Despite the obvious love and affection she held for her sons, as noted in the

letter, Puller came away from reading it more depressed than he had been before.

 

Part of him had hoped that his mother had left her husband.

 

Because that meant she might still be alive.

 

To Puller, this letter meant that his mother most likely was dead.

 

He would take bullets and bombs and jihadist fanatics trying to rip his life

from him over that. You fought for the flag and country you represented. But you

really fought for the guy beside you.

 

Here, Puller was alone.

 

It was just him and a vanished mother to whom he had given all of his heart.

 

As he stood there looking down at the envelope, depression was suddenly replaced

with an even more powerful emotion.

 

Guilt.

 

Why had he waited all these years to do anything about this?