We all have a story.

But for the veterans of the Vietnam War, their stories all have a common, underlying element.

Shame.

They answered their country’s call to be part of a conflict they didn’t instigate only to return home to a country that ridiculed and despised them for their participation.

They were mocked in the streets, scorned in the stores, and mentally driven to some very dark places. For the “fortunate” ones who didn’t die in the War, many of them became casualties of these terrible aftereffects.

Their hopes of ever receiving a heartfelt welcome home the likes of their parent’s World War II generation were quickly dashed upon their return to the United States.

But for several of these veterans, a sunny day last Spring may have offered a bit of redemption.

It was then that my father, a Vietnam veteran who served as an Army frontline medic in the 199^th Infantry, had the chance to participate in an Honor Flight. Seventy-six other veterans, mostly from the Vietnam era, were also on the Flight along with their guardians (myself included).

We boarded a plane in Upper Michigan, flew to Washington D.C. for a myriad of tours created exclusively for these veterans, and then back to Michigan. We were awake for a mind-blowing 22-hours straight, running purely on adrenaline and excitement.

This experience showered these deserving men and women with police escorts everywhere they went, water cannon salutes, applauding crowds, and groups of people stopping to shake their hands and thank them.

Our day was jam-packed and included tours of D.C.’s memorial hotspots including the World War II Memorial, the Korean Memorial, and the Iwo Jima Memorial.

But, for this group of veterans, the most impactful, and possibly the most cathartic, was the Vietnam Memorial.

A solemnness fell over the group as we approached it.

They drew near to the Wall, searching for names familiar only to them. Hand after hand touched the Wall as tears openly welled up in their eyes.

Their thoughts, for the most part, were private. It was a moment of reflection, pain, deep appreciation, and closure that only they could understand.

As an outsider, I wondered if this would be the balm that would help soothe such a festering wound on my father’s soul and so many others within our group who were bonded by such trauma.

Perhaps it did a bit.

But, it wasn’t until we returned home at 11 p.m. that night, that I saw with my very own eyes what these veterans had actually been longing for all these years.

When our plane landed, this group of unsuspecting veterans returned home to a complete show of patriotic fanfare.

People – family, loved ones, and strangers alike – all gathered at the hanger, along with a marching band, banners, flags, and streamers to welcome these men and women home.

“Welcome home!”

Those were the words displayed on the largest banner but they were also the words pouring out of the mouths of those pressed together in the crowd.

“Welcome home! Welcome home!”

That sentiment is what these veterans had waited more than 50 years to hear.

Smiles erupted; tears flowed; hearts swelled; and heads were held high.

I watched as those two simple words helped release the lingering shame that had lodged itself like an infection in their hearts decades earlier.

To be seen, known, appreciated and loved is one of life’s greatest blessings. I pray we can learn from our mistakes of the past and do a much better job of sharing such basic human blessings in the future.

As we take a day to honor our veterans soon, I have three I want to honor personally starting with my father.

Dad, I love you very much and cannot tell you what it meant to be with you that day on the Honor Flight sharing those moments with you. It is forever etched in my memory as is your selfless sacrifice. Welcome home!

And to Jim Provost and Larry Buege, it was an honor to meet you and hear some of your stories that day on the Honor Flight. You both hold a very special place in my heart. Welcome home!

Until next time, Grace and Glory!