John has visited my office for years. Same order, quiet nod. One of those guys you don\u2019t think twice about until you do.Last week, I told him my girlfriend and I were going to Vietnam. Just talking. His face transformed completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI was there,\u201d he said. Fall of Saigon. Orphaned kids were loaded aboard flights to save as many as possible.\u201dMy stomach sank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was a baby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Told him. Watched his hands stop on the counter. Eyes welled. \u201cThen I might\u2019ve held you,\u201d he muttered.Nobody talked for a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The hands that saved me always puzzled me. Those who got me out. One was now in front of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Talked awhile. He recalled the turmoil and anguish of that day. His voice was thick, he clutched my shoulder before leaving. \u201cI\u2019ll sleep better tonight,\u201d he remarked. Know you made it.\u201dI thought it was over. Beautiful, unbelievable moment. He paused before leaving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere\u2019s\u2026something else,\u201d he continued, lowering his voice. \u201cSomething I should say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then everything changed.John sat back, massaging his hands like he was summoning up the bravery to speak something buried for decades. He sharply exhaled and looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had a child there. In Saigon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My chest felt strangely pressured. \u201cYou had a child?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He nodded. Linh, woman. We met while I was stationed there. We fell in love despite expectations. We had a boy before I realized it.\u201d Cracked voice. \u201cI tried to go with them, but failed. I lost them all when the city collapsed. I looked and asked, but they vanished.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remained mute. Listening. Processing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve never stopped looking,\u201d he said. \u201cNever gave up on finding them. I got nothing. Recordless, clueless. Just a name, memory, and photo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He grabbed a yellowed, faded picture from his wallet. John as a child cuddling a baby near a kind mother with black eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know if he made it out,\u201d he said. \u201cIf Linh did. I just\u2026 Not sure if he\u2019s alive. If I could find them and know they\u2019re okay, that would be everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One thing tugged at my heart. Something more than chance. Greater than a military veteran-adoptee fortuitous meeting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The baby in the image caught my attention, then John. My head spun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJohn,\u201d I whispered. \u201cWhat if I helped?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Blinked at me. \u201cYou mean what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to Vietnam,\u201d I said. My contacts there specialize in finding lost relatives. That photo and any details you remember can go with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His breath jerked. You\u2019d do that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nodded. \u201cYeah. I would.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He cried. He appeared hopeful for the first time in a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We reviewed everything he remembered for an hour. A district Linh lived in. The hospital that delivered his son. Her hair braiding style. Writing that down felt like holding his hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I visited an old archival buddy just after my partner and I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City. After I gave her the photo and tale, she offered to help. She copied the photo and gave it to wartime family tracers and researchers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Days passed. One week. Then two.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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