Back Again

-Early morning welcome back from Iraq for my son and his comrades.

Hey there! I’m back after a week away from home, and let me tell you, it’s been quite a journey.

You see, my son just returned from Iraq. He’s in the Army, and after a year in and around Baghdad, he’s finally back on home turf. I was there to personally see him off, and I couldn’t miss the chance to welcome him back in person. The joy I felt was indescribable!

In true Army fashion, his return got a little delayed, adding some extra days to my wait. But let me share the whole story.

The Background

My son was at West Point during the 9/11 attacks, and the events that followed shaped his military journey. Afghanistan and Iraq became part of his story, and as a parent, you grapple with complex emotions and conflicting thoughts.

I never supported the decision to go into Iraq – not then, not now. The justifications, the rush, the political circus – it all left me questioning what it truly means to support the troops.

Those magnetic car stickers? I’d wonder if they represented genuine support – not just sentimental gestures, but the actual planning, material support, justification, follow-up, and prayer our troops deserve. It made me angry!

But now, in this moment, all those debates and frustrations seem irrelevant.

The Memorial

Before his return, I visited the parade field where returning troops are welcomed. Next to the battalion headquarters stands a solemn monument area, a tribute to those who didn’t make it back. The names and dates etched on black obelisks tell a heartbreaking story.

Sitting there, deep sorrow enveloped me, tears welled up, and the weight of human loss through time became palpable. Political debates and anger faded; this was a place of raw emotion.

My wife, sensing the power of the site, waited patiently for me. It was time to go.

The Welcome

Now, it’s the middle of the night, freezing cold, and excitement fills the air as the troops’ plane approaches. Cheers, prayers, and anticipation grow. They’re almost home.

The bleachers are filled with families, friends, and well-wishers. A Latin rhythm takes over, and the crowd dances with joy, celebrating the safe return of their loved ones. Our boys are home!

As the buses arrive, the atmosphere is electric. The troops march in with colors and flags, and the joyous crowd rushes to meet them. Emotions overflow as families reunite.

-My pardner didn’t waste any time! Welcome home Jon.

My son barely acknowledges the welcome sign, lost in a mix of emotions. The reality of what these young men and women have been through hits me. What do they think? Is it shock, fatigue, or something else?

But I know what you tell your son when he leaves, and it’s what you live when he returns. It’s about handling responsibilities, watching out for each other, and doing what’s right even in challenging situations.

And that’s what these guys have done. They’ve made a difference, and they’ve put their lives on the line. Welcome home, guys. Welcome home, Jon. You are my heroes.

✨

Cheers, D 🌴🌊