At the airport on my way to the Middle East, I watched scenes that I had seen before, played out on the evening news. Countless families were gathered in a large waiting area, saying goodbye to their loved ones – soldiers headed for Afghanistan. I knew that terrifying, unspoken questions weighed heavily on their minds. Would they be home for Christmas? Would they make it back? Would this be their last embrace?
Touching down in Afghanistan
I arrived at Camp Mirage (at a location in the Middle East that is never disclosed) and stepped into blistering 40 C heat. My new coworkers helped me learn the base layout and the operations in the small medical clinic where I worked. Many people were ending their term, looking forward to being back home, away from the shadow of death that cast a pall over the camp.
The thought that I would be sent to Afghanistan was never far from my mind. When I spoke with some soldiers on their way to that mission, I wondered if they felt the same fears that I felt. My anxiety was heightened whenever a fallen soldier was flown to the base and there was a ramp ceremony. Soldiers stood at attention while the Canadian flag was draped over the coffin as it was unloaded from an aircraft. It was a particularly sad occasion for me when one ceremony was for a soldier from my hometown of Bathurst, N.B.
The highlight of my day at Camp Mirage was my daily 4 p.m. phone call to my family. I would talk to Olivia and Zachary just as they were finishing their breakfast. Zachary would tell me about how much fun he had with his friends, and Olivia would say, "Wuv you," and give me little kisses through the receiver. I also looked forward to e-mails that my mom would send from Zachary, asking me when I was coming home. I still didn’t have a flight booked, nor did I know when I could leave.
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