When Saigon fell in 1975, I watched on TV as the NVA raised the communist flag over the U.S. embassy. I remembered the years of effort and sacrifice that went down the drain, and thought of friends who died. So I punched the wall and broke my hand. I was pretty bitter about things, and it took me ten years to bring myself to be able to visit the Vietnam Memorial. Now I can look back on those times and chuckle at the good times and the antics of good friends. They say time heals all wounds. I don't know about the healing part, but believe me, Anthony, things will get better.
At least you guys managed to accomplish something.