Another amazing chapter in Hero Mama is near the end of the book when Karen Spears Zacharias tells about her journey to Vietnam to visit the place where her father died when she was just nine. "I've walked the streets where my father roamed as a boy. I've sat in the pews of the church where he was baptized. Over the years, I've made several trips to my father's grave at Andrew Johnson National Cemetery in Tennessee. And trips to the Vietnam Veterans memorial in Washington, D. C. But I've never felt my father's presence more strongly than I did there in that dusty red-dirt gully at the base of Dragon Mountain, in a land full of people whose language I couldn't speak and whose customs I didn't know. Finally I knew what it felt like to come home. This was the place where my father had been waiting for me all these years." As she neared the site of her dad's death with a couple other women who had lost dads in the war, walking through the village of Plei Me she heard music coming from a hut. It was the Beatles: "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away." She writes, "We burst out in laughter. Was it possible our fathers were serenading us from the heavens above?" Then at the end of the chapter: "The pain of war does not end when the bombing stops. . . . There is no getting over the Vietnam War for those families. Not for any of us, really. The Vietnam War, as all wars do, forever altered the landscape of our nation and our families, causing us to fight our way through some tough terrain. "I have come to terms with a harsh history, as a daughter and as a citizen of a free nation. I don't miss my father any less with each passing year. I am simply more aware of all the life he's missed. I did not go to Vietnam seeking closure. Grief is a journey with a beginning, but it does not have an end, not in this life anyway. . . . "Moments before we'd boarded a plan in Singapore, bound for Los Angeles, our group gathered around big-screen televisions and listened as President Bush announced that American troops would soon invade Iraq. My heart sank into my gut. I said a prayer for the families that would soon be thrust into an inevitable lifelong journey of grief and reconciliation. . . . "Our journey [to Vietnam] allowed us sons and daughters the chance to ransom the sacred moments of our fathers' lives so we can carry them to eternity's shores. We're sure our soldier fathers will have camp set up by the time we arrive."