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On May 1st, 1971, just three nights into his deployment, my father writes from Vietnam with a heart full of longing and a mind already spinning with plans to get back home. He’s not yet in the thick of missions, but the distance is heavy—he’s already tried calling home for two hours, unsuccessfully.

This letter captures the quiet, intimate spaces between duty and emotion. He’s preparing to leave for Jungle Survival School in the Philippines, but what matters most to him is making sure my mother feels loved, comforted, and connected.

He tells her about his new P.O. Box, shares dreams of meeting in Hawaii for R&R, and even reminds her to go out, dance, and enjoy herself—through tears of love and selflessness.

There’s humor in the teasing he gets from fellow airmen, tenderness in the mention of his stuffed “wittle chick-a-dee,” and an aching hope that someday soon, they’ll be together again.

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These letters capture a love story separated by war, but never by heart.

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