During the war, I had grown up not knowing my father as a person, but rather as an idea or a voice in the letter that I got once a week. Even though he was thousands of miles away, he always had a way of knowing what was on my mind. Whether it was advice about my marks in school, trouble with my friends, or just missing him, he always knew what to say and exactly how to say it.
I had known what war was, I had known that it involved killings and murders, but it was a distant idea for a ten year old to grasp. To be quite honest, it’s a difficult thing for anyone to grasp unless you’re on the front lines with a gun in your hands. Even the letters he sent from Vietnam could never quite capture the life that he lived for the years he was there. He never included anything about the actual killings in the war, instead he would tell me and my mother how much he missed us and that he would be back soon. But he never was. He was supposed to come home the second Saturday in July of 1972. It would be only two weeks that I would be able to see him, but it didn’t matter, he would be home.
         That Saturday morning had finally come by and it was another dry, rainless day. The weathermen had not predicted rain for another two weeks and so the miserable drought would continue. My Grandpa, who served in the Second World War, came over and prepared a welcome home lunch for my dad. Grandpa wore his old hat that he had worn when he served over in Germany, along with the pin he had earned when he gained his piloting wings. While he and my mother stayed inside cooking, I went outside, despite the hot weather. For what seemed like hours, I waited by the mailbox, not for my weekly letter, but for my dad. Time went by and I lay in the dead grass staring up at the big, blue sky listening to the sound of the birds. I was out there so long I dozed off and was only woken by the sound of a car. I sat up and sprung to my feet with excitement and ran to the car. I banged on the windows and to my surprise there was a young man, no older than forty, who certainly wasn’t my dad.  He stepped out of the car and looked at me with a gentle grin. He dressed in the forest green uniform that my dad had. He wore various colors of pins and badges with buttons that were gold, as honey suckle in the summer.
         “Hi, miss, I’m Sargent Raymond Bringham. Is your mother home?” he asked me with a serious expression on his face.
         Something was wrong, I knew it, but I didn’t know what- at least not yet. I simply nodded and walked him to the door.
         “Mom!” I walked through the door and into the kitchen with Sargent Raymond following behind me. His big, clunky boots made lots of noise on our hard wood floor.
“Dan, is that-” She came running, but stopped once she saw the man in the kitchen doorway. She dropped the dish towel from her hand and covered her hands to her mouth. The room became so silent I could hear my own heart beating. She dropped to her knees and wept into her hands, shaking her head. He slowly walked closer to her and placed his hand on her back.
“I have been asked to inform you that your husband was reported dead in Pleiku, Gia Lai, Vietnam at 1650 on July 8, 1972. Your husband’s troop was attacked by North Vietnamese soldiers. One of the Vietnamese men threw a bomb and your husband bravely, jumped on the bomb, killing him but saving the rest of the squad. On behalf of the United States Military, I extend to you, and your family, my deepest sympathy in your great loss.” He handed my mother an envelope pressed closed with a United States seal. She took it and just placed it on the floor next to her, while she continued to cry.
I shook my head. This must be a mistake. My father was supposed to come home. We made lunch for him, this is all wrong.
“Dan…” My grandpa ran excitedly into the room and the Sargent turned to look at him. I saw as my Grandpa’s eyes grew wide and the Sargent walked towards him. Though I could not hear the words that he was saying, I knew what my grandpa was hearing. I could see the sadness in his eyes as he reached his hand to his heart and looked as though he was about to fall over. He locked eyes with me for a moment then back at the Sargent. Sargent Raymond nodded his head and then walked back in my direction, smiling the slightest bit at me, as if he was saying I’m sorry.
  My mother gathered up what strength she had left and walked him to the door. Once he was gone she closed the door and collapsed against it. Her eyes blocked by tears stared at me and I stared back at her. From the corner of my eye I could see my Grandfather go into a separate room only to return with something in his hand. He walked towards me and I turned towards him.
Kneeling down so his eyes were level with mine, he presented me the item he had taken from the other room.  It was an envelope. Not a fancy one like the one the sergeant had given my mother, but a white one with my father’s hand writing on it. Written across it read: To my dearest Sarah.
  “You’re father had very special instructions to hand deliver this to you when the time came,” He handed it to me and I grabbed ahold of the last letter I would ever receive from my father. “We’re going to miss him. He was a brave man.” His blue eyes, stared into mine with tears beginning to form at his waterline.
My father was dead. He was gone, but it was like he wasn’t. I still had his voice in all those letters and in this last one. I stood with the letter still in my hand as my mother cried against the door and as my grandpa now sat on the floor in silence. I hadn’t seen him like this since my grandma passed two years ago. He, much like me and my dad, always could see the brighter side of life, but in moments like this it’s hard. I couldn’t even imagine how it feels to lose your only son shortly after the loss of your soul mate. And my mother, how she feels losing her love so young. I cannot bear to watch them mourn any longer so I walk past my mother and out the door. Before I leave though, she grabs my hand and looks me in the eyes, almost bringing me to tears.
“I love you, Sarah. Daddy was a hero, don’t remember him any differently.” she slurred.  I nodded my head and continued out the door and onto the porch. I sat down on the step and imagined my father running up the drive way to meet me. He would swoop me up in his arms and hold me tight for as long as he could. He would be wearing the same forest green uniform that Sargent Raymond had worn, but he would explain to me all the pins he had and how he earned them. Then, we would go inside and Mom and Grandpa would hug him so tight and we would all eat together like the family we were before the war. But none of that would happen now, nor would it ever.
I looked down at the last thing I had left of him and turned it over in my hands. Slowly I peeled it open. I traced my fingers over the words that he wrote to me and begin reading, savoring every syllable:
My dear Sarah,
If you’re reading this my time has come. I wish I could wrap my arms around you and kiss you one last time. But, please, don’t worry too much about me. I’m with God and Grandma looking after you, my sweet. Know that I love you to the moon and back. Know that I’m happy and that I don’t regret what I’ve done because, well, hopefully, I was able to save someone. I wish I could be sitting next to you, and holding your hand, but I am here with you…trust me on that. I’ll be by your side forever and I’ll love you forever. Tell Mom and Grandpa that I love them and I’ll also be watching them. I’m so proud of you and everything you have already become and I know you’re off to great things. But, Sarah, most of all, what you must know is life will go by in the blink of your eye. So love with all your heart and don’t take time for granted. You never know when you’ll be seeing someone for the last time. It’s the little, most ordinary moments that will mean the most, and bring the most to you. Goodbye my darling. With all my love, Dad.
I looked up from the letter with my eyes beginning to water. Everything was sinking in. No one should have to lose their father at ten years old. A girl needs her dad like the moon needs the sun. Growing up without a dad would change my life in so many ways: it would make days like father’s day and my wedding day hard, but at the same time  it also would mean that I would always have a guardian angel.
I sat thinking about how he died and the men he saved when he jumped selflessly on that bomb. Something roared through the sky and out of nowhere clouds began to cover the sky. On my cheek, I felt what the town had been waiting weeks to feel. A single rain drop. That moist drop of rain was the first to hit our small town, but enough to give us hope. That one drop, within minutes, brought down a rain storm. I watched as people began to emerge from their houses and dance outside in the rain, praising it. Something so small and so seemingly ordinary can truly change a town.
  My father died a hero and he, much like that rain drop, was small and ordinary when compared to the millions of men in the army. But, he was able to stand out, and lead the rest. It was only when that rain drop hit my face did I truly see what he had done, the outcome of his actions. He had given his life so that others may live, and I that’s something I could never cry about. And I thought: if a single rain drop could bring along a storm in a drought, than a single man could bring about life in a war.