My father was a veteran. He fought in World War II at Leyte Gulf, one of the fiercest naval battles of that war, and though he came home, he carried his injuries and pain for the rest of his life. I am so very grateful for his sacrifice and love of fellow humans.
When I think of courage and, I think of him, a young man who stepped into the unimaginable, not out of a thirst for glory, but from a sense of duty and love. His wounds were not only physical; they lived in the silence between his words, in the faraway look that sometimes crossed his eyes. In the stories he would never tell… the horrors he would never speak of.
Yet he built a life, raised a family, and showed me what endurance means. His courage was steady and unspoken, the kind that doesn’t seek medals or parades, only the chance to live in peace. In fact, his two Purple Hearts were tucked away in a deck drawer and never spoken of.
Letters from the Home Front
By the time I reached high school, another war had begun, Vietnam. Many of my friends, barely eighteen, were drafted and sent across the world to fight a conflict none of us fully understood. We watched the nightly news with dread and wrote letters that tried to sound hopeful.
As a young woman at home, I did what I could. I had a boyfriend in Viet Nam. We thought he would be safe when he joined the Coast Guard – only to be sent for two and one-half years patrolling the river deltas in Viet Nam. I baked cookies, wrote letters, and sent care packages filled with love and longing. I didn’t know what else to do. The war felt senseless, but the boys I knew were anything but. They were kind, funny, scared, and brave. They went because they were told to, and they did their best to make sense of it.
Even now, I can still feel the ache of those years, the separations, the losses, the quiet tears behind closed doors. I was wondering if my friends would come home in a casket or on their feet. And if on their feet, could they ever be the same? Within that ache, there was also grace, the kind that binds a generation together through love, loyalty, and shared heartbreak.
Gratitude Beyond the Battle
Today, on Veterans Day, my heart holds gratitude for all who have served, not only those who fought, but those who waited, prayed, wrote letters, and carried hope through dark times.
Whether the wars were necessary or not, each person who answered the call did so with courage, the courage to leave home, to face fear, to protect what they believed mattered.
I’ve learned that courage wears many faces: the soldier, the nurse, the protester, the mother keeping the family strong. Courage is not about choosing the perfect path, it’s about staying true to love and conscience when the world feels impossible.
The Long Road to Peace
As I grow older, my gratitude deepens for peace itself, not as an abstract idea, but as a lived experience. Peace is what every soldier prays for, and what every family longs to see.
It’s in the sound of laughter after years of silence, in the freedom to speak without fear, in the grace to forgive both ourselves and others. My father’s greatest wish, I think, was that no one else would ever have to endure what he did.
His story, and those of my friends who returned from Vietnam, remind me that peace is not passive, it requires courage, compassion, and the will to listen. Peace is born from understanding.
A Living Prayer
So today, I light a candle for all veterans, for those who served in courage, for those who were lost to war, and for those who came home carrying visible and invisible wounds.
And I light a second candle for peace, the peace my father longed for, the peace my generation prayed for, the peace our world still needs so desperately.
May we honor their courage not only with words, but by becoming peacemakers in our own lives, by refusing to harden our hearts, by choosing empathy over anger, by recognizing that love is the only lasting victory.
Thank you, Veterans.