On April 1st 2005 I left Iraq in one piece. I never would have imagined then, that I would be capable of sharing my stories with all of my friends and family. It has been an emotional exercise that I have struggled through and I am excited that I am finished. We arrived back into the United States in the middle of the night, landing in Bangor, ME. As we came down the jet way we were met with a cheering crowd of total strangers. I wanted to cry and the lump in my throat almost choked me. At all the stops we made, on the way back to Twenty-nine Palms, we were met with a hero's welcome everywhere we went. I remember looking out of the window, as we taxied after landing at March AFB, and seeing fire engines on display with their red, white and blue lights on and water shooting hundreds of feet into the air with a huge spotlight on the American flag.
I hope that we are still doing those things, but I doubt it.
I have a hard time talking with people about what I have done, seen and felt. I have always felt that I didn't deserve the thanks that people were giving me. When my dad dropped me off at the airport I didn't expect to ever see him again. June 14, 2004
I arrived yesterday, back to California, back to the Marines. After a fast couple of days trying to get all of my stuff over to my Dad's while at the same time trying to spend time with family and friends for what felt like was more for them than me. I do not like being in the spotlight. I feel uncomfortable when people tell me thanks for something I have not done.
My Dad drove me to the airport in mostly silence. We talked about E-470 a road to the airport that nobody takes and other odd subjects to avoid thinking about why I was being taken to the airport. Although the true subject did come up a few times but the conversation never lasted long and always ended with one of us turning up the radio or rolling down a window. We had arrived at the airport. My Dad had offered to park and come in with me – an idea that I had shot down – he removed my sea bag from the trunk and then insisted on a hug, which is unusual for us. I couldn't remember the last time we had hugged. I couldn't help but think about my Grandpa. He had taken me to the airport in 2001 the last time I was overseas and died before I had come back.
The security line at the airport was the longest I had ever been in. I boarded the plane as soon as I got to the gate. I was stuck in the middle seat. I listened to the pilots talk to air traffic control the entire flight on my headphones.
I feel like I have been given a second chance or have cheated death so many times that I have realized how valuable life is. I try now to take time enjoy my life with a different perspective that, I hope, people that read this journal can now maybe see. Not just happy to be alive but I am thankful to have my legs to run, my arms to help a friend move and my eyes to enjoy the view. There are a lot of people that didn't make it home to tell their story. Thank you everybody for reading mine. Marines, Brothers, Best friends you are the only ones that know the stories that I left out. Both good and bad, I kept some things for myself.
