Although he has been dead for years, I still think of him from time to time. I'm proud of him, for winning the battle that mattered most. It was dusk, late November, and it was cold outside, the kind of evening you try to stay inside and stay warm. I hadn't heard the phone ring when your grandmother came into our living room to tell me it was for me. It was Lloyd, the local ward bishop and high school counselor. After a brief greeting, he asked me if I could help one of my neighbors. “Sure, who is it and what do they need?” I asked, expecting to help move furniture, blow out a battery, or something. He asked me if I knew Ralph Jones, an older man who lived about a block behind me. I said, "I only know him, but I don't know him personally." Lloyd continued to tell me that the man had been drinking heavily. He was raising hell with his family and had decided he didn't want to live anymore. The bishop asked me if I would go and talk to Brent, their home teacher, my neighbor and friend. “Why me? I have no idea what to say to him?" I asked, trying to wriggle away. "He's a Korean War veteran and I know you served in the Vietnam conflict. I've observed that you veterans are reluctant to talk to anyone about your experiences. , but sometimes you open up to another veteran. Look, go further, talk to him, give me an evaluation and I'll take it from there he replied impatiently. I could tell he was worried and wanted an intervention immediately. “What makes you think his problems stem from Korean?” I asked. “His wife says it's been bothering him for years.” “When will Brent be here?” I asked reluctantly ... half of the paper... there have been failures, but he continues to work to heal. I'm very proud of him.” He said softly. “You have every right to be proud of him. As a country we fail to realize the enormous debt we owe to our veterans, especially our war veterans. Some of the most injured don't have a scratch. It seems that unless you have endured the experience of combat, it is nearly impossible to comprehend the enormity of that debt. I'm really happy that things went well for both of us. It must be hard to have left him.” I said. Before he could respond, the realtor said he could see me. When I came out, Mrs. Jones had left for the day; and I never had the opportunity to continue our conversation. I was happy for her. I'm proud of him, for winning the battle that mattered most. Even though he's been dead for years, I still think about him every now and then.