Due to the flight time and several time zone changes, the group was not set to land at JBLM until around midnight. There was a camera with a live feed on the runway that captured the moment the aircraft landed. Now they just had about a twenty-minute bus ride to the gym, to their homecoming. We were asked to clear the gym floor so the troops could file in and be released. As always, the Army must follow protocol when releasing soldiers. As we clapped and cheered for them, they marched onto the gym floor in an orderly fashion and waited for instructions from the battalion commander. We were asked to stand for the presentation of the colors. I stood at attention facing my men, just like I had promised myself.
PAIGE
Admittedly, there are very few memories that are burned into my brain. I don’t really remember the look on Josh’s face when he asked me to marry him or the atmosphere of my college graduation, but I will never forget the image of Josh in a gymnasium looking at his battle buddies while standing on two legs he wasn’t born with—but standing nonetheless. Maybe I remember this image because I was looking for a reaction. I wanted to see their faces when they saw him. This was the part of Army life that I never got to experience: the wife running to her husband, kissing and embracing him after long months of living on her own. I had seen a couple of those homecomings at our various duty stations, but I never once thought about the fact that the wounded who came home early were possibly in the crowd that welcomed the rest of their platoon. I sat behind Josh just beyond the commander’s podium. When we stood for the presentation of the colors, I could see the eyes of the soldiers in formation, some we knew, some we did not, fixate on Josh standing on prostheses. Josh stood so tall, as if to say, “I didn’t stop fighting when I came home.” The ceremony was brief, the commander went over general rules and asked them to be safe, and then, he released the hounds. It was such a sight! Wives running and jumping on their husbands; children telling their dads about losing teeth or getting their green belt in karate. When I looked at my own soldier, he was surrounded by a dozen other soldiers. It was funny to see them marvel at each other. Josh said, “I can’t believe you guys are back and this deployment is over,” while I could see on their faces their thoughts: I can’t believe you are already walking. I, on the other hand, asked, “Are your wives here? They’re going to be livid when they realize y’all didn’t go looking for them first.” One of Josh’s guys responded quickly with “She knows I am wherever Wetzel is.”
We spent as much time hanging out with Josh’s platoon as possible for the next three days. It was such a relief to have them back. Just seeing them proved that they still existed, and it was the end result of Josh’s training so far. The two sides of this deployment were standing face-to-face, looking at the person they were fighting for. It was such beautiful closure.
JOSH
Paige and I were proving to the powers that be that we were ready for even more control over our lives. Prior to our trip to and from Washington, we’d already successfully navigated traveling across the country. We had been doing well living in Building 62, and it was time to consider taking convalescent leave (also known as “con leave”) from the Army. Convalescent is a sort of recovery leave for soldiers coming off of major surgeries or life events, often up to thirty days. Obviously, the critically wounded aren’t granted the full leave right away, but once certain milestones are hit in physical therapy, they can take advantage of a long leave time. Paige and I decided that thirty days away from Walter Reed was too long, but we did want to take about seven days to go back to my hometown in Alabama in October. The entire week was a blur, because there was literally zero downtime.
Everyone in North Alabama knew Josh Wetzel was “coming home.” We were greeted with news teams the minute we stepped off the plane in Birmingham. After a quick interview, we headed north to Glencoe. The route there would be full of surprises. About ten miles outside of Glencoe, we stopped to meet up with a motorcade, then about five miles away, we met the police escort and climbed into a brand-new convertible Camaro. We drove slowly into the city, and the crowd could be seen from a mile away. Balloons, posters, and American flags were being held by people in the medians and on either side of the road. Everyone in the county was there. Glencoe schools allowed a half day off for their students so they could see me come through town.
As we rode through my hometown, I thought about how I didn’t even know that this many people knew me! I certainly didn’t know this many people. The kids who were out of school had signs with my name
