In 1972, a young girl received an MIA bracelet for Christmas. It was a simple metal band upon which was engraved the name of a soldier who was missing in action; it was popular at the time to don the bracelet until the soldier whose name was on it came back home. She put it on that day, beside the family Christmas tree, and never took it off because the man had never returned nor had he ever been found.
The missing soldier was a Green Beret named James Leslie Moreland, a medic in the Army Special Forces. He was 22 years old when he went missing on February 7, 1968. Mr. Moreland had been raised in Alabama until high school, when his family moved to California, where he became an all-county football player. He went on to attend a nearby junior college, but in 1965, at about 19 years of age, he joined the military.
The girl's name was Kathy Strong and, at the time, she was 12 years old; today, she is 50. She is not his sister, nor his niece, nor any relation through blood or marriage. When it was first issued to her in 1972, she was a stranger to the Moreland family. She wore the bracelet, without exception, for the ensuing 38 years. She still wears it today.
After my mother died, I began wearing a golden cherub pin which had been hers. I thought of it as a guardian angel and it comforted me to have something she had worn so close to me. After wearing it for about a week and a half, it fell off at school and I lost it. We have all had those meaningful trinkets; some of us fair better with them than others, but rarely can any of us demonstrate the conviction and resolve of Kathy Strong.
Long after most would have given up hope of a homecoming, discarding the bracelet or losing it like I did my memento -- or, at the very least, relegating it to the bottom of a jewelry box -- Ms. Strong persisted. Living in an increasingly throw-away society, where even family heirlooms remain unsafe, she made what had been a fad a permanent fixture of her life. It is, ultimately, the loyalty and hope of a child.
On the noteworthy days of their lives -- proms, first dates, job interviews, graduations, weddings -- most young women may not have wanted to wear a somber piece of metal around their wrist. It does not seem to have been a concern for Kathy Strong. In photo after photo, at both the major and minor events of her life, near and far from home, spanning the years from girlhood to adolescence to womanhood, Ms. Strong can be seen wearing the bracelet. When surgery became necessary on her wrist, she searched to find a doctor who would comply and perform the operation with the bracelet remaining on. Many people often do not seem to hold even their wedding rings in such high regard.
"My promise was to keep it until he came home and then give it back," she has said in an interview. As a young girl, she imagined greeting Mr. Moreland on his return to the States and relinquishing the band of metal. Later this spring, she will finally fulfill her promise.
James Moreland's remains were discovered at Lang Vei in South Vietnam and will be flown home for burial in May. Over the past few years, Ms. Strong and Mr. Moreland's remaining siblings have become acquainted and she has been invited to the funeral services in Alabama. Instead of meeting a plane and shaking his hand, she will attend his funeral and lay her hands upon his coffin. She will, however, be able to keep her word; she plans to bury the bracelet with James Moreland.
This story is about two lives, somehow linked by a flimsy piece of metal. One, ended violently and tragically short, and the other, carrying on hope for a memory, even if an imagined one, for a man she had never met and never would meet. For 38 years, Kathy Strong has kept a light burning in the window. How could she help but think of a man whose name has been worn on her arm since the age of 12? Catching the reflected sun while driving, hearing it clink against a bowl when preparing a meal and hitting the keyboard while typing emails, it was surely impossible to ignore. And impossible to forget.
Dressing in the morning, will she absentmindedly notice something missing, as everyone does when forgetting house keys or a watch or earrings? Will she suffer from phantom pains, like an appendage that is no longer attached? I am left with a lingering question: After having worn something on one's body for nearly four decades, a sort of semi-permanent attachment, how would this person feel without it? Only time will tell, and Kathy Strong is not afraid of the commitment.
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M.I.A. but not forgotten