This weekend, my sister, mom, and I packed up the 2 babies and headed to Jacksonville, NC. We were going to meet my brother as he returned from a nine-month stint in Iraq. His return had been delayed several times and even as we left I don't think any of us really believed he was coming home. We decided to leave at midnight and drive through the night to minimize the amount of baby-in-the-car drama… despite the fact that we had all put in at least a 10 hr day at work. I won't get into the details… but it wasn't pretty. Sephira did stop crying about 3:00 and we managed a few peaceful hours of driving.
Somewhere around 6:00 am my mom decided to stop consulting the directions and got us nice and lost. Which was awesome. We ended up on these back, country roads and the sun was just starting to show through the trees and this incredible fog was all over the ground. It was beautiful.  It was so thick you couldn't see through it. It came off the roofs of the houses, which made them look nice and cozy and warm, and made me jealous of all the people inside snuggling under their covers and sleeping in on a Saturday morning. We pulled into Jacksonville about 8:00. As soon as we got to the edge of the Marine base, it became apparent that we weren't the only ones anticipating this homecoming. Signs hung from windows and fences reading "welcome home daddy" and "we're proud son".  Against my absolute better judgment, I immediately got all teary eyed. 
I've long had my own opinion about the military and about the Marine Corps in particular. Much of this opinion has been shaped by my experience with my brother and his portrayal of what a Marine should be. I've mostly assumed a sort of ignorance to belong to this blood hungry, violent pack of drunks. I was sure that all of them were there to satisfy their desire to kill somebody or were simply unable to find and maintain jobs in the real world. My brother always insisted that God gave certain men the desire to do what they do so that everyone else didn't have to. I think now I kind of understand that. After this weekend I can certainly say that it is I who has been ignorant… incredibly so. I can barely believe how differently I thought 48 hours ago.
What I knew then but understand now is that these men are sons, husbands, and brothers. These men have sacrificed seeing the births of their babies. They have missed birthdays, weddings, funerals, first steps and first words, hugs, and kisses, not to mention hot showers and home cooked meals.  Each of them have been missed by someone every second of every hour that they were away. Moms have worried and fretted, wives have not slept.
On base, hundreds had gathered to welcome home these men. Families hung out with coolers, blankets, and beach chairs. Hand painted signs hung from every railing, windowsill, and roof.  Cars were painted and draped with flags and banners. Speakers had been set up and intermittently blared music and announced the landing of the flights and departures of the buses that held the troops. Inside the barracks, every door was decorated and homemade cookies sat on every bed. It was then that I realized the gravity of what was happening. Every person here had been holding his or her breath for the last nine months. It was as though the entire crowd was now breathing a huge collective sigh of relief. 
When it was finally announced that the boys were at the main gate of the base everyone went crazy. It was amazing. As the buses rolled up the noise was deafening. Even Sephira had both her arms in the air and was waving frantically. In front of me, a wife had one hand on her very, very pregnant belly and with the other she held a sign with her husband's name. Left and right woman pushed strollers with babies that were about to meet their fathers for the first time. Every wife and girlfriend here had thought for weeks, even months about what they would wear on this day, how they would look, and what they would say. Now they stood proud, dressed to the nine and shaking with excitement.
And then the chaos began. Men began to pour out of six different buses searching desperately for a familiar face. They screamed at the top of their lungs with excitement as they found their families.  People were jumping up and down. Tears were streaming down everyone's faces. I have never seen such an open display of emotion in my life, most of it coming from the soldiers themselves. The energy was SO intense it was hard not to cry. I watched as babies tentatively reached out to strangers they called daddy, unsure of what to do. Younger kids who were old enough to remember clung tightly to their fathers, arms wrapped around necks. I witnessed some of the most passionate kisses ever. Sons embraced fathers and grandfathers and every face beamed with pride. It is a moment that will stick in my memory forever.
Eventually, we packed everyone up and took my brother to the hotel to get the first real shower he had had in a long time. He smelled so bad! Most everyone staying at the hotel had come in to pick up a family member so the whole place was vibrating with excitement. I'm sure the hot water bill for the place hit a record high this month.
The rest of the weekend was equally as emotion filled. Everywhere we went people stopped my brother to thank him for his service. We'd be sitting at a red light and people would be honking their horn at him (of course our car was decorated). And I have to say I was actually proud to be seen with him. It was the first time in my life that I wasn't embarrassed to say my brother is a Marine.
I know that my brother's time over there wasn't what he expected it to be and that while he was there he learned a lot about war and politics. But I've learned a lot myself while he was gone. I was angry when he left because I didn't feel he understood this war well enough to fight in it. But no one understands this war anymore and I think we were fooling ourselves if we ever thought we did. What my brother did understand, though, was that there was a chance, even if just a small one, that one day it might not be safe for his mother or his sister or his niece to get on an airplane or to get into a bus without being afraid. And that was the thing he left to protect. That was and is the thing that all these men leave, fight, and die to protect. And for that I am proud.