My good friend, Rebecca Love came home from Afghanistan yesterday. It was a monumental day for us. Her parents, her childhood best friend, April, myself and my daughter were all present to greet her as soon as she walked off that airplane. Not many know this, but if you have a solider coming home from the war, you are allowed to meet them at the gate. So, as the seven of us waited in anticipation for our camouflage queen to step out of the seemingly never-ending tunnel, six other military men—who we knew were also coming home from the war—stepped off the plane into a sea of strangers. As they looked around for their loved ones, we shook their hands and thanked them for their service. My heart was heavy as the disappointment, or perhaps confusion, washed across their faces when they realized that their loved ones were downstairs. (Like I said, not very many people know that they can obtain a passenger pass and meet their vet at the gate--spread the word).
Anyways, the men walked past us and continued on toward the escalator.
Unbeknownst to these soldiers, there was a small crowd of older vets waiting for them at the bottom of the escalator. They reminded me of my grandfathers, uncles and dad. They wore baseball caps covered in patches and pins, and green or blue satin jackets showing their pride for their unit or ship. They waved American Flags and hugged the six men, bridging a gap that only vets can do—an unspoken gratuitous gesture of hope for a full recovery and a wish for a successful life after being a witness to the unimaginable. Many of the older vets' wives stood next to their decorated husbands. They wore colorful, bedazzled American Flag sweaters and red, white and blue star earrings. It's pretty safe to say that the men who greeted these young soldiers probably did not experience such a welcome in their time. It's a testament to the dedication and allegiance to our nation that keeps them visiting that airport week after week and all I could think of was "God bless them."
As we waited for Becca, a line of passengers stood to our right. They were waiting to get onto the same plane that these war heroes had just stepped off of. None of them paid the six men any attention. I found that odd and sad, but then again, in today's non-human-contact era, I was not surprised. Perhaps many would rather text a friend or update his or her Facebook page saying "just saw some military guys returning home-I support our troops!"
As the six men disappeared down the escalator to meet their loved ones, we focused on the tunnel in front of us. Tired people rolled their luggage past us, weary from their long flight and eager to get home. Although the plane carried maybe 200 people, it seemed like a thousand passengers came out of that tunnel before our Becca. Once the pilots exited, we began to get anxious, but just then; a tall, thin, beautiful image emerged at the end of the tunnel. It was her. Our soldier. The one we have missed and written and worried about for over a year. Her face was tired, but lit up when she saw the seven of us stretch up on our tippy toes to meet her gaze (we probably looked like Meerkats!) And then she stepped out of the tunnel! We could have tackled her, and maybe we would have, but all was interrupted by a 10 year old little girl named Daisy, who upon seeing "her Becca" ran and jumped into this soldier's arms. Becca twirled her around and tears were shed. And there it was, our loved one was home safe on her home ground, receiving one of the best things that few have had the pleasure experiencing—a Daisy-hug. I just stood there and took it all in. Words can't express the feeling of witnessing this sweet moment, my friend, the innocence of my overjoyed daughter. Tears happily streamed down my face and then I heard it—a cheering crowd. The long line of awaiting passengers erupted into applause, whistling and hollering and I don't think one of them had a dry eye. I even overheard one man say "Wow! She finally gets to see her daughter!" And THAT made me smile because little did he know, that quite the opposite was true, as I was standing next to Becca's parents and I knew that, no, THESE people get to see THEIR daughter.
I will never forget the embrace that touched so many yesterday in a Sacramento Airport in California. But I walked away sad that this moment was what touched the hearts of so many—not the fact that six American heroes stepped off that same plane moments earlier and were greeted by a silent crowd. Although we did not witness the family reunion that awaited those men at the bottom of the staircase—they are just as important to many friends, family and American citizens as our Becca is to us.
So, if for some chance, you see a solider in an airport, shake his or her hand. Clap for the ones that come off the plane. Look in their eyes—that have seen more than we ever will—and say THANK YOU. And for God's sake if you can, buy that solider a cold beer.
Welcome home Becca. We sure missed you.
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