VietNow
National Magazine
The Power of a
Name
By Ann FitzHenry
As
I landed at Washington Dulles International
airport, I was filled with thoughts of
someone I had never met. When I first
encountered his name scribbled in Grandma’s
family Bible, I was attracted like peanut
butter to a jelly sandwich. Even though
common sense advised otherwise, I knew
I had to find him and confront the past.
Now, after a year of painstaking research,
the moment had arrived. Preoccupied with
preparations for the trip, I didn’t
tell him I was coming.
Boarding the downtown
Metrorail, I blended in with the other
tourists. As the passengers chatted about
the attractions on the National Mall,
my stomach tightened as we drew closer
to Union Station. How would I find him?
All I knew was his name.
As the train doors
opened, the sounds and smells of the
city greeted my small-town sensibilities.
Like a single snowflake in a blizzard,
I joined the bustling foot traffic
for the last few steps of my journey.
The task at hand seemed almost impossible
in such a big and busy place.
Taking
a deep breath, I began my search. I
couldn’t
chicken out now. I had traveled 1,100 miles
just to see him. For the first few hours
I was buoyed by my sense of adventure.
Realizing my dream, I basked
in the history of the nation’s
capital. As my search continued, however,
I began to give up hope. I had looked
everywhere. I couldn’t find him.
Disappointment and doubt plagued me as
I studied the names listed on panel 49W.
What if I was mistaken?
Struggling with thoughts of defeat,
my heart stopped when he suddenly appeared.
In a wave of emotion, I reached for
him through the crowd.
I could almost feel the outline of
his face when I caressed the letters
of his name. In the shadow of the Vietnam
Veterans Memorial, we met for the first
time. The name lovingly written in
Grandma’s
shaky hand was immortalized on
The Wall.
When my journey began in
the pages of the family Bible, I never
thought He would lead me here. Trapped
in the relentless pursuits of the material
world, I had lost life’s meaning. Now,
searching for myself,
I had found Tom. A long-lost second
cousin, Tom died before I was born.
Killed at the age of 22, he gave the
ultimate sacrifice in a faraway place
named Binh Duong. Drafted by his country,
he answered the call with all that
he had. As I whispered “thank
you,” the words seemed hollow and
inadequate for a real American hero.
Kneeling at
the base of the monument, I started as
a tiny hand brushed my sleeve. “Why
are you crying?”
a small voice asked. Searching
for words, I clenched my fists
to keep from drowning in my own
tears. My mind, numb with emotion,
lost the ability to speak. As I
fought for an explanation, the
child turned and
ran away.
Overcome with grief, I looked
to the heavens. Who else would know of
great sacrifice and great love, but
God? Surrounded by monuments dedicated
to presidents and fallen American heroes,
I
began to grasp the meaning of John
3:16. Never before had His words been
so clear. “For
God so loved the world that
he gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes
in him shall not perish but
have eternal life.” (John 3:16 New International
Version) In the depths of despair,
God gave me hope for a blessed family reunion.
My next meeting
with Tom wouldn’t
be on an ebony wall, but
in God’s
mansions in the sky. As I
gave thanks for a life taken too soon,
one search ended and a new one began. At
that moment, I discovered the awesome power
of a name – Jesus.
Ann FitzHenry is
a professional in human resource management
with an interest in creative writing.
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