Words of gratitude...

(Baonghean) - A woman wept uncontrollably at the funeral of the soldiers who died in the Mi 171 helicopter crash on July 7th. Many looked at her with immense sorrow and asked if she was related to any of the fallen heroes. She said, "They are all my children, my grandchildren, my brothers." Then she wept as if she had just lost her dearest loved ones. She reminded me of the mothers and sisters I met at the Truong Son cemetery, with its vast expanse of nameless graves. Before each grave, they called out to their sons and brothers. They believed they would warm the hearts of the soldiers, they believed they were entrusted and remembered by mothers and sisters who hadn't yet arrived, and above all, that those who fell for the Fatherland were children of every family.

Like so many others, I too shed tears upon hearing the news of that tragic accident, upon hearing the words of a soldier rescued from the flames: "Save my comrades!", upon learning that the soldiers too severely wounded had passed away and been laid to rest. And isn't it more moving than tears, something that makes us bow our heads in admiration and gratitude to these men, that in the face of an unavoidable accident, the flight crew tried their best to stay away from residential areas to avoid harming civilians? The plane crash was an accident, but the casualties were minimized to the greatest extent possible in those final moments; it wasn't just an accident. It was a testament to unwavering fighting spirit, the courage and resourcefulness of the soldiers, and a noble sacrifice…

A night of gratitude (students from Hoang Mai High School light incense at the Martyrs' Cemetery in Quynh Luu district). Photo: Tran To

And please don't be surprised, because I believe that this spirit of resilience, courage, and self-sacrifice has been forged and passed down through generations of our ancestors in a land that "withstands storms in the morning and scorching sun in the afternoon," a land that has endured countless wars, a land that proudly rises from its wounds, "shaking off the mud and shining brightly."

I still believe that it is in the most perilous moments that we see most clearly what remains most enduring and profound within each person. Is that why we have 90 million people standing together in the face of the turbulent South China Sea? Is that why I see in today's tears tears that have flowed for millennia? Tears of wives who have become like the "Waiting Wife" (a metaphor for those waiting for their husbands to return home). Tears of children longing to one day call out the sacred word "Father." Tears of mothers silently bidding farewell to their sons going to war, silently hoping for their return, silently receiving their bodies and wiping the dust from their portraits. That silence is the most tragic song, the longest river, the highest mountain...

I gazed up at the July sky, watching the soldiers on that Mi-171 flight transform into white clouds. I looked down at the earth, seeing the glistening blood and bones stained red in every grain of sand. Silently I bid farewell, silently I express my gratitude, knowing that the flame of my desire to contribute to peace will never die out, so that Mother can peacefully finish her betel nut...

Nghe An Weekend