In the Spring of 1970

In the spring of 1970, I wrote to request a POW bracelet. It was a simple stainless steel band engraved with the name of a POW or MIA serviceman and the date of the event.

I put it on my wrist, rarely moving it from left to right, never taking it off at night, or removing it for any reason. I even refused to take it off when I was drafted, and the Army relented once they understood what it was.

I did not receive a POW bracelet. I did not get to remove it when prisoners were returned, either alive or dead. My man was listed as MIA.

For decades, I checked the databases, especially after the Internet became widely available. I learned about his family. I learned about him. And I learned that he was last seen in a country where he was not supposed to be — Cambodia.

Then, over time, I checked a little less frequently.

On Memorial Day, 2015, one of my daughters asked whether I wanted to be buried with the bracelet. I replied that I would, but then thought I would check one more time. She volunteered to wear it if I wanted. I said, ‘let me check’.

I was stunned to discover that his dog tags had been found very near the last place he had been seen wounded. Not only that, but DNA had also been recovered. He had received an official burial two years before my last search.

For the previous two years, I had not been wearing an MIA bracelet.

He had been found.

The next week, we already had a family vacation planned in Hawaii. I decided to visit the Punchbowl Cemetery.

I found the marker with his name on it.

And I placed the bracelet there.

The entire family came with me.