A Salute to My Airman

Twenty-five years ago today my husband began his military career. Of course, twenty-five years ago, it wasn't a career . . . it was a six year enlistment . . . a way to become independent and self supporting . . . and eventually a way to afford to get married to his high school sweetheart--me! Two years in, it became a way to support a wife and a baby . . . two more years, another baby. By then it was time to re-enlist. Another enlistment . . . another baby. By then he was hooked . . . the Air Force had become a career (and so had parenting, obviously).


Here we are twenty-five years later . . . blessed with four (almost five) children, born in three different states and two different countries. We've lived at a dozen or so different addresses . . . from Idaho, to Florida, to Okinawa, and places in between. We've survived tough separations and deployments . . . and we have celebrated joyous reunions! We have made friends all over the world, and we have worked hard to remain close to our families despite the distance that separates us. It's been quite the ride . . .


In our first year of marriage Bryan had a horrible parachuting accident that threatened his career, and could have taken his life if not for God's watchcare over him. The doctors said his legs were too damaged to endure ever parachuting again, and they recommended that he cross train into another career field. Bryan had spent fourteen grueling months training to become a pararescueman, he wasn't about to give it up. He fought hard to rehabilitate his broken body, and 18 months later, on a hot July day I watched nervously as Bryan jumped again. I remember the day vividly as I stood in the hot Idaho desert, holding our two month old Bryce in my arms, and holding my breath, as I waited for my young husband to land safely--and he did!

Bryan doesn't jump as frequently as he used to. His focus now is on overseeing the "Pararescue pipeline". . . he makes sure that the two-plus years of training that the new guys endure runs as it should. Today, however, was a day for jumping . . . and that he did. I wasn't there to watch, but our sixteen year old Brady was there, and he gave me a good report, "Mom", he said, "Dad was the only guy out of six to land on his feet!" To that I say, "After twenty-five years, you still got it baby"!

I am proud of all that you have achieved, and of the sacrifices you have made on our behalf. You have given it your all, and we have reaped the rewards. I love you so . . . with all my heart.

To end . . . I wanted to include a picture from the early days, but that would involve me having twenty-five years worth of photos organized and in order (instead of in big mixed up boxes). If you want a glimpse of the younger airman, try the one standing next to him, my other airman. The saga continues . . .

Blessings~

T~