Farewells and the feelings of those left behind
More than half a century has passed since the war ended, but at the Nghe An War Invalids Rehabilitation Center, the wounds have never truly healed. The pain isn't just physical; it lingers in the soldiers' bodies during changes in weather, and it's also a nagging ache in the unfulfilled promises to fallen comrades, and in the anxieties about the proper title of "martyr" for those who have passed away...
Another "lens"...
At the Nghe An War Invalids Rehabilitation Center, war invalid Phan Nhan Toan (born in 1955) is famous for his exceptionally high degree of nearsightedness in one eye.
“In 1974, I enlisted and fought in the 341st Division in the Southeast battlefield, participating in the Ho Chi Minh Campaign. During a mission with my comrades, I was severely injured, one eye was completely blinded, and the other could see dimly. After treatment, I had to wear glasses with a 16-diopter prescription for my blurry eye. That’s why people often called me Toan the Diopter Man,” Mr. Toan recounted.
Not only is he "famous" for his rare nearsightedness, Mr. Toan is also known for his cheerful, enthusiastic, and thoughtful nature towards his comrades. The story of him and his friends searching for their fallen comrade's grave partly reflects the heartfelt wish of this wounded veteran. He recounted: “2014 can be considered a memorable milestone for me personally. Ten veterans who fought alongside me found my address and came to visit. This unexpected reunion helped me reconnect with the family of Dang Dinh Tu – the platoon leader who died in my arms. When I learned that Tu's family still hadn't found his grave, my comrade An and I decided that finding Tu and bringing him back to his hometown was a mission we absolutely had to complete.”
In 2018, the two veterans found their commander's grave. In 2019, they brought his remains back to his family in Nam Kim - Nam Dan (now Thien Nhan commune). At the funeral of martyr Dang Dinh Tu, Mr. Toan recited some poignant verses:
Brother Tu, An and Toan are still here.
The unified homeland is now changing.
Decent and beautiful every day
He is honored in this victory.
My homeland has been renovated and is now prosperous.
Tears well up in my eyes as I miss my dear friend, you.
...
Since then, every year, Mr. Toan has attended all the memorial services for "Brother Tu" as if he were a member of the family, and each reunion is filled with tears.
Mr. Toan's 16-diopter glasses may help him see the roads and faces in the present more clearly. But he has always looked to the past through a different "lens"—the lens of loyalty, unwavering devotion, and gratitude. The soldiers, whether still alive or buried beneath the green grass, always find each other through an invisible thread. For them, war only truly ends when those who have fallen have returned home, and those who remain still cherish each other's names in every breath of peace.
Haunted by the pain of separation
Having worked for many years caring for wounded and sick soldiers at the Nghe An War Invalids Rehabilitation Center, Mr. Nguyen Thieu Lam - the Center's Director - considers each soldier there as a member of his extended family. Throughout those 23 years, he has witnessed many heartbreaking separations that have left him deeply troubled.
It was the passing of Mr. Don, a man from Quang Binh province. Mr. and Mrs. Don were both severely wounded veterans, living in a remote area, from a poor family with many children and no stable employment. Mr. Don had lost one hand and only had 3-4 fingers on the other, while his wife suffered a brain injury and was unable to function normally. During a trip to the market, due to poor driving skills, Mr. Don was involved in an accident and passed away.
“Uncle Don was a very cheerful and lovable person. Every afternoon he would call us to play volleyball. He was small but agile and strong. We even joked that Uncle Don would probably live until we retired. And yet he chose to leave so suddenly… He couldn’t be with his family, he didn’t have a last will and testament, and he wasn’t recognized as a martyr… At his funeral, I was assigned to be in charge of the program, but I couldn’t do it because I kept crying every time I went inside the house,” Mr. Lam confided.
It also marked the passing of Mr. Sau, a disabled veteran living alone, paralyzed on one side of his body, whose weakened immune system required extensive antibiotic treatment, to the point of damaging his liver and veins. Mr. Sau died on his way to the hospital. Because he lacked a hospital record, he was not recognized as a disabled veteran according to regulations. Later, while sorting through his belongings, a piece of paper was found containing his last wish: to be recognized as a martyr after his death. Mr. Sau had no relatives to receive any benefits from; his only wish was for himself to feel acknowledged.
“According to regulations, among the 107 people currently being cared for at the center, about 30 are severely wounded, with an 80% disability rating and a risk of death if their wounds recur. These individuals could be recognized as martyrs. When they are recognized once again, farewells will no longer be so heartbreaking, allowing people like Mr. Don and Mr. Sau to forever be remembered with pride, just as they lived and dedicated themselves until their last breath,” shared Mr. Nguyen Thieu Lam.
Invisible bond
During this period, the Nghe An War Invalids Rehabilitation Center receives visits almost daily. As a new member of the Thanh Vinh "Soup of Love" volunteer group, Ms. Nguyen Thi Ngoc Ha (born in 1981, Thanh Vinh ward) is participating for the second time in donating gifts to the war invalids at the center. Even more special, this time she is primarily responsible for preparing the bowls of noodles and porridge as a token of gratitude to those who have contributed to the war effort.
"Standing here, personally handing over this small gift, I couldn't hold back my tears. I feel honored to have taken care of these elderly people, but I also feel heartbroken that I no longer have the opportunity to do the same for my own grandfather," Ms. Ha said, her voice choked with emotion.
This sorrow stems from a void that has never been filled in her family. Her maternal grandfather was a Hero of the Armed Forces, who fell in battle when her mother was only nine years old. Throughout her formative years, she could only imagine him through her mother's proud stories. This invisible but strong connection compelled her to transform her longing for her loved one into acts of sharing with his surviving comrades.
Looking at the gray-haired heads and trembling hands receiving the warm bowls of porridge, Ms. Ha felt as if she had found the image of her grandfather in them. These small gifts were not just material support, but a continuation of gratitude across generations. For her, caring for the elderly today is how she lives up to her grandfather's sacrifice from years ago, and it's also the most tangible lesson she teaches her children about the principle of "drinking water and remembering the source." The war is long over, but these "pots of loving porridge" will always burn brightly, like a promise from today's young people: No sacrifice will be forgotten as long as love and gratitude are given wholeheartedly.