Dear George,

We’ve never met. I wasn’t even born while you walked this Earth and yet I’m compelled to write you this letter, today, May 25, 2015 on Memorial Day.

Though you died on the battlefield of Vietnam and your body laid to rest somewhere, there was a piece of you that came home with my dad, PFC Manuel Pacheco Jr. in 1964. As the family story goes, after dad returned from service and after some time healing and recovering he spent his time trying to convince my mom to marry him. They prayed, hoped and thanks to medical technology, I came along years later.

Dad spoke your name often over the years and like many Vietnam vets, he didn’t share a whole lot of details about his time in the war, except the name of his friend, George. As time went on, I would try to ask my dad about his time in the service and he would only smile and say “I had a good friend named, George who I lost in the war.” After several failed attempts at trying to prompt my dad to open up, like buying him a Vietnam Vet t-shirt when I visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall and hoping that would prompt him to talk, he just smiled, said thank you, folded it up, placed it in a drawer and I never saw it again. I didn’t ask any more questions and then after some years, he opened up a little here and there.

He would tell me that he was a young man, eager to serve his country and then faced with the reality of the fighting a war in the jungles of Vietnam, he would do all he could to get back home safely. He admitted he was a scared eighteen year old, but he did what he had to do. Ironically, on his way to be processed out, he was shot. He would tell me that he felt grateful to make it out only with a bullet hole. As mom tells it, it was much more than that and he endured surgeries and had complications that kept him in a long recovery period.

Dad would tell me that you died, right before his eyes. I didn’t ask any questions, I just let him talk. He didn’t say much more and never told me your last name. All I knew was that, you, George, remained in my dad’s heart.

I saw my dad at his best and I saw him at his worst. I can only imagine the fear, the pain, the sorrow, the grief he endured trying to make it through the war and then losing you, right before his eyes. He would tell me he was glad that veterans who come home now are honored and respected and are thanked for their sacrifice and their service, not like many of the Vietnam vets who were greeted with protest and hate. I know he shielded me from the painful sights and sounds of war, the memories that haunted him, but I was honored that he let me in a little now and then and each time, he’d mention your name, George.

For all that I don’t know about you George, I do know this, you were a companion to my dad in a time of uncertainty, your friendship must have meant a lot to my dad to continue to keep your name and memory alive all these years later. I could tell when my dad was flashing back to your memories together, he was calm and at peace and your memory didn’t haunt him the way other war memories did, or maybe it did and he came to terms with it.

I’m sure by now, you have met up with dad again. He went home to be with the Lord a few years ago and I imagine him finding his way to you.

I think about you every Memorial Day and give thanks to your service, your sacrifice and your friendship. Thank you for your service. When you see dad, tell him hello for me……..

With appreciation and gratitude,

Hope Suzanne Pacheco