Ok, so 48 hours and I am that much closer to home. As always, specifics aren't allowed, but that is the nature of the beast.
After umpteen hours of briefs, searches, and flying, I arrived in Dallas to cameras, handshakes, and cheers. I was on the verge of tears at the show of support from people who don't even know me. It is funny, because I feel as though I am a part of them. I am their hands, their eyes, their thoughts. I am their vestibule. But with that comes a great responsibility. I know I am supposed to take this time to relax and recharge my batteries, but I can't help but feel guilty for not being with my men. I feel as though I shouldn't have left them there and that I need to be back as soon as I can.
Maybe it is a mild form of survior's remorse, but I can't help but sit here in relative safety from attacks- be they mortar, rocket, or suicide bourne- and feel happy to be home, at least not until we all make it back to our Loved ones, or even to the relative safety of our native soil.
God, the air even feels free here.
Happy to be breathing American Air...
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