Working in the Emergency Room, I hear patient’s stories every day, but some stand out. When a veteran shared her lifetime of dedication to the post office, I knew hers was special. Shared with permission, please enjoy:
Letters From Vietnam
In the tenth hour of her shift, when the fluid had pooled in her feet, and her ankles swelled, Millicent held the up the envelop, and time stopped. The rest of the mail shuffled past, piling up in front of her partner, Sandy who rifled madly through the letters to keep up.
“Millicent! You’ve been staring at that envelope for ages,” she exclaimed. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Millicent traced a finger over the hand-written address on the pink envelope. The sender had scrawled Happy Birthday after the zip code. The card was bound for New Jersey. It had come from the Army base, forwarded from somewhere overseas.
“God willing, not a ghost,” she replied. Setting down the card, she rubbed her aching knee. She needed to see the VA about her knee in the morning.
Sandy didn’t know about her own birthday card—the one she kept in a special case to preserve the paper. The card was more than half a century old. Hard to imagine. Years of handling, taking the card in and out had made the envelope soft and velvety. The card itself threatened to split in two. That’s how many times she had opened and closed it.
“The postal service is about more than mail,” she went on. “There’s something magical about getting a letter from someone you love.” Millicent handed the birthday card to Sandy.
Sandy regarded it briefly before sending it along to be bundled and shipped to New Jersey.
“Come on,” she said with eyes on Millicent’s bad knee. “I’m telling the boss we’re taking our break. You can tell me all about your unusual love for the United States Postal Service.”
The women walked off the line, gratefully collapsing into a pair of chairs.
50 Years Earlier
Millie loved when the mailman came to her apartment complex. Before the war, he only brought coupons and invoices—nothing of interest to a child. Nothing for her.
But now that Kenneth had gone to the front lines, Millie could always count on a letter from him. He hadn’t gone to war, Millie reminded herself. He was sent to war. “Drafted,” Aunty called it with a poisonous tone.
Millie was lucky, she told herself, to receive Kenneth’s letters. He could have stopped after writing to his mother. Millie was just his little cousin, after all. He didn’t have to make her a priority. But that was Kenneth, a Demi-god to a 12-year-old girl, and she was enchanted.
There was more to Kenneth’s letters than met the eye. They would come from the jungles of Vietnam, or sometimes the city when Kenneth was on leave. The one Millie held now as she perched on her bed bore a soiled thumbprint and a water stain.
The socks, Millie. They’re always going on about the socks. What are they rambling about? Well, now I know, Millie. It’s the swamps. And the rain! You wouldn’t believe how much water can fall from the sky in the wet season. Have you ever met a pair of feet that spent the day in swamp socks? Your feet could rot right off your legs!
Millie giggled and touched the smudged ink. The dried mud that clung to her finger was her own piece of Vietnam, and she breathed in the scent that brought her straight to the adventure. She had read it and breathed it a hundred times as she had done with them all. So vivid were his descriptions, Millie knew he didn’t see her as a child, but as an equal.
She switched on the lamp and sharpened her pencil. It was her job to keep him informed about the news from home. Aunty no doubt filled her letters with mush and half-truths to console him as he longed for home. That was a mother’s job. Her letters were raw, an openness that connected them from across the world.
Aunty couldn’t pay the electric bill this month. Ma bailed her out so they wouldn’t disconnect the power. They say it’s a shame you’re not in college where you belong.
Aunty prayed so loud; the whole complex could hear her talking to Jesus.
Aunty cried again today. She’s afraid of the enemy.
Millie’s Ma and Aunty spoke of Kenneth’s return so frequently, Millie believed he would walk through the door at any moment. Truthfully, she would’ve been mildly disappointed if he had. Reading his letters had become the bright spot of her existence.
I’m in Saigon for a few days of R&R. That stands for Rest and Recuperation, Millie. But the city is anything but calm! Earlier today, I stopped by a cafe for a sweet Vietnamese coffee.
It was so strong, it would have gagged you. But for me, it was perfect. The streets are filled with noise—mopeds honking, street vendors calling out. I even hear helicopters humming overhead. War is always looming in the distance.
But I’m perfectly fine. I found a bar filled with other soldiers and an American jukebox. Now my head is filled with rock ‘n’ roll instead of base camp drudgery. While I’m writing to you, the air is thick with cigarette smoke, but it’s all good people here.
And she wrote her reply.
My birthday is next week. I’m going to be 13!!! But you already knew that. Ma said I could have a party. Can you believe that? Just a few people, you know. Something small. I wish you could come. Maybe they’ll give you R&R again? I miss you.
Her birthday came. Her mother fixed eggs and toast for breakfast. Aunty called and invited them to lunch. It was her birthday, and she was 13. Nothing could bring her down.
She spied the three men in uniform from the kitchen window and followed her mother’s gaze as the men made their way to her Aunty’s apartment.
“Kenneth!”
Ma didn’t reply, she only stared into the middle distance.
“Ma, let’s go! I’m sure they brought a letter from Kenneth,” Millie prodded.
Her mother ruffled her hair, then squeezed her shoulders. “Why don’t you wait for the mailman, Millie. That’s who will bring you a birthday card.”
Millie eyed her mother quizzically. “Alright, let’s check the mailbox together.”
“You go on ahead, honey. I’m going to Aunty’s for a while.”
Millie shrugged, then took off full speed to the mailbox. Dust kicked up from her shoes in her sprint. Finding something in the mailbox wasn’t something she anticipated.
It was early for the mail, but it was worth checking. The little metal door squeaked open, and she peered inside. There it was! Nestled amongst the plain white envelopes was a pink card.
It stood taller than the rest. Forgetting the other letters, Millie snatched the pink card from the box and dropped to the curb to read it.
She held the envelope and turned it over in her hands. There was Kenneth’s name on the return address; she instantly recognized his choppy handwriting. On the back along the seal were doodles of hearts and stars.
Millie wiped her hands on her skirt and fit a delicate finger under the seal. Carefully, she lifted the paper until the card was free. A unicorn stood under a rainbow on the cover. She blew past it and plunged inside. Kenneth’s words filled an entire side of the card.
Happy 13th birthday to my favorite cousin, Millie. I’m sure you’re busy having a wild party, but I hope you find a little time for me. For my card, I mean. I’m sorry I couldn’t get home for this one. But I have some great news. I’ll be home soon! How’s that for a birthday present? See you soon. Love, your favorite cousin, Kenneth.
Millie held the card to her chest and breathed in its musty scent. Across the way, she could see Ma walking home from Aunty’s apartment. Her steps were slow, and her shoulders slumped.
Maybe she had to pay the electric bill again. That was no matter. Kenneth’s card would cheer her up. Millie skipped home, swinging her birthday card back and forth. Her heart was light.
“Ma!” she called at the threshold. “I got a card from Kenneth!” She glanced through the sitting room and the hallway. Ma wasn’t there. She must be cooking. Except it wasn’t lunchtime and she didn’t smell macaroni or grilled cheese.
Her Ma sat stone faced at the table, her head resting on her fist. She looks so sad.
“I got a card from Kenneth,” Millie repeated, dropping into a kitchen chair and pushing the card across the table.
Her mother smiled, her lips thin. “That’s great, honey. Really great.”
Millie grew tired of the melancholy. It was her birthday, after all. “I’m going to write him back!” She bounced up from her seat and turned toward her bedroom.
“Don’t write him back,” Ma croaked.
It was the fracture of her voice that turned Millie back. “Don’t write him back,” she whispered.
Millie’s heart plummeted to her stomach like sinking stones. “What’s going on?”
“Kenny was killed in Vietnam.”
The words struck a blow like a bullet. Milly clutched the card, her birthday ruined. Kenny’s spirit would live in her heart forever, and his letters became the manifestation of his legacy. Nothing was so treasured as the letters from Vietnam.
In the Present
Fifty years later, in the post office where she proudly served, Millicent confided this to her partner, Sandy. She rubbed her aching knee while her partner studied the ground.
“I’m speechless, Millicent. Is that what inspired you to enlist?”
Millicent nodded.
“And the Veteran’s Day cake that could feed an army?”
She nodded.
“And the Black History Month party?”
“Now you’re getting it.” Millicent gave her a sly grin. “Should we get back on the line?”
Sandy nodded. “We need to make sure every birthday card reaches those kids.
The End