We have overlooked the power within ourselves for many years for various reasons. As we mature and realize we must fight for our own children and our very lives, we know we have to do something. We are working hard to become a more organized front.

Today we recognize this is our fight, but we are jumble of personalities, backgrounds, different ideals, morals, and insights, who have nothing in common but our connection to the pain and agony known from the result of the Vietnam war. We've each experienced the aftermath of Vietnam in our own way. Some have had an up bringing involving our Father who was absent, or died young, some had Dads who were addicted to drugs or alcohol, others had Dads who were seemingly untouched by their service in Vietnam. The children of Vietnam Veterans have been thrown into a fifty five gallon drum with an orange stripe, shaken, spilled out and expected to meld together in a cohesive entity, to make something big happen. As you can imagine, this is a hurdle we have to overcome.

We are inexperienced at best at organizing, but our passion to make a difference in our lives, and the lives of our children is a force to be reckoned with. We want acknowledgement, we want care for the sick, we want those responsible to make right. We are already losing our fathers at alarming rates, we are sick, our children are sick and enough is enough.

We have many examples of grassroots organization from our fathers and mothers who did whatever they could to get Agent Orange into the American vernacular to save our veterans and their children. They saved lives by pushing our government to acknowledge what they had done to our veteran's health by spraying 22 million gallons of Agent Orange in Vietnam. There have been many Agent Orange warriors, both men and women who have paved the path and have set examples for us to learn from. Their work is not to be forgotten, or dismissed as non-relevant, their work is our stepping stone. Their sacrifices are our examples. Their knowledge should be considered our generous gift.

As the world forgets us, and moves forward to more recent Veterans health issues like depleted Uranium, burn pits, and the other horrible side effects of our current wars, the time is now, there is no time to rest. The birth defect list that covers the children and grandchildren of female Vietnam veterans must be applied to the children and grandchildren of male Vietnam Veterans, and the grandchildren of female Vietnam Veterans. Acknowledge us, help our sick. Only working together can this feat be accomplished.

Heather Bowser is Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor and small business owner. She is the daughter of a deceased Vietnam Veteran whose death is attributed to his exposure to Agent Orange while serving his country during the Vietnam War. Heather was born premature, she is missing her right leg below the knee, several of her fingers, her big toe on her left foot, her remaining toes were webbed. Heather is a wife and mother, she has two healthy boys. She has traveled to Vietnam twice to bring awareness and support to the Vietnamese Agent Orange survivors who continue to be born at alarming rates due to contaminated areas still left in the Vietnamese soil. She wants justice for all affected by Agent Orange Dioxin. Heather works for a new organization founded by the offspring of Vietnam Veterans for offspring of Vietnam Veterans. The group is called Children of Vietnam Veterans Health Alliance. You can visit their website at www.covvha.net.

Heather A. Bowser, LPCC

www.COVVHA.net

COVVHA@gmail.com

www.agentorangespeaker.com

Fourteen Years of Remembering

03/10/2012 22:15:00

MARCH 11, 2012,

Dear Dad,

Fourteen years and counting, fourteen years of missing, fourteen years of living, fourteen years of remembering, and fourteen years of forgetting. Where are you? Can you see me? If I try really hard I can see your smile. I can hear your voice, your laugh...

What is it like there? Are you asleep? Can you reach out? Answer me please. I call out to you at times. You are my Father, a girl needs her Father, Damn it. “A GIRL NEEDS HER FATHER! “ Why did you leave? Where did you go? Am I supposed to believe you floated away to a place in the sky? Am I supposed to believe you’ve come back as a house cat, or a frog, or a pigeon? I know what I’ve been told all this time, I just want to know what you know. Feel free to tell me at anytime.

After fourteen years, do you remember me? Do you remember to think of me? Can you watch from where you are? Do you see my heart? Do you know the pain I feel? The hole is still here, no one can fill it, ever. I’ve tried to move on, but I fall into the hole when I least expect it, and there I am, missing you again. Where are you Dad?

In my being, I have come to accept many things. I have to live, live for real, live full tilt, because I don’t know when it will be over and I will leave a hole in my family. I have to let go and not hold on, because the things I thought would always be permanent, just crumble away. Why did you have to go? Good guys never win. That’s only in movies.

Fourteen years of fighting the Veterans Administration. Good guys, NEVER, win Dad. They took you away with their lies and cover-ups. They allowed you die. They left you behind. They turned their back. They turn their back on me too. On all of the Guy’s kids, Dad, they still do not care. Some things never change. They are allowing us to die, they are leaving us behind. Not all of them are as strong as me, many have died already. I NEED YOU TO FIGHT FOR US DAD, but you are not here. Where are you? Why did they make you go away?

There are times I see you in my sons, their passions mirror your passions. I see you in my relationships. I see you in the opportunities I have had. I see you in the choices I’ve made. I see you in my bravery. I see you in my fears. I see you in my anxiety. I see you in photographs and in my own aging face. I see you in my humor and my mind’s eye. You are everywhere, but nowhere… I listen for your laugh.

Your Loving Daughter,

Heather Anne

William A. “Bill” Morris

July 16, 1947- March, 11, 1998

Mom, My Brother , and Dad

The Stone Filled Knapsack

07/10/2011 00:58:00

The Stone filled Knapsack - Heather Bowser

Agent Orange, since the day I was born.

It has marred my very existence.

I have carried it with me like stones in a knapsack.

When kids teased me,

When my Dad became ill,

When my Brother felt alone,

When my Mother became a widow,

I added new, heavier stones to my knapsack.

It's been an extremely heavy burden to carry.

However, I have carried it.

I have known great joy along with my suffering,

College,

Marriage,

Healthy children.

In these moments,

I had a chance to lay down some of the stones from my knapsack.

I did.

My knapsack is tattered and tired,

But I still carry my unfortunate burden of Agent Orange.

The stones are still heavy,

But my back has grown stronger not weaker.

I carry heavy stones,

A stone for my Mother,

A stone for my Brother,

A stone for Grandchildren, who will never know the love of my Father,

A stone for the Vietnam veterans,

A stone for their spouses,

A stone for their sons and daughters.

I believe my knapsack is heavier now than it ever has been,

But that's okay because it's my knapsack, I'm strong, it's familiar.

I add to my weight, the innocent of Vietnam,

For the ones who are like me, and the ones who are lost within a prison of broken mind.

They carry a stone filled knapsack and their stones are heavy.

Their stones include;

Poverty,

Poor health care,

Abandonment,

Cultural bias,

and so much more.

Their suffering is worse then many,

But we all do suffer without a second thought by those who cause our pain.

I reel under the weight of my knapsack.

It's filled to the top with burdens almost too great to bear,

But I will continue to carry it with the help of my peers across the world.

It is okay,

I carry heavy stones.

I am the Daughter of a Vietnam veteran.

July 9, 2011

My country continues to ignore our plight. My Father's claim goes untouched in a filing cabinet in Philadelphia, PA, new widows grieve...Children in Vietnam die, Monsanto reaps in profits, and more men are listed as terminal. Today is just another day in the life of someone touched by chemical warfare.

ShareHeather A. Bowser, LPCC

www.agentorangespeaker.com

Heather@agentorangespeaker.com

Agent Orange Offspring Find Peace in Companionship

06/09/2011 20:52:00

I woke up this morning thinking of those in Vietnam again. This occurrence has been common since I have come home from my trip to Vietnam last October. This morning, it was one of the young girls I met at Tu Du hospital on my mind. When I first saw her that October afternoon, she had a smile a mile wide. Her eyes were full of light. She was missing one leg below the knee. I believe her other leg was malformed. She crossed it behind her while she walked on her knees along the hospital hallway floor. She seemed to be friends with a little boy who had a malformed face. She looked up at me smiling. I waved at her. She waved at me, and I took her picture. I was immediately, emotionally connected to her. It’s one of my favorite shots of my afternoon there. I refer to it often when I feel lonely in this fight for the acknowledgment of all children affected by Agent Orange.

Tu Du Hospital is a large women’s hospital in Ho Chi Minh City. In this bustling hospital is a floor devoted to caring for the Vietnamese child victims of Agent Orange. Most children here are Orphans but some children have parents that come and visit them. The parents cannot afford to care for them at home. Children live on this hospital floor, A.K.A. Peace Village, for their childhood. The day I was there, there were children here as young as a few months to as old as twenty six years old. When we arrived on the floor, we were asked to don white lab jackets and to cover our shoes with disposable booties. I was very excited to visit here because I knew I would see children like me.

Looking at the children in the hospital, there were a variety of physical deformities. What struck me was example after example of children with various limb loss due to birth defects. It seemed on this floor having both hands, all fingers, both arms, legs, feet and toes would place one in the minority. In the lower extremities, it was mostly below the knee like my own birth defect. Most of them had a part of their tibia which is the small bone in the back of the leg. It does not extend all the way for a full leg swing. I too have only a small “nub” of my tibia. These children’s limbs looked just like my own “Little Leg.” I accepted this easily when I saw the children on a hospital wing in Old Saigon, but now that I am home it cuts me like a knife.

My father told me that when he first saw me when I was born, my left leg was longer than it is now. He said it looked different when he saw me the second time after my birth. My mother didn't see me directly after my birth because they sedated her with strong medication. He had questioned if they had done surgery to remove part of my tibia. The doctors would not confirm they had done anything to me. When I was young, I was angry that there was a chance that doctors violated me and took more of my body away without permission, but now as an adult I understand why they did, if they did.

The tibia does not extend all the way so there is not a complete knee swing. A below the knee prosthetic will not work if there is a long tibia. An above the knee prosthesis will not work either because there is no room for the tibia. If doctors removed a long tibia from my leg they did me a favor. I am able to wear an above the knee prosthesis and still have my deformed knee. The children in Vietnam without surgery will have extreme difficulty walking with prosthetics. The chances they will have corrective surgery are low. Most likely, they will be wheelchair bound their whole life. This saddens me. I know the freedom I have is because of proper prosthetic care.

My parents were told that when I was 18 and done growing I should have a procedure to remove my malformed knee. The doctors thought I could have a better cosmetically fitting and more comfortable prosthetic. My parents left it up to me to decide. I decided not to have the surgery, mostly because I was uneducated as to how it would actually help me plus I was eighteen. At the edge of starting adulthood there was no time for a recovery period. Thankfully, today, I am able to be mobile despite my malformed knee. As for the children in Tu Du Hospital, they have many challenges.

I dream about bringing proper, current, prosthetic care to all the children without lower limbs who live in Tu Du, as well as in the country side. Care that could help children learn to be stable on their feet, walk, and then run. With proper care they could run away from being confined to a wheelchair, away from crawling on the floor, and away from yearning for the full life they deserve. I know the empowerment that comes from proper prosthetic care. There is not a day that goes by I do not depend on my artificial leg to enable me the freedom many take for granted. When my leg is not working correctly I am basically down for the count.

During my afternoon at Tu Du Hospital, I met Hoan, 24, and Loi, 26, both double lower extremity victims of limb loss. They are both young adults who have grown up in the hospital. Hoan wears two prosthetic limbs. Loi chooses not to wear artificial legs. Hoan’s prosthetics are very primitive. She is wearing the same style artificial leg that I wore as a young child. When I was little, my prosthesis was cast out of fiberglass. It had a single hinge knee with a foam foot and a strap that wrapped around my waist. It was cumbersome, painful and limiting.

Hoan is a very impressive young woman who has traveled to the United States to testify to the US Congress on behalf of herself and her peers living with the devastation of our government’s choice to spray 20 million gallons of Agent Orange in Southeast Asia. She is intelligent and determined to succeed in her university studies. She speaks English and has shown by traveling to the US and speaking out for the offspring victims of Agent Orange that she wants the world to know what has happened to the children of Vietnam.

When I think about Hoan as a young, Vietnamese woman, navigating the streets of Ho Chi Minh City it makes me cringe. The streets in Vietnam require getting on and off motorbikes, walking around on uneven, crowded sidewalks, and navigating the extremely busy intersections. She told me it is very difficult for her to get around and that she has fallen several times. She says it’s very hard to get up when she falls. I empathize with her. Imagine for a minute that you had two door hinges for knees. Wildly unpredictable stability is what she must contend with as well as the emotional difficulty that comes with having a disability in her culture.

Watching the younger children on the hospital floor walk on their knees up and down the hallway made me think back to my own childhood. When I didn’t have my leg on, I would walk in the same manner. In my mind, I noted how dirty their knees were because often times that’s how mine looked before getting in the bathtub. Seeing them move around this way shot me back to a time that I myself was in the hospital having tests on my kidneys.

It was the middle of the night, and I had gotten up out of bed to go to the restroom. I crawled to the restroom because my leg was out of reach and it would be faster to get there without it. On my way back, a nurse had come into my room to check on me. She saw me crawling on my knees out of the bathroom.

“Get off that floor now!” She yelled.

She startled me. I didn’t know she was there.

I stood up on my good leg and hopped towards my hospital bed.

Pissed off, I yelled.”I don’t have a leg!

She was as startled as me, and stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

I was thinking “Well maybe you should read your charts, lady!” I was around 12 years old.

It was surreal the way I felt jealous of the children on this hospital wing in HCMC. Even with all their challenges, the children at least had each other. They appeared, for the most part, to be happy. They didn't have to explain over and over what has happened to their bodies. There were others who looked physically similar to them. They didn't feel like an outcast to their peers. All these things I did not have growing up. I was overwhelmed with emotion watching the younger children interact with each other. When God gave me the greatest gift, my gift came in the form of a twelve year old Vietnamese boy.

I had noticed his picture while we were in a meeting with the Doctors of the floor. His left hand looked very similar to mine. Little did I know, his limb loss looked identical to mine. When I saw him, he was a smiling little boy in a wheelchair. He was missing his leg just like me and was pulling himself along in his wheelchair with his good leg. His fellow peers were helping him along. His hand looked almost identical to mine. We were both missing the same fingers. Our birth defects were so similar. It was actually comforting. I asked through our translator if I could take his picture. He agreed. I showed him my left hand and he showed me his.

I asked Hoan if this little boy wore an artificial leg. She translated to him and he nodded yes. I noticed the boy’s friend, who had lobster claw shaped hands and no legs, scurry off quickly. Moments later, he returned, this time holding his friend’s artificial leg for me to see! I laughed at the sight of this little boy’s enthusiasm to show me his friend’s leg.

A part of me healed in that moment. A wound that was left over from early childhood was relieved. Acceptance, companionship, and friendship surrounded me. I let my twelve year old self feel those very things the children gave easily to each other on this warm fall day in Vietnam. I was granted peace.

Today I understand deeply that I not only share birth defects with my American peers, but together we belong to a group of children who live on a hospital ward in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. Agent Orange is a humankind problem, not a single group’s issue.

Of course, when I came home, the angrier I became. I am close to forty years old and have turned my challenges into a successful life, but these were young children who have been born with birth defects within the last several years. This has happened because dioxin is still in their environment. My father was a war veteran. He left Vietnam after his tour. These children’s families were just living in their environment when tragedy struck them. There are twenty eight hot spots in Vietnam where dioxin levels are still very high. I have read that there are over 2 million acres in Vietnam where vegetation still does not grow as a result of the use of herbicide. Like myself, my family, my American peers, and their families and others around the world, the Vietnamese innocent children do not deserve to carry the burden of the few who made the decision to spray Agent Orange. When will it stop?

When I came home, I learned more about the twelve year old boy who shared my same birth defects. He was orphaned at the hospital and his parents moved out of the country. No one knows where they are. What a striking difference from my own life in America. His peers are all he has.

Since my trip, I have had the opportunity to met other American Children of Male Vietnam Vets affected by birth defects of the hands, arms, and fingers. In America, we are fortunate not to be defined by our birth defects unless we allow it. We are victims of the decision to use Agent Orange in Southeast Asia, but we have not allowed our birth defects to define our lives. The children of Vietnam deserve the same.

ShareJen Loney (PA)- Born without Right arm

Ben Quick (AZ)- Born with missing fingers on his left hand

Tanya Mack, Born with severe hip dysplasia and currently fighting a rare form of cancer.

Agent Orange Widows Only Find Impenetrable Bureaucracy

05/26/2011 23:38:00

This Memorial Day, let us remember the men and women of the military, but let us also consider the ones left behind. In particular, the widows of Vietnam Veterans, whose husbands have succumb to Agent Orange exposure.

This past week, my Uncle, a retired career, Air Force man, began receiving his additional AO benefits for his heart disease. Of course, we all celebrated. We are thrilled his new disability rating will result in benefits for my Aunt, if something happens to him. My Mother and I, happily chatted about him getting his benefits. It is such joy to us, to see a Veteran and his family, finally being compensated for the Veteran’s loss of health, especially a family member. Money will never restore his health, as my Aunt quickly pointed out, but it will relieve some financial unknowns, due to loss of income, from illness and disability. Something my own parents did not have the opportunity to enjoy. This is the difference of the handling of new Agent Orange claims vs the reopened old Agent Orange claims.

Today, I heard grief and anger in my Mother’s usual calm, matter of fact, voice. She reminded me, not out of jealousy, but out of frustration, my Uncle received his benefits just 23 days after he filed for them. My Mother has waited twenty seven years since my father first filed his heart disease claim. You see, one day, my Dad left work at the steel mill early because he thought he had walking pneumonia. It turned out, the doctor said he was five hours away from a massive heart attack. He had to have emergency bypass surgery on his heart. He was 38 years old. This near death experience left my family nearly penniless. 80/20 insurance sounds great until a major medical issue makes your 20% well over $100,000.00 They never recovered financially. Around age 40 Dad developed diabetes, age 48 he had a stroke, and age 50 he died of a massive heart attack. “Till Death Do Us Part” became too real to my Mother, way to soon.

In July of 2010, my mother received a letter from the VA stating they were opening my Father’s file for forensic review, because most likely, his heart condition was going to be added to the presumptive list of diseases, cause by Agent Orange exposure. At that time, they stated they were unable to make a judgment on the case until it was officially added to the presumptive list. It was added at the end of October, 2011.

Since that time, my mother has been waiting seven months. She has called service officers to get answers. She has heard, “The VA is backed up due to new claims, they are overwhelmed and short staffed.” She has heard, they are paying living, ill, Veterans first, then the families of deceased ones (She was later told that was untrue). She has heard lots of rumors too. She has heard there will be no monies left for the old claims once the new claims have been addressed. She has heard claims had to be processed within 6 months. She has heard they have to be paid by October 30 or September 30. Rumor after rumor, and no one with true answers seems to be around. Every time she sends an inquiry on the status of the claim, she gets “We are overwhelmed, too few staff, or too few hours in a day.”

In 2002, the company my mother worked in for 30 years let her go with no warning. They moved their operations south. “As of 4:00 pm you no longer work here.” They would only give her severance pay if she signed a two year non-compete clause. Just four years after becoming a widow, now she found herself without her career. She was receiving her VA monthly benefit, and my Dad’s small pension from the mill, but it was barely enough. She made the difficult choice to accelerate her pension to have money to live on, and take advantage of her widow education benefits from the VA. My Mother graduated with her associate’s degree in 2003 (at age 56) and started a business with a partner. She has done all she can do to make a living for herself since Dad has died, but now she faces insecurity. Her business is just starting to do well. Yesterday she had to opt out of my Father's Social security or face stiff penalties. Now she is living with a comission based income in addition to her VA widow's pay and my Dad's small mill pension and she's nervous.

Senator Franken (D-MN) recently sent a letter to the secretary of the VA, Secretary Shinseki, in it among other things, Senator Franken mentioned the back log of forensic cases in review in his state. The subject of forensic reviews was explained in the reply from Secretary Shinseki to Senator Franken.

This is an excerpt from Sen. Franken’s letter to Secretary Shinseki:

This brings me to the final, and in someways most serious, problem that some of my constituents have encountered. The veterans who had previously filed claims and who now must have their cases reviewed at the Phoenix center have been faced with seemingly endless delay and impenetrable bureaucracy. My office, numerous Veterans Service Organizations, and even nearby VA regional offices have found it nearly impossible to review these files once they have been sent out of state. My office has contacted the Phoenix VA office regarding individual cases and was sent a standard form letter stating the claim was in process and the veteran would be notified when it was completed. My constituents need a more detailed response. Above all, these highly deserving veterans who have been waiting for so long for compensation should have their cases expedited, not delayed without any prospect of resolution.

An excerpt from Secretary Shinseki’s reply:

Claims submitted by Veterans who were previously denied service connection for any of the three presumptive conditions prior to October 13, 2009, must be processed in accordance with Nehmer guidelines. Such claims are being processed at one of 14 Resource Centers. All Nehmer claims under the jurisdiction of the St. Paul Regional Office are processed at the center in Phoenix, Arizona.

Claims handled by these special processing centers are receiving the highest level of attention. VA has established a goal of adjudicating the approximately 150,000 Nehmer claims by September 30, 2011. These claims are extremely complex, requiring a detailed review of potential entitlement from the earliest effective date allowable by· law. VA is devoting extensive resources to processing these claims, assigning our most experienced employees to the adjudication of these very labor-intensive cases. Over 1,300 VA employees are now dedicated to processing Nehmer claims, and mandatory overtime has been initiated at these 14 Resource Centers. We are continuously reevaluating our processes to ensure that we are providing Veterans with decisions as quickly and accurately as possible. As of May 6, 2011, over 35,000 of these claims have been rated at these Resource Centers.

(In case you do not understand the Nehmer Guidelines, here is the link

for a quick understanding jump to page, 10-12).

http://www.nvlsp.org/Information/ArticleLibrary/AgentOrange/NehmerTrainingGuide.pdf)

I believe enough is enough, 27 years after my father’s claim, and 13 years since his death, our family deserves better. How much longer do we wait? My Mother deserves the best. I would argue, she has suffered the most from this whole tragedy called Agent Orange. She has endured three miscarriages, the birth of a disable daughter, an ill husband, the death of her husband, and the loneliness of being a widow, during a time of life when there should be enjoyment of a lifetime together. She has suffered more than me.

Now the VA, is re-victimizing her, and all the other Agent Orange widows, with pending claims, They are holding the carrot out in front of them, then making them wait with no support. I find this disgraceful. My father’s Claim was filed in 1984, were there 35,000 Nehmer claims made prior to his? The Secretary wears that number, 35,000 cases completed, like a badge of honor. I am very happy for the 35,000 families that have already been awarded the Nehmer claim but 35,000,out of 150,000 claims, in seven months, is nothing to be proud of. It is a start, but it does not even represent half of the 150,000 open Nehmer claims.

Telling a widow, or a Vet’s family, they most likely will be compensated then making them wait with no idea of where their loved one’s claim is in the process is cruel. Why can’t the VA say, “Sorry Mrs. So and So, we haven’t started your husband’s claim yet, but we are projected to start it, the second week of August.” Or “Oh, Mrs. So and So your husband’s claim has had a total of 12 work hours devoted to it. It's projected to be completed in 15 business days.” Something….please, something…

Obviously, 14 Resource Centers are not enough. Instead of paying 1300 people overtime, why not add more centers to help carry the load? The most experienced staff could train others to work alongside the experts. The money spent would go to fresh workers who are not as prone to make mistakes, as overworked ones.

Mr. Secretary, according to your response to Senator Franken, there are 115,000 Nehmer Claims still pending. With 1300, highly qualified, VA employees, working overtime, on these highly involved cases; the simple math suggests, each worker has to review 88 cases to complete the 115,000 remaining pending claims, by (according to your response to Senator Franken) September 30, 2011.

Please Mr. Secretary, help me understand how each one of these specialized employees; can properly review 88 of these extremely complex cases, in less than 157 days (as of May 26, 2011)? These same employees have collectively completed only 35,000 claims in roughly 210 days. The math suggests each employee has only completed roughly 27 cases. Please be honest with our widows and families, Mr. Secretary. The deadline you have suggested is a pipe dream. Of course, the VA could try to push them all through, and create an environment requiring a long appeal process, and more trauma, and grief for the widows. Is this the ultimate goal? Mr. Secretary, hire more staff, complete this process properly and efficiently.

Who cares for the widow when she has given everything? Who protects her? Who will fight for her now that her solider is gone? Who will make the widow the priority she deserves to be? The widows of Vietnam Veterans deserve better treatment by the VA. God Bless all military widows and their families on this Memorial Day.

Heather A. Bowser, LPCC

Proud Daughter of a Deceased Vietnam Veteran

www.agentorangespeaker.com

My Mother's license plate

Photographs of Your PTSD

05/16/2011 13:37:00

I was recently very fortunate. My mother, while searching for some pictures of her Brother, for his upcoming class reunion, came across a large cache of pictures of my Dad in Vietnam. You see my Father was always a camera guy. He enjoyed taking pictures and he enjoyed being in photographs. This carried through his time "in-country."

Throughout his life there are photographs of him hamming it up for the camera. One of the earliest I have, is him hanging over the family’s mailbox in Wintersville, Ohio. It's complete with a tire leaning against the mailbox and goggles covering his eyes. The picture is dated August 1959. In childish script, on the back it reads; “Me after riding with Mom (just Kidding)! It is hard to believe that just ten years after this picture was taken this boy was home from a tour in Vietnam.

Dad was definitely a Ham. If there was a chance to pose for a cool shot, he was there, and if it could be with some sort of weapon even better. My father had affinity for firearms. In this new group of photos, there are self portraits as well. Some of the self portraits have inscriptions about the shutter speed, aperture, the self timer, use of a mirror, or table top. Or how he got a great deal on the camera because it was cheaper then it would have been in the states. To me, it speaks to the hurry up and wait mentality of what I’ve read it was like to be an infantry soldier in Vietnam. However, even in times of action, Dad would still give a big grin to the camera, as evidenced by, a sort of out of focus shot of him peeking around the back of a truck towards the photographer the inscription on the back reads; (Riding Shotgun on Roberson’s Deuce and a half, minus mustache).

When I recently revisited this photograph, I noticed what appears to be big goggles on top his head. It kind of reminded me of the childhood mailbox picture.

There were two photos among this group my Mom recently gave me that summed up the toll that the war took on my father. These two photos speak volumes about his experience in Vietnam because of their contrast. The first, is this sort of relaxed, toothy grin, sparkly eyed, cigar smoking image. He almost looks like Clark Cable, starring in a military block buster.

The second is much different, gone is the toothy smile, and sparkly eyes, instead we see a pensive Bill Morris, hair tussled, and a vacant, sad stare.

When I first examined this picture, I stared at his eyes for a long time. A guttural feeling of sadness came over me. I recognized that look. It was the same look I would see cloud his face decades later, when after a few beers, he would revisit what Vietnam and Agent Orange, had done to him, to me, to our whole family. Looking at that photograph brought back my feelings of wanting to show my Dad, “Look it’s ok, I’m Okay, It wasn’t your fault, I’ll show you, you won’t have to worry about me.”

Could this photo have been taken after his convoy came under fire and one of his closest buddies was run over and killed right next to him? Dad made it into the fox hole just in time; his buddy didn’t and was run over by one of his own. Or was this taken after one of their young, Vietnamese, house girls came onto the base with dynamite strapped on her bicycle and blew herself up? Or could this photograph have been taken after some other terrible thing he’d never talk about? We’ll never know.

Something set the stage for the development of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). After he came home, he was a changed man. He worked, the rest of his limited days on earth, trapped between those two pictures. Always wanting to be the big, gregarious, fun loving, ham it up person, but fighting the demons that would never allow him to feel completely relaxed, safe and in control. He could put up quite a front and had many fooled, but my brother and I grew up in a family structure, where the biggest personality in the house, had PTSD.

There was an unspoken code in our house, we knew not to startle Dad, especially if he was sleeping. We knew he was hyper vigilant always watching out over us, to protect our house. We let his mood swings go because we were used to him withdrawing. We knew at times he was overwhelmed and left everything to my Mother to handle. That in turn caused deeper issues; there were times my mother had no energy to keep the world spinning for her family. We knew Dad had a survival kit in the shed outback as a "just in case." We never really knew what would constitute him using it. Was it for him to run away? Or was it for him to save us? These things were normal to us because that’s all we ever knew. PTSD in the Father of a family creates a very complicated family dynamic that places the spouse and children in varying roles that become confused coping skills. I was always the peacemaker and rescuer for my father. I could justify to anyone why he acted like he did.

There were times before his early death, due to his exposure to Agent Orange (age 50), the grip of PTSD had lessened some. He traveled (Something he NEVER did after Vietnam) to Tennessee to visit me as a newlywed. The next picture is of him and me hamming it up for the camera wearing silly hats.

This was one of the last times we saw each other, if not the last time. He had recovered from a stroke (age 48) and wanted to see our new house, so far from where he could protect me. If I had only known this was the end, I would have hugged him longer, just to feel like his little girl, and let him protect me from this world for just a bit more.

Heather A. Bowser, LPCC

Children of Vietnam Veterans Health Alliance. www.covvha.net

www.agentorangespeaker.com

Children of Vietnam Veterans Health Alliance

www.COVVHA.net

The Birth of an Activist

04/19/2011 11:27:00

Today the kids and I saw a giant crow on the side of the road as we were leaving our neighborhood. The bird wobbling back and forth, his feathers beaded with drops of spring rain, was wandering along the road looking for an afternoon snack. We bantered about how big crows are and how dark their feathers are. My oldest mentioned how loud and annoying crows can be. In a flash of gray matter, I remembered the Aesop Fable Called the Crow and the Pitcher.

The Crow and the Pitcher

A Crow, half-dead with thirst, came upon a Pitcher which had once been full of water; but when the Crow put its beak into the mouth of the Pitcher he found that only very little water was left in it, and that he could not reach far enough down to get at it. He tried, and he tried, but at last had to give up in despair.

Then a thought came to him, and he took a pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher.

Then he took another pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher.

Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the Pitcher.

Then he took another pebble and dropped that into

the Pitcher.

Then he took another pebble and dropped that into

the Pitcher.

Then he took another pebble and dropped that into

the Pitcher.

At last, at last, he saw the water mount up near him, and after casting in a few more pebbles he was able to quench

his thirst and save his life.

I never thought I’d be in this role (writing a blog, having a website, traveling to Vietnam, and sharing my story with whoever will listen). My life has been defined by the tragedy of Agent Orange from the word go. When my Dad died in 1998, and my kids were born normal, I thought Agent Orange was done in my life. I put Agent Orange away. I focused on my family and my career. When I would think about Agent Orange and wonder if there were others that shared my story, I would feel alone and sad so I quit thinking about it. When people would stare at me or say, “You’re really limping, what did you do to your leg?” I didn’t want to dredge up all the pain in the middle of the supermarket. I would just be reminded that my government denies my father sacrificed the health of his children when he served his country during the Vietnam War.

Agent Orange skimmed from the top of my life or so I hope. I was born with my birth defects, but so far I have been healthy and so are my children. Many children of Vietnam Vets are developing strange illnesses like cancers, skin disorders, and autoimmune diseases, and worse. Some of them already have birth defects so these illnesses are insult to injury. The children of Vietnam Vets are having children with autism, extra digits, spina bifida, learning disorders and other developmental disorders. More children of Vietnam Vets are coming to understand Agent Orange not only affected their Fathers or Mothers but it has personally shown up in their life as well.

Lately, I found out how many of us are seriously ill, how many of us have lost our fathers, and how many of us are so disabled we cannot speak for ourselves. I am trying to accept the children of Vietnam Vets are ticking health time bombs and no one but our dying fathers and our tired mothers care. How do you accept that? Dioxin is not done in our lives. Oh, have I mentioned my son has a learning disorder and now has an IEP?

Last month, I was featured in a local small newspaper, the headline reads;

Right a wrong, activist urges…

Whoa, what? Activist? I was shocked by the headline.

My idea of an activist was a throwback to the 60’s. They are inflexible with their view. They want change and they want it their way. They will yell, scream, wave signs, and protest until they get what they want. Is this me? I am generally more balanced, but will my usual approach get my voice to carry? The children of Vietnam Veterans deserve acknowledgement, and health care, now.

I tried to make myself feel better by substituting advocate for activist. I have had two great people in my life who have been my advocate, my parents. My Mom continues to advocate for me today. I can’t tell you how many of the Plain Dealer papers she passed around when the article, Unfinished Business, ran. She’s also the first to pick me up when the Agent Orange stuff gets too hard to swallow.

My parents advocating started when I was the tiniest infant. My father had enough when another NICU nurse referred to their deformed baby as “it.” Pointing at me he yelled, “Dammit, this is not an ‘it‘, this is a ‘she‘, and her name is Heather.”

My elementary school first put me in a special education gym class starting in second or third grade when gym class became more competitive and physical. The special education gym class consisted of three children, me and two others who were more disabled then me. The “Gym class” was performed in a tiny separate room with teachers I did not know. We played checkers, a lot of checkers. I lasted less than a month or two when I begged my mother to talk to the school because I was not “like” the other kids in the room. At my insistence, she called the school. Originally they resisted, they were afraid I’d get hurt. Mom pushed, and I was moved into a regular gym class. They had to stand up for me because who else in this world would?

The Veteran Fathers who are now very ill continue to be denied adequate care or compensation in a timely manner. Their claims are denied, denied, denied. Cancers, diabetes, heart problems, ravish proud men, and all the family can do is grieve and circle their wagons. The government has created an atmosphere where Veterans organizations are so consumed with getting veterans the most basic of care, they simply do not have the capacity to help the offspring of male veterans.

So that leaves the Children of Vietnam Veterans to begin advocating for themselves. We need to start picking up pebbles and dropping them into the pitcher so that the truth of Agent Orange can rise to the top. Hopefully, in my lifetime, the children of Vietnam Veterans can drink the sweet water of justice.

(Picture on the left is Laura Beth Hammons from the organization Daughters of Vietnam Veterans at a Monsanto protest rally in Texas).

That crow in Aesop’s Fable was thirsty. He developed a way to get what he wanted and It took a lot of pebbles. He focused and didn’t give up.

Hmmmm…

Sounds like an Activist…

My Dad was an avid hunter. Every once in awhile he would bring a beautiful hawk feather home that he found in the field. They would usually end up in the visor of his Jeep. Sometimes, he would give them to me because like his mother, I loved birds.

About a month or two ago, I was feeling particularly low about all the Agent Orange stuff. I was running some errands, I left a store to get in my car, stuck by the windshield was a beautiful black crow feather. I grabbed the feather, got in my car, and sobbed right in front of the store. The old pain of loss, the new knowledge of my peer’s health, the fear for my own children, was too much to hold back… In that moment, I realized, like the crow, I am very thirsty, I will find as many pebbles as it takes and I will not give up…

illustrated by Milo Winter in a 1919 Aesop anthology

The children of Male Vietnam Veterans have officially been added to the “Deny until they die list.”

03/30/2011 18:48:00

I spend a lot of time looking at all sides of the Agent Orange epidemic. I not only think about the many issues surrounding Agent Orange, but I also look at the many barriers that discourage forward movement for the offspring of male Vietnam Veterans. Many of you reading this may be surprised to know that Veteran Affairs recognizes a laundry list of birth defects in the children whose mothers are Vietnam Veterans but does not recognize the same birth defects (except for spina bifida) in the children of Male Vietnam Veterans.

From the Veterans Affairs website:(For Children of women Vietnam Veterans)

Covered birth defects include, but are not limited to, the following conditions:

Achondroplasia
Cleft lip and cleft palate
Congenital heart disease
Congenital talipes equinovarus (clubfoot)
Esophageal and intestinal atresia
Hallerman-Streiff syndrome
Hip dysplasia
Hirschprung's disease (congenital megacolon)
Hydrocephalus due to aqueductal stenosis
Hypospadias
Imperforate anus
Neural tube defects
Poland syndrome
Pyloric stenosis
Syndactyly (fused digits)
Tracheoesophageal fistula
Undescended testicle
Williams syndrome

This is truly an outrage. The number of American women who served in Vietnam (mostly nurses) range somewhere between 6,500 and 8,000 compared to a little over 2,500,000 men who served within the borders of South Vietnam. I am proud of our women Vietnam Veterans. I am thrilled their children receive services but there should be equality. Veterans Affairs, currently offers a monthly stipend, educational benefits, and health care, to the above mentioned groups. Meanwhile, the widows of male Vietnam Vets (whose death has been service connected due to his exposure to Agent Orange) struggle to take care of adult Children who are permanently disabled by the birth defects on this list. Their childrens birth defects have no known family history or cause except for the exposure of their father to the herbicide Agent Orange.

Veteran’s Affairs is quick to point out on their website:

"The VA recognizes a wide range of birth defects as associated with women Veterans' service in Vietnam. These diseases are not tied to herbicides, including Agent Orange, or dioxin exposure, but rather to the birth mother's service in Vietnam. "

Huh?

I am confused.

What are they claiming caused the birth defects in children of Women Vietnam Veterans? Oh Yeah, they aren’t really saying….

I have become friends through my website with a woman from California, she is around my age, her father suffers from diseases which are documented to be caused by his Agent Orange exposure. She was born with severe hip dysplasia. Please read a section of her first email to me:

“I too am an Agent Orange Second Generation Victim. For years I have felt very isolated and unsure of what to do. I am a wife and mother of 3 healthy children. I am 37 yrs old and was born with Severe Hip Dysplasia. From the time I was 13 months old, I had reconstruction surgery every few years until I was 17 years old and at that time had my 1st Total Hip Replacement. I am now getting ready for my 5th Total Hip Replacement and 4th Pelvic Reconstruction since 17. I am also battling several rare forms of skin cancer that are life threatening. These cancers are seen in older generations that have had "extreme carcinogenic and pesticide exposure". I have had no direct exposure to these. I have gone through 2 rounds of chemotherapy in the last 4 years only to have the cancer come back stronger. I am in surgery for tumor removal at least once a month. The hundreds of scars on my body are horrific. My Doctors cannot put me through anymore chemotherapy as I have been told my body will not make it. There is a drug that is currently in trials that at the very least would buy me some time. The drug companies manufacturing this have denied me access to the trial as I am "too sick" and would "mess up their numbers". I have gone several rounds with the V.A. only to be denied time and again because I don't have Spina Bifida and because my Father served in Vietnam and not my Mother. My Father served in Vietnam during the heaviest spray periods. I have had numerous tests done and every Medical Professional has said without a doubt ALL of my medical issues today and at birth are a DIRECT result of my Father's exposure to Agent Orange. He also has numerous medical conditions ALL of which have been linked to the Agent Orange exposure.”

In my opinion, the children of Male Vietnam Veterans have officially been added to the “Deny until we die list.”

There was no family history of my birth defects or my friend’s birth defects. I was born two months premature, without my right leg and several of my fingers. I am missing my big toe on my left foot. The rest of my toes were webbed and had to be surgically altered. My Father DIED due to his Agent Orange exposure. The VA admitted my father’s death was Agent Orange related, yet my birth defects are denied.

The children of male Vietnam Veterans will never be recognized until we take the cause up for ourselves. Our Fathers and fellow Vets have to focus on trying to save each other from the grave. Our mothers have to go on, sometimes taking care of our disabled siblings. Even though we have been grieving our disabilities, the illness or death of our father, and the collapse of life as we knew it, we must fight for equal rights for the Children of Male vets.

Time continues to go by, government studies of the offspring of Male Vietnam Veterans goes undone. The research of early diseases that the adult children of male Veterans are now starting to suffer from goes uncollected. I am two years shy of forty. When are they going to take this issue seriously? In ten years when I’m fifty? Hell, my Dad died when he was fifty. I guess the VA is sticking to what has worked for them in the past. “Deny until they die”

Who knows what the lifespan of the male offspring will be…our lives, our health, our future is unknown. How do I explain that to my two little boys?

May God Bess all of you who are suffering. Please leave a comment and tell others of your story.

March 11, 2011 - An Anniversary of Great Loss

03/11/2011 01:09:00

March 11, 2011, An Anniversary of Great Loss

In the early morning hours on March 11, 1998, I received a phone call from my younger brother, John; “Dad’s gone, he died tonight.” Numbness overwhelmed my body. He was only 50 years old.

I got the details of what happened from my Mother. Apparently, Dad had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the restroom. He had a massive heart attack he fell and hit his head on the vanity. My mother heard the noise, called 911 and rushed to his side. She performed CPR until the paramedics arrived. One of the paramedics was a childhood friend of my brother. His Dad and my Dad were good friends. He tried like hell to save my Dad. It wasn’t meant to be. He was gone.

I hung the phone up, sat on the floor, of our bedroom and sobbed. Aaron (my husband) tried to comfort me. We made plans to make the ten hour drive from Tennessee to Ohio the next day.

My Dad and I were always close. I looked up to him. He had an amazing ability to command attention in a room, he was quick witted, honest, and funny. He could be tough when needed, and he always looked out for the underdog. I am not kidding when I say he was a larger than life personality. People either loved my Dad, or loved to hate him, there were no shades of gray. As a teen, if I hosted a campfire at my house, my friends would ask him to come out to the fire so he could tell us stories and give us advice. He wasn’t like any other dad I knew.

Dad talking to the media during a strike

Dad was a Steel worker and a union man. Our family survived many strikes. Dad would walk the picket line and figure ways to stop the “scabs” from crossing it into the steel mill. When a strike stretched on, he’d help give out government cheese on the food pantry line. He’d organize toy drives when labor disputes put a damper on the holidays.

It got hard to be a steel worker after he had five bypasses on his heart at age 38. He filed a claim with the VA because he suspected agent orange had caused his heart problems, that was in 1984, twenty seven years ago. He had to support his family. He went back his labor intensive job in the mill. During this time, Dad helped veterans. He was Commander three times, with the Steubenville, Ohio chapter, of the Disabled American Veterans. He also served as a service officer. He cared deeply for the men who were being under-served by the Veterans Administration. He did all he could to help guys get the services they were eligible for.

By the way, Dad's claim he filed in 1984, is currently part of a forensic review by the VA. Twenty seven years later, how's that for prompt service?

One of my favorite everyday moments with my Dad was riding in the car with him, just he and I. Most of the time, my father seemed as if the weight of the world on his shoulders, but alone in a car, on a sunny day, he’d be transformed. He'd crank the radio, sing loudly to his favorite songs (if he knew the words or not!) and drive faster than his normal speed demon rate. I would sing along, enjoy the high test ride, and marval at this light hearted side of my father. I felt free because for a moment, he did too.

Dad was a great guy, but he like all of us, had his flaws. He suffered from undiagnosed post traumatic stress disorder. He could have mood swings, be irritable, and withdrawn. At times, he seemed selfish because he would leave all the family responsibilities to my mother, even though she worked full time too.

His health problems would get him down. He developed diabetes and also survived a stroke. I think the stroke saddened him the most. It was hard to use his quick wit when his words didn't flow like they once did.

Today is March 11, 2011. It has been thirteen years since my Dad’s death. Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like if Dad were still alive. I know he would be thrilled with how his kids turned out. His grandchildren would adore him and he would be a kid again with them. They would ask him for advice. He would be a regular at the antique store, Aaron and I own, scouting for bargains. He’d be a Face Book nut with a thousand friends and an EBay junkie. He and John would finally be very close. He would love Fergie, the Black Eyed Peas and Pink. Dad, John and Aaron would go shooting together. This year, he’d be trying to talk me into allowing Luke (my oldest) to go too. He and Mom would be retired and they would be getting ready to move to be closer to their kids and grandchildren. He would have been in Columbus, Ohio during the recent protests regarding collective bargaining rights. He would go to support the teachers and the fire fighters. He would still be trying to help his fellow veterans.

This was supposed to be his time; sadly it’s not. The chemical Agent Orange kept him from realizing the fruits of his labor. The decision to spray Agent Orange sealed my Father’s fate and took him from his family to an early grave.

On certain sunny days, I cannot help cranking the radio, singing at the top of my lungs, and driving just a little too fast. I feel the freedom I felt along side him so many years ago. It's a feeling I cherish. In honor of my Dad, please consider clicking the link below and singing your guts out. He'd like that, and so would I.

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CCR-Have You Ever Seen The Rain? Lyrics

Creedence Clearwater Revival-Have You Ever Seen The Rain? LyricsUPDATE 11-14-10: Come on people! This video is so close to 1,000,000 views!December 11th! 1,030,000 views! Thanks to everyone who wa...

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Bill Morris my Father, my Advocate, and my Dear Friend