In 1971 I was 19 years old, stationed in Da Nang, Vietnam.  I met and fell in love with Huynh Thi Huong. She and her family welcomed me into their village home.  As my time to return to the US drew near, Huong and I agreed that she would follow me to become my wife in the United States.  After a tearful, yet hopeful goodbye, I left Vietnam.  Four days later the communists crossed the Demilitarized Zone with Russian tanks in what would be called the Easter Offensive, taking control of many of the northern provinces of South Vietnam, including Huong’s Village. In terror, Huong burned all of the documents we had so carefully assembled, paperwork that was her ticket out of  Vietnam.  I never saw her again.

Unknown to either of us at the time I left Vietnam, Huong was pregnant with my child.  That child, Lena Huynh was born into a world of hatred for any reminder of the “American occupiers”.  Bravely, she survived and succeeded in leaving Vietnam at age 16.  Her grandmother, Phai, accompanied her on the journey, leaving her own husband and children behind.  The last words Lena heard from her devoted grandfather were, “Go find your father”.

25 years later she did.  Without benefit of my name or any other identifying information, armed with nothing more than my 1970 high school graduation picture and a 1968 photo of my mother, Lena found me.  Her mother Huong died of liver cancer a decade ago.  The book that I am writing,”Letter from Lena”, is her story.

Today is Tuesday, October 4, 2016.  I am waiting at SFO International Gate A9 for a Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong and then on to Da Nang.  This is my third and final trip to Vietnam this year,  It is the rainy season in Da Nang, average rainfall for the month is 15 to 25 inches.  My rented apartment is in a vibrant, safe neighborhood several blocks from the home of Hung (Huong’s younger brother), Thu, his wife, and daughters Xuan and Ha.

Thu’s cooking is a keenly anticipated highlight of my visits to Da Nang.  She watches my rice bowl as would a bird of prey, constantly refilling it with morsels more delicious than the last.  I have, at times, resorted to hiding my bowl in self defense.

“Putting myself back in that place again” is at once exhilarating and terrifying.  I look forward to an October in the rain, continuing to write, unlocking more of the elusive mystery of Lena’s heroic story.