Mission Under Fire by Rex Byers Page B

wanted to sleep in my own bed. All the childish excitement I had moments earlier melted as I looked down at the crowd below. Was Sharon there? Could she sense how strongly I was thinking about her? Would I find her right away?
    I could only hope. 
    We descended.
    I thought of Sharon.
    The breaks squealed.
    I pictured her sweet smile.
    The aircraft stopped and we all began to experience heightened emotions. I could see it in the eyes of the other team members. I could feel it in my chest and throat. We wanted to see our families so badly. Of all the traveling I’d done over the years I never looked forward to landing like I did that night.
    The others would walk out first because I had decided to sit on the stool for the remainder of the trip, making me the last to leave. A wave of joy ran through my body as I unbuckled and sat up, preparing to exit.
    The moment the door opened and the stairway unfolded, our much-needed calm came to a crashing halt. Caring family members and friends had stepped outside into the cold, waiting anxiously to see their loved ones, hoping to confirm that they were safe and well. Reporters stood by equally anxious, setting up their cameras, hoping to get a good “shot” of the plane and the passengers as they returned. The reporters looked as if they wanted to eat our flesh, they were that hungry to hear our story.
    Days later, I was informed that the media had been harassing families all day, probing for details, reporting that their hearts and prayers were with the families involved. Yet, when they had arrived at the Kokomo airport, they worked their way into the crowd, without a word to the families because the most important thing was getting a good shot, and the juicy details.
    Well they got their story. Lights shone and cameras rolled. They recorded our every move, but I only had one thought on my mind.
    Sharon.
    I stepped out of the airplane wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a golfing shirt. The wind whipped into the cabin and a chill swept over my body. But this wasn’t just the kind of chill that you get from a cool breeze. I began shaking, shivering cold from a combination of temperature shock, and the overwhelming emotions that flooded my mind. When I looked out into the crowd, I saw Sharon standing with Amber and Mandy, patiently waiting for me to limp out of the plane. Their faces never looked so beautiful to me. My emotions stirred and I hobbled down the steps as quickly as I could. My girls grabbed me first and covered me with a blanket that they had borrowed from somebody. Sharon threw her arms around me and we started for our car.
    The last thing I wanted was to stay for the media blitzkrieg. 
    Mandy walked with Sharon and me, and Amber left us briefly to retrieve my luggage. While she traversed the tarmac, Amber had to fight her way through the crowd of reporters and cold to grab my luggage.
    Shrouded by the November chill and the airport lights, Sharon, Mandy and I headed for the car. I climbed inside intending to sit down carefully, but I ended up collapsing into the passenger seat. When I hit the cushion, my tough guy, comedian persona finally broke down. I don’t fully understand it, but underneath the jokes and teasing that went on during our hospital stay and our dinner in Fort Lauderdale, I had unknowingly carried deep-seated emotions. But when Sharon sat down in the driver’s seat, my outer shell finally cracked, and my concrete emotions burst open. I had rallied all the courage and strength I could find during the shooting. I’d held it together as best I could. It was tough. It was necessary. I made everyone laugh when we were in the hospital. I did the best I could to be manly, to be productive—to do more than eat, sleep and shit.
    Through it all, I kept my feelings in check. But when I realized that I was safe with my wife and daughters, I totally lost it. I buried my head in my Sharon’s arms and began to wail uncontrollably.
    It felt good to cry.
    I