Listening to a radio piece recently, it was telling the story of a team of searchers that work to bring home soldiers remains, who were MIA, or KIA during war time. The peace I was listening to was specific to the Vietnam war.

The story featured a family a man now near 60, who was only three when his father disappeared in a famous battle in North Vietnam on the border with Laos.

The most powerful part of the feature was a recording from when the son, now a grown man, traveled to the site where they believe his father disappeared and died. He was on the top of the mountain, Dong Re Lao, near the summit, and he was yelling out to his father, to the spirits of the mountain, letting his dad know he was there, and asking the spirits to return the loved ones home, at long last. It was a great radio piece.

A little later toward evening, I was near the cemetery where my dad’s ashes are, so I stopped by say hello.

Funny thing for me, I think about my dad all the time, and talk to him, but after listening to that radio piece and the story of people whose loved ones never came home, or closure in their lives is lacking, it felt all the more appropriate to be thankful that my dad is so close that I can physically be near his remains, even ashes, and I feel fortunate, all the more.