Terry James was 22 when he arrived in Vietnam in January 1969 with Delta Company. He fought in the Battle of Long Khan, where he killed someone for the first time and watched his best friend die in front of him after insisting on taking Terry's turn as forward scout. Days later, he spent three days in house-to-house fighting at Binh Ba, an experience so intense his mind shut down the details completely. He came home and buried it all, working as a bus conductor, then an accountant, deliberately pushing Vietnam to the back of his mind.
Thirty years later, in 2000, Terry fell apart at work as a financial controller at Paramount Pictures. Everything came flooding back. What saved him was steadiness: a psychiatrist he saw for years, the Army brotherhood he reconnected with, and Lynn, the woman he met in 1987 who he calls the love of his life. She had two adult children and five grandchildren who became his family not by blood but by heart. Terry softened from the hardened person he had become. He plays golf every week, bowls twice a week, speaks at schools during Anzac and Remembrance periods telling young people that war is not good and urging them to prevent future wars. He loves his grandchildren to pieces. At 75, he lives in a townhouse surrounded by neighbours of all ages, shares meals and Saturday drinks in the driveway, and describes his life as happy. The gold in the cracks, he shows, is found in the people who show up and the daily presence of those we love.