My father was 25 when he was killed in WWII. I knew him only through the letter he wrote from Camp Lucky Strike on the north coast of France in the winter of ’45 to welcome me into the world. The love in that letter lived inside of me until I began to search for him several years ago. During the search I visited Luxembourg where his name is engraved on the Wall of Missing. Now there is a marker with his name and the dates of his short life at Arlington Cemetery.