Not very long ago, on a business trip home from Ohio, I had the privilege of being reminded what our US Servicemen and women sacrifice for us every day.
As I sat in the Atlanta airport, passing time people watching, I noticed a small gathering of folks around a nearby gate. There was a young woman, with a “Welcome Home” poster, and her two small children, dressed in appropriate army attire, probably 2 & 4 years old, as well as an older couple, parents, I supposed, with a flag and another poster. And they were obviously waiting for the flight to unload. When people began to pour into the terminal, the young kids began to dance nervously, small legs providing less than perfect view of the adults swarming out of the gate. And when the first glimpse of camouflage came into view, there came the tentative “Daddy?” from the little girl. But no, the man who came out first was not who the family waited for. And it occurred to me that they were so young to not see their dad every day – that perhaps they didn’t really remember what he looked like at all. And that thought, what it would feel like to come home and find that your children couldn’t quite remember your face, would be enough to keep a father awake at night. Still, the stream of passengers from the plane continued.
The first commotion had obviously caused more of the audience in the terminal to take note of the scene, so now I was just one of many viewers, anxiously awaiting the arrival of this family’s hero. But the flight that day had several servicemen, one after another; and as they poured off the plane that day, a really wonderful thing happened. Suddenly, busy travelers, usually only intent on getting to their destination, stopped and noticed. The clapping began, cautious at first and then wholeheartedly, for these men and women coming home, whether for a day or for good. As each travelling soldier stepped into the airport, the area erupted with clapping; people really took the time to see beyond their own itinerary, to see the faces of young men and women, home from a place where they are not wanted, from doing a job no one else would have, but doing it with great pride and conviction. And finally, with the very last passenger, the long awaited moment arrived, and two small children rushed forward, screaming for the father they hadn’t seen in so long. He grabbed them both in his arms, sweeping them off the floor as they squealed in delight, and suddenly everyone around was on their feet, clapping their hands and yelling. I watched the scene, and tears came to my eyes, brought on by the touching moment, by the realization that this was what real joy was made of. When the children were returned to the floor, the young man’s wife ran forward, jumped in his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him as if she would never let go. And the clapping grew louder, onlookers overcome with the raw emotion in the room.
What intense relief to be once again united with family, to feel love and comfort, a part of your own world again, after being so far away for so long? How many of us really know what these men and women give up every day? The simple comforts we take for granted, a kiss goodbye in the morning, dinner conversation, bedtime stories, are but a fond memory for these brave soldiers for months at a time. They leave behind their home, their family, and all the things they know, to serve this country. Some of these men and women are so young, they’ve never even lived away from their parents when they head for whatever battle zone requires their help. And not just the soldiers feel the pain and loneliness from their departure. As I watched that young woman, hugging her husband so tightly, I was reminded of how many nights I have awakened from a dream, only to snuggle closer to my husband and return to sleep. There is no such comfort for a serviceman’s wife, no hand to grab, no shoulder to lean on. We hear sometimes that “They signed on for that life,” but what does that really mean? You fall in love with someone and get married, make a plan to spend the rest of your life with a person, and what career they choose is rarely a piece of the equation. Knowing that your partner is a serviceman does nothing to make you miss them any less, to make the pain disappear, when they are deployed for 6 months. And who signed on for the heart-stopping fear every time the news begins a story with “Eleven servicemen killed?”
Knowing your husband is serving his country is little comfort when there are two small children at home, still needing your attention, and no one to share the load. There are no second set of eyes to keep track of roaming children at the store. There is no one to hand off a crying baby to. There is no one else when a virus hits and all you want to do is sleep for just one hour, but the kids still have to be fed, dressed, and sent to school. And who explains service and dedication to small children? Who will make up for the missed kissed boo-boos, the missing dad at Daddy’s day at school, the birthday’s he can’t be there for? Who is there for the first word, first steps, first day of school, first school play? I think of all the little moments we cherish with our family, that seem so simple, so day to day, that so many other people will have to miss in the name of the United States of America. Serving this country take so much from our men and women of uniform, so many hours, so many events, and so many moments they’ll never get back. Beyond the fear that they will never come home, is the fear of how long it will be until they come home, and what they will have missed while they were gone. It is easy for the public to criticize a war we cannot win, a government supporting the cause; but we should be careful to realize that our criticism echoes back to these men and women giving all they have, every day, in the name of honor and service. They give not just a career, but their life and livelihood. They give more every day than most of us will ever be called to bear. We complain about our jobs because the benefits are bad, or the parking is lousy. We find little things about the person in the booth next to us, or our boss, that makes our job just horrible. But most of us get to go home every night. Most of us will never have to wrap our arms and legs around our husband to convince ourselves that he is finally in our arms. Most of us will never have to really know sacrifice in the name of our country.
Welcome home. Thank you. May life give you back a beautiful piece of what you were willing to give.
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