4th Day of Christmas

I set the bar too high. 12 posts in 12 days featuring 12 Christmas pictures. I've written draft after draft but none of them is working for me. There's something in the way. And I can't seem to do it justice either.

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Their flight touched down at 10:35 Sunday morning, December 20, 2009. They deplaned mostly in single file, sometimes in pairs. Fatigue etched their faces. Those who had slept rubbed sleep from their eyes. They walked down the ramp to the sounds of clapping and cheering. Some of them reached back to shake an outstretched hand or return a fist bump. Some allowed themselves to be hugged before continuing on into the small terminal.

To a person, the first thing they did was take the cell phone they'd been handed and start dialing a well-known number. As they talked, some wandered while others sat on the floor or leaned on a wall. One by one as they finished their calls, they were drawn to the aroma of fresh coffee and donuts.

Most chatted with folks who had come to welcome them to NH. Others, too shy, sat quietly plugged into their iPods. They laughed and they joked with the small crowd and each other. Some headed outside to watch their first snowfall. Others lit one last smoke or simply stretched their legs.

Word went around that the flight captain had been given a small window of time for take-off. Their ground time cut short by the weather. Going back up the ramp, interspersed with the crowd, they regrouped in the room they first saw when they landed. Group pictures were taken and a blessing bestowed. Gifts quickly given followed by a prayer, songs, and an old-timer's jokes.

When called, they noisily formed a ragged line. They headed back through the recreated gauntlet they'd walked through on arrival.

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I participated in the early clapping unable to cheer past the lump in my throat. I quietly watched the rest from the sidelines. Absorbing and learning how magic was made.

In the end, able to stand close as the crowd had grown smaller. Offering my hand to each tan or green fatigue clad man or woman who walked past me. Tears in my eyes matching tears in theirs.

"Thank you."
"Be safe."
"Come home."

Their next stop was Iceland. Then onto Afghanistan. A troop of Marines and another from the Army.

There'd be two final gifts for each of them once aboard the plane. A card with a website to help them stay in touch. And a star cut from a retired American flag in a small plastic bag with a brief poem.

Before the flight landed, one of the founders of The Pease Greeters showed me the star and the poem. I handed it back, but he said, "Keep it. You're one of us now."

I am part of our American flag.
I have flown over a home in the USA.
I can no longer fly. The sun and the wind
have caused me to become tattered and torn.
Please carry me with you as a
reminder that you are not forgotten.

Peace.