A Man Named Dave (28 page)

By mid-January 1991, as the air force generals briefed us on the probable losses during the initial phase of the air campaign, the possibility of losing every third person opened my eyes. This was no longer a test of adulthood. My main concern was not to screw up on my part of the mission. As it turned out, though, after the first couple of weeks, the coalition maintained air superiority over Iraq, and the missions became routine.

Because we reported for a night flight in the afternoon and returned in the early morning hours, I found it nearly impossible to get any sleep. As I lay on my army cot, my thoughts always turned to Stephen. I became paranoid over things beyond my control.
What if he choked on food when Patsy wasn’t looking? Or if he didn’t look both ways before crossing the street and got hit by a car? What would I do?
At times I was so consumed by nightmares, I’d awake with my body soaked with sweat. Finally one evening after another anxiety attack, I strolled outside to marvel at the stars. In the stillness of the night, in the middle of the war, as a cool breeze blew from the desert, I somehow found serenity. What I still needed to understand was that there were so many things beyond my control. I needed to let go. After that morning, and on others to follow, I never slept as soundly as I did when I served in the gulf war.

I returned from Saudi Arabia in March 1991. I stepped off the plane, Patsy ran up to meet me. In the middle of a swirling rain shower, I held her like never before. “It’s okay,” I said. Patsy gave me a puzzled look. “Everything’s gonna be fine. I am so sorry; I truly am, for everything. All the petty bullshit I’ve put you through. Worrying about things that don’t mean a hill of beans. No matter what happens, I know we’re gonna be all right.” I then sprinted and scooped up Stephen, who was wearing his little brown flight jacket. I crushed him to me until he cried out that he couldn’t breathe. As my family and I walked through the sea of people waving flags and cheering, a surge of pride swelled within me. Not only had everyone from the base returned alive, without a scratch, I had everything anyone could ask for. I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to make things right between Patsy and me. After enduring all we had, I knew nothing could tear us apart.

After I came home, things that had seemed so critical months before were now insignificant. I continued to sleep soundly, and I no longer continually pushed myself to the limit as I had in the past. For a few weeks I felt like I was walking on a cloud. Patsy and I were closer than ever. And, for the first time, I could see changes in her attitude. She was upbeat and self-reliant; she faced her situations by herself, head on, without interference from her mother. One day while driving to nearby Sacramento, I reached over to take her hand. “I’m so proud of you, Patsy. I know it’s not easy being married to me, putting up with all that you do, but you have really come a long way. You should be proud of yourself. You’ve made it, you truly have. No one can boss you around anymore, turn their nose down at you, ’cause you’re better than that; you always have been. Maybe the war in the gulf was the best thing … for the both of us.”

The euphoric honeymoon ended when I officially received transfer orders to Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska. On a late evening in May, I was overwhelmed with sadness as I drove off from Beale Air Force Base – my home and surrogate family for over eight years. There were no good-bye parties or squadron ceremonies, since others, too, were quietly scattered to other bases. In the process of base closings and personal cutbacks, I was among the lucky ones. At least for now, I had a job.

A day later, while resting at Grandmother’s home in Utah, I received a frantic call from Mother. Taking the phone, I wondered how she knew I was in the area, since I had no intention of visiting her. But as I listened to the sound of Mother’s pleading voice, something in her tone compelled me to go see her. The next morning, after I became reaccustomed to the odor of her house, Mother and I initially chatted as we had before. Mother complained about her ailments, and this time I knew it was no longer a performance. I could not help but notice how her hands constantly shook. Even when she placed one hand on top of the other, she could not hide her tremors. Only after taking a gulp of what I guessed was vodka did Mother’s shuddering ease. She went on to complain about how hard it was for her to walk and how at times she thought her feet would tear apart from the searing pain. After listening for more than an hour, I realized, even with Kevin still living with her, how desperately lonely Mother had become.

After a few moments of silence, I took a tremendous risk. “You know,” I lightly said, “I’m involved … with helping kids and others who’ve … had problems.”

“Yes,” Mother replied with a nod. “Well … your grandmother … she ought to get a kick out of that.”

We both suddenly broke out in a burst of laughter.

For a fleeting second the sound of Mother being happy brought me back in time. By her brightened eyes, she seemed to feel it as well. But I knew it was nothing more than a passing moment. I would never receive an acknowledgment of what had happened between us, let alone a sincere apology. And, after all I had been through, I felt I did need it. Yet the child within me felt a tremendous urge to wrap my mother in my arms and absorb every ounce of her anguish. In that moment I would have given my right arm to hear the sound of “Mommy’s” laugh.

In my trance, my fingers grazed the edge of Mother’s once prized oak hutch. I caught my breath as my gaze became fixated on her assortment of towering red Christmas candles. I snapped my head around toward Mother. Then, looking back at the candles, I wiped off the accumulated dust from their bases. As long as I could remember, the one thing Mother had been adamant about was her treasured Christmas decorations. She always put up the decorations the day after Thanksgiving and put her ornaments away immediately after New Year’s.
Why,
I asked myself – as I now discovered the sprayed-on snowflakes still in that window in the middle of May –
would Mother not tidy up the one element of her life that had meant so much to her?

This went far beyond being lazy, I thought. If Mother hadn’t taken care of Christmas decorations with summer approaching, when would she? Unless …
Oh, my God!
I said to myself.
Mother knew … she somehow knew her time was limited.

Her hands were again shaking, and by habit Mother covered one with the other. But as her hands twitched with more intensity, she struggled to take another drink. Peering deep into her eyes, I stated, “Don’t quit. Don’t try to stop drinking.”

Mother’s face lit up. “You …
you understand?
”

I nodded. As I stood in front of Mother, my eyes scanned her every feature, in the vain hope of finding the person I had worshiped as a tiny child – the person I had so longed to love me. Yet, as I closed my eyes, I could not give Mother the humanity I gave to total strangers. With all the compassion I could muster, I swallowed hard before saying, “Go in peace.”

As if she did not hear me, she lifted her head.

Feeling weak, I swallowed before repeating myself in a quavering tone. “I wish you no pain … Only for you to go – to go in peace.”

“Yes, well, that’s nice …” Mother said in her old condescending tone.

“No!” I lashed out, pointing my finger in her face. Raising my voice, I could feel my legs shudder. “Don’t you even … don’t you spoil it. Not after all you’ve done. This is not one of your little games that you can manipulate. You have … no one, nothing left. Just stop it! For once put away your bullshit and do what’s right, for God’s sake!” I pleaded, on the verge of tears. “I swear to you, with all of my honor, I wish you no pain, no suffering, I only wish you peace.” I paused as my chest seemed to heave. Calming myself, I said in a controlled voice. “That’s all I can … that’s the best I can do.”

Mother’s eyes tried to bore right through me. After a few moments, her intensity softened. I slowly shook my head back and forth. Without saying the words, I mouthed, “I can’t. I can’t do that.”

With a nod Mother showed that she understood. Perhaps she had thought that by calling me during her emotional state, I would rush over and anoint her with forgiveness. To my own dismay, and after a lifetime of constantly proving my worthiness to others, I did not – I could not – forgive Mother.

As I walked down the stairs to the door Mother shouted from her chair. “David?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“I want you to know …” She stopped as if to collect herself.

“I, uh, I’m proud of you. You turned out fine. I am proud of you, David Pelzer.”

I turned, looked up the staircase, and uttered a quick prayer before closing the door behind me.

Mother died of a heart attack in her sleep in January 1992. Twenty-four hours later, on Mulberry Street just outside Salt Lake City, all five Pelzer brothers joined together. Initially it was awkward for all of us, until Ron came up and hugged me. There was so much to say, but we didn’t seem to know how to begin. Over a matter of days, as the five of us talked to each other, I felt overtaken both by shame for what all of us had experienced and pity for the life Mother had lived. We spent nearly every waking moment covered with stench and grime while we gutted out Mother’s dilapidated house. Just before Mother’s funeral, as we cleaned out her bedroom, one of us came across Mother’s wedding portrait. I had seen the photo countless times, but for the first time I realized how stunning she was. Mother’s face seemed silky smooth and her hair glistened, but what took me aback was her eyes. They seemed to radiate with pure joy. Mother’s expression gave me the feeling that she was about to embark on an incredible life filled with happiness. With the frame shaking in my hand, I emptied my chest. I forgave her. I forgave “The Mother”. Over the past several years, after I had visited Mother the summer of 1987,I had wavered on how I felt about her. When I had sat in front of mother just a few weeks before she died, I came within a heartbeat of stating my forgiveness. But because of giving myself away so many times, for so many years, only to appease others, in hope of their acceptance, I hesitated. Then, because of Stephen, part of me detested her. But, as I became involved with others who struggled, in part due to their past, I felt I had to rid myself of any feelings of resentment.

On a wintry, overcast day, only a handful of people came to Mother’s funeral to pay their respects. A gentleman whom I later learned had met Mother a few times and worked part-time as a golf pro, gave Mother’s eulogy. At Mother’s gravesite, with scattered clumps of snow surrounding me, I knelt down and prayed. With my hands clasped, shivering from the chilling breeze, I prayed out loud for God to grant my mother peace. “May your soul finally be given eternal peace. And, may almighty God protect you and deliver you from evil… Amen.”

As I finished, I could feel a gigantic weight lift from my soul.

Before I caught my departing flight, all five of us promised to stay in touch, but that was the last time the five Pelzer brothers would come together.

I was not looking forward to returning to Nebraska. Once again, I discovered Patsy had borrowed money. This time she had begged Grandmother nearly a year ago, while I was flying in Saudi Arabia. I would have never known had I not asked Grandmother for a loan so I could use the money to give to my youngest brother, Kevin, who in his early twenties needed the money to find his own place to live. At first Grandmother was insistent that I had borrowed the money from her. When I assured her I knew nothing about the loan, she then became more livid because I
should
have known.

All the while Patsy fidgeted in her seat, claiming her innocence until she broke down in tears, saying she had forgotten to tell me and she was now too embarrassed to say anything in front of Grandmother. As I tried to stick up for my wife, Grandmother simply raised her head in a “I told you so” attitude, as if she enjoyed fueling the fire between Patsy and me. At the time I felt like a heel that my other brothers and I could do little to help Kevin, who eventually was able to provide for himself.

At my new air force base, even though I had been stationed there for over eight months, I was still adjusting. My job was completely different and absurd compared to Beale. I was now part of the EC-135 Looking Glass, whose mission had been to serve as an alternative airborne communication command post in the event of a nuclear war. But even though there was a refueling boom attached to the aircraft, the EC-135 rarely midair-refueled other planes. To confuse matters more, the Looking Glass was retired but continued to fly “unofficially”.

During my in-processing I learned my biggest task as a boom operator was not learning to midair-refuel a different aircraft, but to ensure that the twenty plus members of the crew received their lunches.

On my first qualification flight, I found out how
serious
my job was when a low-ranking radio operator actually berated me in front of the entire crew because his lunch did not receive a mustard package. Upon landing I was immediately reprimanded by my superior, who rolled his eyes in mock dismay. Within days, because of my blunder, all boom operators were mandated to check every item on every meal prior to taking off.

At home, after settling into a nice condominium we could not afford, Patsy soon became bored. Because we lived off base, she felt even more isolated. When I first found out about my reassignment, I had prayed the move would somehow force us to rely on ourselves, as a couple, without “family” interference once and for all. During our drive to Nebraska. Patsy had even chatted about getting her GED and then taking courses in college. She had seemed so optimistic. But within weeks Patsy complained of missing her family in California.

I had assumed with the reduced flight times, due to budget cuts, I would be able to spend more time with my family, finish my college degree, and volunteer once in a while. But because of the ever changing flight schedule, I could not attend college or volunteer as I had in California, and I rarely saw Patsy or Stephen. To make matters worse, when I received my promotion to technical sergeant, I was assigned as the wing’s senior in-flight evaluator, forcing me to work longer hours. At times I’d come home only long enough to throw a ball a few times with Stephen and give him a bath before reading to him in bed. At times I was so tired, I’d fall asleep with Stephen on his bed. As the months passed, I felt my job was completely worthless, and I began to detest myself as a father and a husband.