THE WALL OF FACES

Rest in peace with the warriors.

Freedom's cost

Mother keeps memory of son's sacrifice alive

By Robbie Evans

May 31, 2010

thenewsstar.com



To many people, Memorial Day is one day out of the year that they...recognize men and women who lost their lives serving their country in the name of freedom.



But for Una Wade Hart of Monroe, a glass-encased flag and fading photographs of her son in a special corner of her home have been reminders for the past 39 years of the sacrifice made by her son for his country. Her only son, Sgt. Randall Guy Hart Jr., was killed in action Feb. 28, 1971, while serving as a Army paratrooper in Vietnam.



Not a single day passes by without Hart reliving the painful memory of losing her son. And after nearly four decades, Hart still weeps when she thinks about her family's loss.



"How do I deal with it? I cry a lot," Hart said. "I wish I didn't cry like I do, but I miss him terribly."



Randy Hart graduated from Ouachita Parish High School in 1967 and attended Northeast Louisiana University. His father, Randolph Hart Sr., was a U.S. Army veteran who fought in the D-Day invasion of Normandy in 1944. In May 1969, Randy Hart joined the Army and went through paratrooper training at Fort Benning, Ga.



"That was Randy's desire, if he had to go, to be in the branch his dad was in," she said. "His dad was very proud of him when he enlisted."



One of her lasting regrets has been missing her son's first training jump as a paratrooper. Her husband talked her out of seeing it for fear that something might go wrong during the jump.



Less than two years later, the Hart family would receive word from the Army that their son had been killed in action.



"We got the news three days later and it took eight days to bring his body home," she said.



Twenty years after her son's death, one of the soldiers who had served with Hart's son in Vietnam, Larry Pike of Georgia, contacted her after several years of trying to locate his family. After meeting Pike, she learned more about the last moments of her son's life.



"Randy had gone to the aid of one of his men that had been killed, and he took a bullet on the inside of his right leg and it severed the main artery," she said as she held back tears. "In 10 minutes, he had bled to death.



They were under such heavy fire that a medivac helicopter couldn't get there that night to get his body out. So Larry sat with the body all night."



Una Hart had never known Pike until he had contacted her 19 years ago. She learned that Pike himself had been severely injured during battle two weeks after her son's death.



Since that time, Pike and his wife visit her twice a year and Pike calls her every week.



"He's like a second son to me," Hart said.



Hart has fond memories of a son who used to call her "Mama-O" and ask her to make her special hobo stack-up sandwiches for his friends and him.



Although families who have lost loved ones during times of war need no reminders of the sacrifices made, Hart said her ultimate hope is for people to think of Memorial Day as more than just a day off from work.



"We're living in a different age than we did when I was younger, and since Vietnam, it seems it's been almost a put-down to be a soldier," Hart said. "To me, Memorial Day should be a time when our minds turn back to the sacrifices that were made.



"It's a time (Memorial Day) I would like to know people did remember what our sons gave and the sacrifices they made."

I never thought that you wouldn't be coming home to our family. Now, 34 years later, I still think of you often and miss you as much as ever.

We are all proud of you and I'm so happy that YOU were my brother.

I'll always love you.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Frye – 1932