The Journey Home

I’m not sure if it was when the fuel truck hit the wing of our airplane (we hadn’t yet boarded) or when my daughter’s Strawberry Shortcake backpack was searched and temporarily detained that I decided my first New Year’s resolution would be to avoid future air travel.

Every year, my daughters and I head home to Kentucky to celebrate Christmas with my family. My husband, who was raised Jewish, is not particularly interested in the holiday hoopla and stays behind to guard the home front from any errant snowballs. This year, the direct flights were so expensive that I brilliantly opted for multiple flights, allowing us to experience four airports and a slew of gate changes.

Check In was exciting as I quickly moved around the asthma nebulizer and gifts so that our luggage did not exceed the 50 lb. limit. At Security, we disrobed and displayed our medicine cabinet for the world to see. I have decided that next time, we will just wear our bathrobes and slippers to Security. That way we will only have to get dressed once in the morning.

After arriving at my parents’ house though, the trip was well worth it. We had fun decorating the tree, frosting cookies and exchanging gifts. The stinky airplane bathrooms and rude passengers became a distant memory. At the end of the holidays, we packed up our treasures, hugged my family good-bye and walked onto the plane awash in a holiday daze.

That daze continued as we deplaned in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport. I searched for our next gate, which was located far away in airport land. As we walked in search of A23, my girls and I began to notice passengers dressed in light green fatigues.

“Look Mommy, there are soldiers.”

During Thanksgiving, my six year old and I had worked together at her school on a letter writing campaign for soldiers in Iraq. She had met a few soldiers but never seen so many in one place. I searched the crowd to see if there was anyone we could talk to but each face seemed sadder and more serious than the next.

“They are fighting for our freedom,” my daughter explained to her younger sister. I nodded in acceptance, not sure what to say as we entered a hallway lined with soldiers. All dressed in the same Army uniform, hundreds of men and women stood waiting for their flight. They politely smiled at us, the only civilians amongst this sea of green.

“Where are you headed?” I asked a handsome young soldier standing near our elevator entrance.

“We are off to Iraq, Ma’am.”

“God bless you,” I blurted, overcome with emotion. I rushed the girls into the elevator and burst into tears. I thought of the worry and heartache the soldiers’ mothers, wives and children would experience. The amount of sacrifice involved by the soldiers and their families was incomprehensible.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” my daughters asked.

“I’m sad about the soldiers. They’re fighting a difficult war.”

“What’s war?” my youngest asked.

As we walked off the elevator, I stepped to the side so I could wipe my eyes and put on my sunglasses. I looked at the time and realized we’d better find our gate or we might be spending the night in Dallas.

“We’ll talk about it later. We need to find A23 if we want to get home to Daddy tonight.”

As we rushed to the gate, I rescinded my earlier New Year’s resolution not to fly. I would regard any opportunity to fly home to be with my family a privilege and a blessing. I just hope that the next time I do, our soldiers will have flown home too.