The Send-Off

Toward the end of my senior year of college, I found out that the unit I was assigned to join upon graduation would be deploying to Afghanistan. Originally, I had chosen the slot as a temporary position until I figured out where I wanted to live, at which point, I figured I would transfer to a different unit. When I found out my future unit would be deploying a rush of thoughts blazed through my mind but ultimately, I felt excited! 

I graduated from the University of Miami in May of 2011. I traveled and visited my family and boyfriend, Tad, for a while and when I did not hear from my unit, I looked up an email address online and inquired as to whether they would like for me to come and meet with them. At this point, I had already devised a plan to move to stay with my Aunt Cindy in Indiana for the awkward 8 month gap between my graduation and my Basic Officer Leader Course (BOLC) date. I received an initial email without much guidance so I responded and then did not receive a response for a couple weeks. Finally, a response came from a different Officer who suggest I come by the next day. 

I got dressed up in my dress uniform because it was the only uniform I had at the time since I turned my regular uniforms back in to my ROTC program. By the end of my first meeting at the Unit, they had successfully changed my BOLC date to less than a month from that day, concocted a plan that would enable me to work full time at the unit until I left and made it possible for me to finish my schooling in time to deploy with them. Funny thing was, I was planning to move to Indiana THE NEXT DAY! I only had two days to find a new home and move all my belongings out of my college apartment! 

I hunted through craigslist ads for rooms for rent in the area close to my unit. Luckily, I found a suitable, small studio efficiency in a decent neighborhood less than 7 miles from my new workplace. I put the down payment and called my family to let them know about the change of plans! My boyfriend, who was coming into to town from his new home in NYC to help me move to Indiana, still came and helped me move my things into my first real apartment. 

I worked at the unit for a month and worked hard to get to know as many people as possible and figure out my new job: Maintenance Control Officer. At this point, I didn't even know how to change a tire by myself let alone manage maintenance on military vehicles so I definitely had an uphill battle and only one month to learn. 

A month later I left for Quartermaster BOLC at Ft. Lee, VA. I had a ball and many challenges there and 4 months later I was branch qualified (for a branch that I was NOT slotted in, mind you!) and headed back to Miami. 

I got back to Miami January 7th and I went back to work at the unit January 9th. I then found out that I would not be the Maintenance Control Officer, but instead, the Maintenance Platoon Leader. 

February 4th, Home Station Mobilization began.

One of my best friends, Feli, was kind enough to take Tad and me out on her family boat with her parents, her boyfriend, and her. We had a great time sitting in the breeze, drinking beer and eating sandwiches the day before I left.

 On February 6, 2012, Tad and I stood in the motor pool with all of my bags packed and ready to go. He had such a pained look on his face it was difficult to look. We spent a lovely night together the night before talking and laughing and playing a game he made for me but as we went to sleep, both of us just cried for a while. Not for fear or sadness but simply for the looming unknown that we knew we would both face in the morning. That morning, I was determined not to cry. I hugged him and held his hand as we greeted the other families and soldiers holding the same frogs in their throats. Some cried openly, some stared solemnly, some smiled and laughed. Everyone seemed to be feeling everything. When it came time to put him in the car and say goodbye it felt like the most difficult thing I could think of doing in that moment. I forced my legs to move toward the car and force a smile on my face. I told him how much I love him and not to worry. He held me and it was everything I could do to keep my cheeks dry. Feeling his chest heave was heartbreaking.

When the buses finally arrived we loaded up and headed to the airport with a motorcycle police escort just as the sun was beginning to peak up over the palm trees.

The Patriot Guard, a dedicated group of volunteer bikers originally formed to escort military funerals back when protesters were showing up and causing grieving families more grief, joined the police in escorting us.

 The leadership lined up and slapped the soldiers on the back hardily as they boarded the chartered plane to Ft. Bliss, TX.

The firefighters offered an impressive water salute as the plane pulled toward the runway. 

Soon, the 841st Engineer Battalion, my barely 23 year-old, been in the Army for 8 months self included, was soaring over the beautiful beaches we would come to miss, on our way to Afghanistan, via Ft Bliss, TX.