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News that North Korea sends home 55 sets of remains are welcomed by the families of the missing in the Korean War. But most know that they still face many difficulties in reaching a conclusion: Thousands of soldiers are still missing and the identifications could take decades.
Ruth Santella, 84, of St. Paul, Minnesota, does not have much hope long enough to find out if her older brother's bones are among those released by North Korea on Friday. First Clbad soldier George D 'Amico was killed in action on September 27, 1950 near Taejon, Korea, according to a letter from the US Army received in October 1950.
His mother died in awaiting news that her remains are going home, Santella said Friday.
"My mother went to her coffin with tears on George," she said. "She kept everything that he sent to her – a suitcase full of letters and things, he sent me a typewriter, I still have it."
Ted Barker, of Dallas, is co-founder of the Korea War Project, which helps families of missing Korean war veterans submit genetic information, among other things. The DNA samples are processed in a military DNA lab at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, and compared to the remains stored in a military laboratory in Hawaii. The process is laboriously long; Some remnants of North Korea in the early 1990s have still not been identified, Barker said.
"It usually takes six to seven years, if the remains have been recovered," Barker said. "If the family has already given a sample of DNA, it could go faster, but it's not yet an overnight process."
Santella says her family has been waiting since the presentation of the DNA samples 15 years ago. Their only clue came in a letter from the Army two years after his death, which indicated that the remains of D & # 39; Amico had been buried in a UN provisional cemetery in Korea and would be taken to Japan as soon as They would be considered safe
. If only they could have given my mother her dog marks, it would have rebadured her mind, "she said. "In fact, she always hoped that he was still alive, wandering in this country, that maybe someone had welcomed him."
Jan Curran, 70, of Gilbert, Arizona, was 3 years old. His father, the naval aviator, Lieutenant Charles Garrison, died in captivity after being shot and captured in May 1951.
Curran spent decades looking for ways to repatriate his father's remains. Years have pbaded since she's persuaded several members of her family to provide DNA.
In 2013, she was able to fly over the site where her father had been taken captive.
"It was a healing experience for me. know that he was there, "she said." That gave me a little peace. "
Now, the thought that her father's remains might be among those sent to United States stirred all those emotions again.This is "too much hope for," she says.
"That would be wonderful," she says, stopping to choke the sobs. "It's amazing, after all these years, how much more can it hurt to not have it."
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