Sometimes you don't know you are missing something until you see it again.
A few days ago I went to the Army post to pick up some medical records. This particular Army post was the first one we were stationed at and our last.
I have so many memories wrapped up in that place. The first time I ever went grocery shopping as an adult for items that I would need in MY OWN place was at the commissary on this post. I got my first ID card here, learned Army language here and stopped my car in the middle of the road for taps for the first time on one of the main roads through this post. It was also the place where I watched my husband land his final mission, honored him at his retirement ceremony and I traded in my active duty dependent ID card for a retiree one at the same old building where I got my first one.
I have been back a few times since we moved, but not often.
I drove around for 20 minutes trying to find a parking spot. That is when it all started to come back to me. For some reason, there is never enough parking at any of the important buildings on post, especially the hospitals. After stalking someone and waiting patiently to snatch their spot, I headed in.
Of course, everything looks different now. There are masked soldiers everywhere and the greeters at the door practically assaults you with hand sanitizer. I was just as lost in this massive facility as I was the first time I entered 24 years ago but there was one thing that has not changed...the veterans.
It will be a tragic day when I walk onto an installation and there are no old guys wearing hats that mark their service unit and war. I was shuffling behind some old veterans and noted the slowness of their step and the pride in their headgear. I am quite confident that even if they couldn't tell me the date, a current event or even their address, they could still tell me the stories of the units they served with.
I paused and looked around before I made my way to the car. There were dozens of those hats. So many men were walking slowly beside a woman carrying bags of prescriptions or file folders holding records. With everything in me I wanted to go to each one and ask to hear their story or just scream at the top of my lungs "THANK YOU".
Thank you for serving, thank you for the legacy, thank you for wearing those hats!
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