My dad was a complex and sensitive man. His experiences in Vietnam continued to influence and inform every aspect of his life. He suffered numerous conditions and afflictions related to his service - exposure to Agent Orange, PTSD, knee problems, and diabetes were all documented. He struggled desperately to coordinate his health care through the VA, but Dad insisted that, since the government broke him, they were responsible for "fixing" him. Over the years, he continued to deteriorate, both physically and mentally.
Dad loved the outdoors and was an avid fisherman and hunter and gun collector. He loved to be out in the woods or on a lake. He could tell a great story and loved sitting around and just "shooting the shit" as he would say. He was an excellent woodworker and craftsperson. I watched him rebuild his house almost by hand, and almost by himself. I have a large collection of beautiful wooden toys that were made a decade before my own children were born. I have beautiful birdhouses and other wood carvings that show the care and skill he put into his work. He tinkered and puttered and fixed things. He could plant a beautiful garden and preserve a mean garlic pickle. He was active in his local Vietnam Veterans of America chapter, and at one point served as VVA chapter president. He was a renaissance man, an expert on guns, and a man who loved his time in college and the process of inquiry. A man who usually voted Democrat and was a card-carrying member of the NRA. He rebelled against authority on so many fronts, but also knew how to work within bureaucracy. He could kill and dress a deer without emotion, but would cry over the loss of a beloved pet. A man who would eat a bug before he'd ever touch a bowl of rice - again, Vietnam.
After telling my children that Papa Mike had passed away, they asked me where he was. They didn't quite understand that he was gone forever. I told them he was probably in heaven, with his friends and family. My son, James, who is just two years old, says to me very seriously, " No, Mommy. I know where Papa Mike is. He's out in the woods. He's fine". He shrugged his little shoulders and nodded his head like it was a fact, no big deal. What a gift to me, this child has been. I will not question such a magnificent proclamation from a two-year old. Dad adored James and called him "Rooster", so it doesn't surprise me one bit, this connection. They say that kids sometimes just know these things, and James knew it right away. What I know is that my Dad is no longer suffering, and it's a great comfort to me.
And so, there it is. If you are looking for Mike Wheeler, he's out in the woods, exactly where he would want to be. Please feel free to contact me to share your memories of Mike. There are no services scheduled, but I ask that those who knew him and loved him to keep him in your thoughts, and to write to me your memories of him so that I can compile a written memorial for his grandchildren.