Memorial Day in America is more than a long weekend and the unofficial beginning of summer. 

It’s a solemn reminder of the true cost of war and the young men and women who never returned home. Across generations, Americans have left families, farms, cities, and classrooms behind to serve in conflicts far from home, at times, confident they were protecting something greater than themselves. Many were barely adults when they faced fear, sacrifice, and the uncertainty of battle. 

Among the most powerful reminders of their humanity are the letters they wrote. Penned in tents, aboard ships, or in quiet moments between combat, these final words carried hope, love, courage, and, oftentimes, an unspoken fear that they might never return. Decades later, those letters still echo through history. They depict not only soldiers, but sons, daughters, husbands, wives, and friends longing for home. 

The four letters in this collection, obtained by AARP, are so much more than historical documents. They are deeply personal windows into lives cut short by war. Each sentence carries the weight of sacrifice and the lasting bond between those who served and the families and friends who waited.  

On Memorial Day (and everyday), their voices remind us that freedom has always come at an enormous human cost. 

Here are four heartbreaking final letters from fallen American soldiers to their families. 

20-Year-Old World War I Sgt. David Ker

To his mother on September 11, 1918:

“Tomorrow the first totally American drive commences, and it gives me inexpressible joy and pride to know that I shall be present to do my share. Should I go under, therefore, I want you to know that I went without any terror of death, and that my chief worry is the grief my death will bring to those so dear to me. Since having found myself and Mary, there has been much to make life sweet and glorious, but death, while distasteful, is in no way terrible. I feel wonderfully strong to do my share well, and, for my sake, you must try to drown your sorrow in the pride and satisfaction, the knowledge that I died well in so clean a cause, as is ours, should bring you. Remember how proud I have always been of your superb pluck, keep Elizabeth’s future in mind, and don’t permit my death to bow your head.”

“My personal belongings will all be sent to you. Your good taste will tell you which to send to Mary.”

Ker dropped out of Columbia University to serve in WWI. He was among the 7,000 casualties during the attack on Saint-Mihiel in France, one day after he wrote this letter.

21-Year-Old World War II 2nd Lt. Tommie Kennedy

To his mother and father in 1944:

“It is pretty hard to check out this way with out a fighting chance but we can’t live forever. I’m not afraid to die, I just hate the thought of not seeing you again. Buy Turkey Ranch with my money and just think of me often while your there. Make liberberal donations to both sisters. See that Gary has a new car his first year hi-school. I am sending Walts medals to his mother. He gave them to me Sept 42 last time I saw him & Bud. They went to Japan. I guess you can tell Patty that fate just didn’t want us to be together. Hold a nice service for me in Bksfield & put head stone in new cematary. Take care of my nieces & nephews don’t let them ever want anything as I want even warmth or water now.”

“Loving & waiting for you in the world beon.”

Kennedy was captured by the Japanese at Corregidor and spent three years locked up and malnourished on a “hell ship” before passing away. He wrote these words on the back of two photographs that were eventually delivered to his family.

27-Year-Old Vietnam War Lt. Dean Allen

To his wife on July 10, 1967:

“It got so dark I had to stop last night.  Writing like that doesn’t really do that much good because you aren’t here to answer me or discuss something. I guess it helps a little though because you are the only one I would say these things to. Maybe sometime I’ll even try to tell you how scared I have been or am now. … Sometimes I really wonder how I’ll make it. My luck is running way to good right now. I just hope it lasts. Don’t worry about what I have said, these are just things I think about sometimes. I am so healthy I can’t get a day out of the field and you know I’m to damn mean to die. …”

Allen died four days later from wounds sustained by stepping on a landmine. He was among the 58,000 casualties of the Vietnam War.

To his mother in March 2002:

“I’m writing this letter before I leave. I couldn’t say what I wanted to over the phone. First I want to say I love you so much. You were always there for me even though I would never talk about my problems. Second you gave me the options to be a man giving me slack in the rope to try to make the right decisions. No matter what you always believed in me, no matter how much of a punk I was to you. We are leaving for Bahgram to flush out 600 Taliban soldiers from the mountains. This is the biggest battle of the war on terrorism. We already sustained 30 casualties and one KIA. …”

“I don’t want you to worry about me. (I know you will cause I’m your son). Mom I’m not afraid to die for something that is right … I just hope that I made you proud, and if I don’t come home for any reason I just want you to know I’ll always be with you. … I want you to know you raised the cream of the crop. … Well Mom I have to go now, all that I have said here are words from my heart and I mean every last one of them. Tell Aunt Joyce I said hi and I love her. I hope to see you soon but if that doesn’t work out I just needed you to know how I felt. I Love you and Miss you.”

Harapko passed away one year after writing this letter (just before Operation Anaconda) after a Black Hawk helicopter he was flying in crashed.

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