Years ago my boys and I stood in a terminal at Dallas Fort Worth Airport waiting on an airplane. The passengers were strangers to us, but they were heroes. We made the trek for “Welcome Home A Hero”, a program that allows people to greet military personnel as they exit the planes. My boys don’t remember that trip to the airport, but I’ve revisited it more times than I can count.
The boys dressed in their Cub Scout uniforms and carried their poster boards to the car. None of us were certain what to expect, but I described the sacrifice these heroes made to serve our country. At eight and five my kids couldn’t imagine leaving their family.
We arrived at the gate and stood beside the small crowd already gathered, excited and nervous. To calm my emotions, I struck up a conversation with the woman standing beside me. I introduced ourselves, and explained “Welcome Home A Hero”. The woman’s face lit up and she thanked us. She said her son was on the plane, and she was also welcoming home a hero-her hero.
“My son has been in Afghanistan for the last two years. He drives supply trucks, and the news is full of supply trucks being destroyed by IED’s (Improvised Explosive Device). I’ve been down on my knees praying, but I’m still a wreck. I’m ready for my child to be safe again.”
I empathized with this woman as I imagined sending one of my own boys off to serve his country. I looked at my small and fragile children and couldn’t fathom letting them leave me to risk getting killed or maimed in the name of democracy. No, that would never happen! My kids were going to work at desk jobs as engineers or accountants, something safe that wouldn’t keep their mama up all night with worry.
“What will you do when you see him turn the corner and walk down the hallway?” My hero thought a moment. “I really don’t know.” We chatted a bit more and then we spotted figures coming into sight.
I didn’t watch the soldiers exiting the plane. I kept my eyes on my new hero. I scrutinized her face as she searched for her son. There was no doubt when she spotted her soldier—the look of pure joy gave it all away. She gasped, then started to shake and cry. I couldn’t take my eyes off this woman and I mirrored her feelings. I started to cry as the jumble of emotions rushed through me.
We bonded as we shared the same emotions. I felt relief and joy that he was home, and pride for that soldier who was really just a little boy back in his mother’s embrace. I felt gratitude for my new hero who had also sacrificed while her soldier served our country.
I stepped back to allow mother and child their time together, but that memory remains fresh. How many times did she visit an airport to welcome home her hero?
Remember those two little boys that were going to be engineers or accountants? One of them had other plans. My thoughts of desk jobs and staying close to home were not in the cards for my oldest. That kid had eight Army birthday parties by the time he was twelve, and believed camo was a fashion choice.
Nathan joined the Texas National Guard after his junior year in high school and never looked back. I interrogated the recruiter. “He’s not going overseas, right? National Guard is domestic. The location is in the name-Texas National Guard.”
The recruiter was honest. “I’m not going to lie, Nathan could be called overseas to serve. As long as he’s in college he’ll be low on the list, but it’s a real possibility.”
“Well, I’ll just deal with all that when he graduates college.” But my soldier had other plans, as adult children often do. My soldier had seventeen hours of college to complete when he volunteered to go to Egypt.
I wasn’t prepared for this strange turn of events. Why would anyone tell their commanding officer, “About that volunteer trip to go overseas for a year, and be away from family and friends? Yeah, I want to do that—sign me up.” I have always questioned whether that kid is right in the head.
The day before Nathan left, I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I was down on my knees, praying until I my joints ached. God helped me with the fear, but I still struggled. Maybe I should lock him in the house, tell his unit he’d been eaten by a wild animal? I had many crazy ideas running across my brain, but the one thought that would not leave was that I might never see my child again. God stayed beside me, calming my fears, holding my heart.
This country doesn’t understand the sacrifices our soldiers make, but it definitely doesn’t appreciate the sacrifices our military families endure. People had thanked me for my soldier’s service, but that twist of events rocked my world. My brain screamed, “This is not what I signed up for, when I became a parent!” And God was right there, through the fear and the tears.
My soldier’s year of service is over and I got him back. God never left me, and He never will. The experience demonstrated His love and His protection.
I still think about my fellow mom at the airport. How is she doing, and how is her soldier? I’ll never see her again, but I feel such a kinship with her. I’d always focused on the moment she saw her soldier at the airport and the emotions she felt as he entered her line of vision. But her emotions didn’t appear as soon as she saw her soldier. Those feelings piled on the surface while her hero was overseas. She built a dam to hold them until her son returned.
That dam started to crack the morning she rose and prepared to retrieve her child. And it burst the moment she laid eyes on him, and thanked God for bringing him home. I know this because my dam held for a year. But the morning I got up and knew I’d see my son that day, the cracks appeared. Just like my hero, I wasn’t sure what I would do when I saw my soldier. But I knew there would be a flood of tears and songs of thanksgiving to the One who protects us.
Jann Franklin is a faith-based cozy mystery writer attracting readers who enjoy twisty Southern mysteries with a touch of romance and a dose of humor. Her books offer mysteries in Louisiana with curious clues and characters who exasperate as much as they endear.
Learn More about Jann and her books at jannfranklin.com
Guest Author, Jann Franklin
Comments