Kudos to the U.S. Army

For Thanksgiving, my Big Mama traveled from Piedmont, AL to Nashville, as much to visit her sister, ill, in an elderly home, as to celebrate the holiday. Having visited last month, she knew that her 92-year-old sibling was struggling, knew that the time drew near. Moved from Bordeaux Hospital to Vanderbilt by her two daughters that have traveled from California, we had all been informed that she could go at any time.

My Big Mama's sister, my great aunt, has only one daughter that lives in Nashville and I grew up playing with my cousins on Underwood Drive. One of her grandsons, Sgt. Taylor had re-enlisted in the Army after Iraq, living with me in Orlando and obtaining an Associate's Degree and had traveled from Ft. Hood, TX to the Calfornia desert for training and we knew he'd be the most difficult to bring to her beside in the final hours.

We knew the Army had protocol for this; we also know the strains and difficulties under which our U.S. military labors given the present situation. Much to our relief and to our somewhat surprise, Sgt. Taylor has made it to his grandmother's bedside almost immediately.

His sister contacted the Red Cross; it wasn't the first time she had to do so. Their mother and grandmother, living together, had been injured in a kitchen fire; his grandmother never fully recovered. This particular time, two hours after the Red Cross fielded the phone call, Sgt. Taylor was located in the desert and brought to command.

From a large family, he was nervous having been called from duty, from no showers, cold desert nights and sand burns. He knew that it was medical but feared it was his mother who is in the latter stages of Alzheimer's, I believe a contributing factor, to his re-enlistment.

In the military, every man has a purpose and almost every man is purposed. When I left Tennessee State my freshman year, after having earned a 4.0, having taken the oath, I headed for Ft. McClellan, AL with a balled fist and a desire, much to the horror of my mother, a History professor, wondering why I would have done such a thing. My father was Air Force and I was always struck by how he looked in his uniform, on guard duty in Newfoundland, some place I coould never imagine visiting; my mothers brother were Army and Marines and I had lurked and heard the stories. Sgt. Taylor had come to my graduation, his play big brother, we are as close as to men can be. I wasn't surprised that he left TSU and headed for Ft. McClellan as well.

Shortly after receiving the news that his grandmother had taken a turn for the worse, he shot me a text message in route to catching the next thing smoking. Not an easy task, between five and six hundred soldiers were already slated to head back to Ft. Hood. Again, we knew the protocol was in place; we were just, to our fortune, surprised by the swift execution of the orders. Sgt. Taylor landed in Ft. Hood, slept fast while his Mustang was getting an oil change, put his emergency leave pass in his jacket pocket and sped from TX to TN.

He came off the seventh floor ICU at Vanderbilt and caught me on the way in the building. This man that used to be a kid, that wore my ninja outfits and learned all my martial arts moves, held back tears and said to me,

"When it rains it pours. My grandmother's in a coma and now my mama's wearing diapers."

I shook my head, up and down because I knew there were no words. He asked me what I was doing tomorrow; let's have lunch at Las Palmas.

I say hats off to the U.S. Army because I know what it did for me. I went back to college confident, vibrant and joyous. I say hats off to the U.S. Army not only because they put him at his grandmother's bedside without red tape; I say thank you to the U.S. Army for helping to make him the anchor of strength he is today.