http://www.myfoxdfw.com/myfox/pages/News/Detail?contentId=7081765&version=1&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=VSTY&pageId=3.2.1 - I would like to say the bell ringing thing is torture and I am glad I missed it.

On Monday the Wylie National Guard troops deployed to Iraq. Over the weekend DD told me he had seen a poster about an upcoming parade on Monday, which sucks because I had to be at work after being at class the week before.

Imagine my surprise as I'm driving into town and I am stuck because the parade was about to begin at 7:30. I inched my way around several cars and made my way over to the Wal-Mart parking lot so I could join the spectators.

Now, it's Monday and I'm on my way to work so I'm dressed in my usual all black and probably looking more than a little out of place with no American flag or any witty hand painted signs. I didn't even have blank paper to make my silly 'Welcome Home - Sorry About The Crappy Sign' posters on 8.5x11. I bet they were sad because they had heard about that greatness.

Anyway- I grab my USO badge and throw it around my neck so I don't look like a freak. As I'm standing there waiting for the parade to pass me, I'm looking around at the others in the crowd. Civilians, patriotic citizens and family members. It was the last that did me in. A lady came up to me and asked me if I was with the USO - thus the name badge but my throat was constricted and I found it hard to speak at all - I explain my affiliation and ask if her son or daughter was with the Guard. She says her 22 year old son, first time to deploy.

Her eyes are full of tears and her hands are shaking.

I have a moral dilemma because I want nothing more that to comfort her, hug her, tell her everything was going to be all right but I didn't. I didn't because I knew she was on the edge and any move on my part would have broke her down. We chatted about the bases in Iraq and I shared what little I have learned about the bases where I send care packages - a lame attempt to soothe her but it worked. She held it together.

I move away and get my camera ready because I don't know what is coming and I want to be ready just in case.

The police move to further block traffic, bringing it to a stand still. A truck pulling a trailer with a bell and some stone monuments rolls out first, followed by the Patriot Guard Riders.



Then came the buses. Huge tour bus buses with dark tinted windows so all you could see were sihlouetted hats and moving arms and hands. The knot in my throat is now a full fledged sob waiting to escape. I'm an emotional basketcase just watching those huge white buses roll past me. Tears are running down my face and I can't even take a decent picture because my hands are shaking so badly.

They roll on down the line and the mother of the 22 year old tells me they are going to the median because they are making a u-turn and coming back on the other side of the road. I'm torn. I need to leave because clearly I am not cut out for watching huge white buses pass through the streets. I head to my car but that song starts playing in my head. Breathe. That voice of that speaker I heard at conference. Breathe.

So, I did. I took a deep breathe jumped down the curb and flew across the street my USO badge floating on the breeze. I found a spot away from everyone and put my camera on video. This was a moment in my life I didn't want to forget. I'm not completely sure why but I knew that I needed to film it.

I stood there all alone on that grassy median, silent tears streaming down my face. And I watched those buses roll past me for a second time. This time I was closer. I could see their faces and their enthusiastic waves and the ones that seemed to understand that maybe this wasn't an adventure but something real and uncertain. I smiled and waved and, yeah, I was glad I had my rock star sunglasses on so no one could see the mascara smeared to my cheeks.

The whole time Anna Nalick's lyrics are playing in my head. The second verse and the chorus. Over and over. And I prayed. Something I rarely do. I prayed like my father had taught me to pray and I prayed they way Father Morris taught me to pray. For their safety, for their families, for them.

God's speed to all of you who do what I would never have the courage to withstand.

Okay, so I never do that and now I'm thinking of that scene from Generation Kill where they get letters from unknown peeps back home and are making fun of them. Which by the way, is not me. I know my guys and gals never laugh and pass my letters around because my letters are to be cherished. And they make them laugh. And it keeps them up to date on important things like Brit Brit and Georges St. Pierre.