No matter how purposeless it all seemed, it was not a story of blighted worth. My father’s story was a rare sighting of a Soul in glorious full flight. He was truly loved by all. Perhaps my father was not seeing it that way – he had been too busy falling. Now trapped in the wreckage of an old soldier’s body, his Soul was crying out; his mind and body were in need of help – would any kindred Soul answer his call? Like Echo the forest nymph, who had been fated to repeat Narcissus’ every last word in unfulfilled love, my father seemed destined to repeat his Asian pain in duty-bound soldiery love. The unconditional love of a free Soul seemed out of his reach.