I Will Always Be...

Back in early December, I remember the anticipation of the movie American Sniper hitting theaters. I was counting down to the day when I’d get to see it. I’d followed Chris Kyle’s tragic story for a bit, and I couldn’t wait to see how it was portrayed on the big screen. I shared that anticipation with a friend who is currently enlisted in the Army, and was taken aback when he asked “Do you even know who Chris Kyle is?”

Excuse me? First, am I Texan? Second, did I not serve in the military for 12 years? (ok, confession… I had no clue who Chris Kyle was until headlines of his murder and video feed of his funeral procession were broadcast on every channel from 1-100.) My husband loves all things military, and so it was he who filled me in on who this American hero was. That’s beside the point… I felt a bit disappointed that anyone could make me feel like my service wasn’t as important as theirs.

Fast forward to yesterday, when I was speaking with a different friend about the excitement I had, waiting for the Patriot Tour dates to be released because I wanted so badly to attend this year. Said friend was confused as to what the Patriot Tour was exactly, so I explained that it was patriots like Marcus Luttrell and Chris Kyle’s widow, Taya, among other guest speakers who travelled and told their stories… He was curious why anyone would pay money to hear this stuff. I said that I, personally, was extremely inspired by these courageous stories and that I couldn’t wait to hear them told in person. He asked if I even knew who Taya Kyle was before the movie came out.

Again… w.t.f.?

I have highlighted, numerous times that I’ve served 12 years. That was my length of service. I’ve told tales of the many places I’ve traveled to. Those were dots on a map. What I haven’t really ever discussed was the depth to which my service touched my soul.

To the average male military member, I was just a woman in the Chair Force. I had a day job, I pushed papers and aimed staplers at people. I’d never see combat. I was just something nice to look at when they’re hard day was done. I’d never fly a plane, or shoot an enemy. I’d never experience the full weight of war. I’m here to tell you all that you’re wrong.

 

Every. Single. Day… I took great pride in putting on that uniform… lacing up those boots and going in to work. It doesn’t matter the job that I performed – I did it with honor… I knew that I’d never stack up against the men who carried guns, or the ones who flew the planes… but I wore the same uniform and offered my life in service for the same country they did.

I admired (and lived with) the brotherhood that the military provided. The comradery displayed during times away from our families is immeasurable. It’s an experience afforded ONLY to those who have lived it. I was fortunate enough to belong to several outstanding squadrons full of warriors that became my family when we had to leave our own. Each deployment and TDY was different, but equally amazing.

 

I was just a young airman when 9/11 happened… We were training that day, for real world scenarios… and 4 months later, we were at war. I’ve lived in a tent for months at a time. I’ve been homesick… I’ve cried in the middle of the night, thousands of miles away from friends and family. I’ve hidden under my bed when alarms were going off. I’ve heard radios fall silent after explosions within yards of my location. I’ve seen Iraqi children with arms blown off… I’ve been witness to Foreign Special Forces who were so badly injured that they’d rather die than be healed. I’ve watched as American medics rendered aid to Iraqi prisoners… never once questioning if they should just be allowed to die.

I’ve known GREAT pilots and family men who have gone down with their aircraft… leaving behind wives and babies who will never know how truly amazing their fathers were.

I’ve had brothers commit suicide. I’ve got brothers who battle PTSD. I’ve watched as mentors crossed the threshold into retirement, and I have family and friends who continue to serve, still.

So you see, it didn’t matter if I knew who Chris Kyle was. The truth of it is, we veterans are ALL Chris Kyle in some way, shape, or form. I grieve for his wife, the way I would want people to grieve for my husband had I been killed in the line of duty. I admire his service the way I’d want ANYONE to admire ANY soldier’s service. I look up to him for his sacrifices, and I look up to her for her strength…

…and at the end of the day, although I know I don’t don the uniform or the boots or possess the obligation to pick up a rifle or lay down my life for my country anymore… those experiences are still embedded within my soul. I have been, and always will be someone who served honorably, and with pride. I’m not JUST a woman who was JUST a paper pusher in the Chair Force. I’ve tasted blood, sweat and tears and overcame great obstacles and earned my right to be called a veteran.