Still waiting for my child to come home.

Mrs. Nguyen Thi Luong, mother of a fallen soldier (Hamlet 2A, Van Thanh Commune, Yen Thanh District, Nghe An Province), is celebrating her 100th birthday this year. One of the driving forces that helps her overcome age, illness, and disease, besides the devoted care of her children and grandchildren and the attention of the local government, is her belief and the heartfelt hope that her son, whose death certificate has been issued but whose grave has yet to be found, will return...

Pouring a cup of water for the guests, Ms. Loan, the second daughter of the mother, told us many stories about her mother, her voice full of love and pride: "My mother has five children, three sons and two daughters. Two of the sons are teachers. My brother Sam (Le Van Sam - PV) joined the army in 1966. The death certificate clearly states that he died on June 12, 1972, in the Southern battlefield, but after many inquiries and searches, his remains could not be found, so my mother firmly believed he was still alive."

Before my brother Sam joined the army, my mother lived with my eldest brother. Seeing how hard I worked in the fields, she came back here to help me. My mother is in excellent health; at 95, she still tends to the fields, cooks meals, and remembers stories from the past vividly. Every evening after work, my mother goes to the Dinh River to wait, hoping my brother will return...

Mother and daughter.

I still remember one late afternoon, when I got home, my mother wouldn't eat the meal that was served. She sat there for a long time, lost in thought, then sobbed, "When he was still at home, every afternoon after school or tending the buffaloes and cutting grass, Sam would often go to the Dinh River to bathe." Then she recounted how, every time she saw my brother's tall, mature figure, she would ask, "With this war and chaos, do you like any girl in the village or commune? I'll go ask for her hand in marriage so that the family can have peace of mind..." My brother would just smile gently and say, "Mother, the battlefield is raging with fighting against the Americans. Our militia and soldiers are fighting for every inch of our homeland against the enemy. Blood is staining the battlefield; how can your son be at ease staying home to get married?" Then, silently, he pricked his hand and wrote a volunteer application to go to war before he was even 19 years old. On the day my brother left, my mother saw him off at the Dinh River bank. He hugged her and said, "Mother, just wait for me here. When the war is over, I'll come back to you." It was the spring of 1966. For over 40 years, my mother had gone to the river countless afternoons to wait, only to return with a vacant stare. During those times when she sobbed, reminiscing about the past, she often skipped meals. And from then on, my mother's health gradually deteriorated..."

There was a noise in the inner room. Loan knew her mother was waking up, so she went to help her. Seeing us, her mother asked, "Who is it?" Her face was wrinkled, her cloudy eyes occasionally glancing towards the door with a hopeful look. Knowing we had visitors, her mother suppressed her pain and pulled us closer to tell her story: "On the 29th of the lunar month, I saw some boys from the village come home. They joined the army the same year as my son. They were all dressed in their army uniforms, and they came into the house to greet us, then sang the Tale of Kieu very loudly, it was so joyful. I asked, 'Where's Sam?' They said, 'He'll be back in a few days.' I asked Loan if she heard the soldiers singing the Tale of Kieu, but she didn't hear anyone singing, nor did she see anyone coming back. How could she not hear them? They were singing so loudly..."

O Loan further explained: "Every year, around the 15th and 1st day of the lunar month, my mother would seem to see the villagers who had served in the army and died returning home, but she never saw my brother. When we asked, they said he would return later..."

Mother Luong leaned closer to us and boasted, "I have five children, fifteen grandchildren, twenty-one great-grandchildren, and one great-great-grandchild..." Then, suddenly, two streams of tears rolled down her cloudy eyes: "Why hasn't Sam come home yet so I can find a wife for him? So I can see my son and grandchildren's faces, and return to my ancestors with peace of mind. If he doesn't come home, how will I explain it to his father?"

Looking at the way Mother Luong's eyes were always gazing towards the door, we all felt a pang in our hearts. Throughout the length and breadth of Vietnam, how many mothers have lived with the same faith as Mother Luong in Van Thanh?

Dam Phuong