The Last Drops of Milk

This is the last image of martyr Nguyen Thi Tu, born in 1937, from Trung Hung 1B village, Vinh Hung commune, Vinh Loi district, Bac Lieu province, along with her young daughter, Le My Linh, born in 1971, who was just 10 months old at the time.

Around 6 PM on February 14, 1972, Captain Phuoc, the commander of the security battalion, ordered a platoon to surround and capture Mrs. Tu. They brutally beat her, demanding that she reveal the secret bunker where her husband, the local team leader Nam Dong, and other resistance fighters were hiding. When they failed to extract any information, Captain Phuoc ordered, "Shoot her, cut off her ears and bring them back to me."

But Mrs. Tu begged them to let her nurse her child before she was shot. Despite the gun pointed at her, she mustered the strength to pull her 10-month-old daughter to her chest, offering her the last drops of breast milk. In this moment, Mrs. Tu would face an unbearable death, clinging to her child as her final act of love. Had it not been for the child in her arms, she might have faced death as bravely as Vo Thi Sau on the execution ground.

There is no comparison to the sacred, supreme love of a mother. Many generations of Vietnamese women have made incredible sacrifices, giving up their most precious role as mothers for the sake of peace and national independence.

Afterward, Nguyen Thi Tu was posthumously honored with the title of martyr by the Party and the State.

Today, the family of martyr Nguyen Thi Tu, along with her daughter Le My Linh, continue to live in Trung Hung 1B village, Vinh Hung A commune, Vinh Loi district.

Here is a poem written about this heroic woman:

"Drink, my child, the last drops of milk,

For time is short, it moves like silk.

You were born in the fire of war,

Drink deeply, my dear, this is the last for sure.

Soon, my body will be no more,

The white milk will mix with blood’s red pour.

Drink, my child, so you will understand,

How the enemy tore apart our land.

They tortured me to learn where your father lay,

But I swore, even in death, I wouldn’t betray.

I am a guerrilla, I stand firm, unbowed,

No enemy shall break me, no matter how loud.

Drink, my child, your father fights in the wild,

Fighting for victory, brave and mild.

War is bitter, full of pain and woe,

Drink, my angel, before we must go.

Tomorrow, you will have only your father’s care,

But the village will help and always be there.

The enemy’s cruelty will never win,

For the hearts of our people will never give in.

Hurry, my child, the moment is near,

They’ve given us only ten minutes, my dear.

Drink quickly, drink as much as you can,

The last drops of milk, all for you, my little man!

I release you now, though my breast is full,

The gunshot rings out, cutting the flow so cruel.

You cry softly beneath the scorching sun,

The drops of milk in the sky, like a mourning one."

It’s a heart-wrenching piece that symbolizes both the mother's enduring love and the painful sacrifices made during war. It’s a powerful reflection of how a mother’s love can shine even in the darkest, most brutal moments. Her quiet strength and ultimate sacrifice speak volumes about the human cost of war and the resilience of the human spirit. This poem is a tribute to her unbreakable spirit, her quiet heroism, and the sacred bond between mother and child—a bond that even the barrel of a gun could not sever. Her story is not just one of loss, but of immortal love, etched forever into the soul of a nation.