I hesitate in telling this story, partly because my limited story telling ability can’t do it any justice. But mostly because I lack the dates and timeline that my uncle had when he told it to me. That said, its a war story, the story of my grandparents, and worth sharing on a day like today.

My grandpa Geronimo was one of many Filipinos that joined the US Navy in search of a better life. He was married soon before he shipped out and was stationed on the USS Arizona up until December 6th, 1941. He left the Arizona hours before the attack for barracks on land. I haven’t heard the details on how he was able to escape, but I that was just the beginning.

Around the same time as the attack on Pearl, my grandma Natividad and the rest of her family fled their village in the northern most island of the Philippines to avoid being captured and killed by invading japanese soldiers. They ran and they hid, saw family members killed, again my details are cloudy on how she actually escaped.

This was 1941, the beginning of the war my grandparents and had completely lost touch with one and other. Neither knew of the others where abouts or if they were even alive, and it stayed like that for the next five years of their marriage. My grandpa continued to serve in the Navy, my grandma continued to find ways avoid capture until 1945. The war in the Pacific finally came to an end, my grandpa began to make his way home. In a chance encounter, he was able to find an old friend of his in a market. The friend asked if he had seen his wife yet, of course my grandpa had no clue she was even alive or where to find her. She was there, the friend explained, I’ll take you to her.

This story was told to me by an uncle, my first and only trip to my Dad’s town in the Zambalas province of the Philippines. My grandpa passed some years back, my grandma still lives in the same house they built and raised their family in. Remember the past, remember what people did to get you here. Mostly, and in my case, remember it and pass it on.