By Pauline Laurent
Finding this group was like finding part of my husband. I’m grateful.
Hearing the stories of Vietnam is giving me a glimpse of that mysterious war that took the man of my dreams and never gave him back.
As I hear about it and see the impact it had on you, I cry for you as well as myself. Your losses and mine melt together and become the backdrop against which we attempt to build a life after Vietnam—attempt to build with what’s left of our lives,
Already a subscriber? Log in
You have read 5 articles this month.
For only $3 per month or $28 per year, you can read as much as you want!
A digital subscription includes unlimited access to current articles–and some exclusive digital content–released throughout each week, over thirty years of articles in our Dharma archive, as well as PDFs of all back issues.
By Pauline Laurent
Finding this group was like finding part of my husband. I'm grateful.
Hearing the stories of Vietnam is giving me a glimpse of that mysterious war that took the man of my dreams and never gave him back.
As I hear about it and see the impact it had on you, I cry for you as well as myself. Your losses and mine melt together and become the backdrop against which we attempt to build a life after Vietnam—attempt to build with what's left of our lives, a second chance.
As we write, we heal. As we read, we heal. As we sit in silence and allow memories to surface, we heal some more. As we heal, we become the instruments of healing.
Thank you for the courage to sit, to write, to read and to remember Vietnam.
Thank you for including me in your family and listening to my sorrow over having lost one of you.
Thank you, Maxine, for guiding us in this monumental task of healing. Thank you, Michael, for organizing such an unruly bunch as we are.
Thank you to all the nonveterans for the courage to sit with us and share your stories as well.
Blessed be your life.
Pauline Laurent is the widow of Sgt. Howard E. Querry, U. S. Army, 9th Inf. Div, K.I.A. 5-10-68.
