Today I sit in Iraq, my family and loved ones in America. But I have new friends and loved ones here who serve with me. I think of the look in that Iraqi soldier’s eyes as we helped his sick baby…. Yeah, it’s worth it…. God has a plan for me.
Three A.M., a hot August night, and I couldn’t tear myself away from the computer. The article, “A Soldier’s Plea,” written by Sgt. James Martin, doing combat duty in Iraq, brought me close to tears.
James, an Army medic, wrote of how difficult it was to be far from his wife and two kids, and yet, helping to save an Iraqi soldier’s infant son changed him in a way he didn’t know was possible.
When the war began, he was a single parent. He could have deferred, let another medic go in his place. I couldn’t imagine making the choice he did. He’s sacrificing so much, I thought, to help protect people he doesn’t even know. To protect all of us.
War stories were not my usual bedtime reading. As a single mother and writer living in New York City, my world could hardly be more different from the one James lived in.
I had great respect for the military—my mom emigrated from the Philippines after U.S. troops liberated that nation from Japanese occupation during World War II—but I never thought about their sacrifice. Not really. Not like this.
I was thinking only about my four-year-old, Sofia, the morning I took her to see the USS Intrepid, a famous World War II-era aircraft carrier anchored in the Hudson River on the West Side of Manhattan that now serves as a museum.
Sofia was going through a shark phase—everything from her picture books and bath toys to her favorite T-shirt had to have sharks on it—and I’d heard about a fighter jet painted with shark’s teeth on the Intrepid’s flight deck. Sofia was so excited to see it.
We took some photos with the jet, then headed belowdecks. A video showed black-and-white footage of the ship under attack. To my right, an elderly gentleman leaned on a cane. “I was there that day,” he whispered. “I was there.”
The video ended and a group gathered around the veteran. “Do you see that man?” I asked Sofia. She nodded. I explained that he had protected our family during a war many years ago.
“We should thank him,” I said.
Sofia walked up to the circle of adults. I’d begun to think I had made a mistake when the man finally turned to her and asked, “What can I do for you, little girl?”
“Thank you for being brave on the boat,” Sofia said. “I like your boat!”
Everyone went silent. The man’s eyes filled with tears. An older woman pulled me aside. “Thank you for her words,” she said. “You have no idea how much they mean to my husband. This is his last visit to the ship.”
The look in the old sailor’s eyes stayed with me as I tried to sleep that night. If it weren’t for people like him, my mom would never have made it to this country. Sofia and I wouldn’t be here.
You have no idea how much her words mean. What about our soldiers serving today? How could I let them know that I was grateful for what they did? I got out of bed, sat at my computer and did a search.
After a few clicks I found something: “Adopt a U.S. Soldier.” That sounded interesting. All it required was sending one letter a week and a care package every month. Sofia and I could do it together. I signed up.
But I knew nothing about what our soldiers were going through. What could I say in my letters? I did another search, this one for their stories. Among millions of results, James’s article stood out. It was so moving.
I kept his words in mind as I dove into caring for my adopted soldier. I’d been assigned a staff sergeant deployed to the mountains of eastern Afghanistan.
His wife had recently given birth to their first child, a baby boy, so along with my letters I sent him a copy of the book What to Expect the First Year. I wanted to make sure he could be an active daddy even from afar.
Sofia helped me pick out the candy and other treats to ship to him, and stuck stamps on the letters.
By Christmas, I felt a strong urge to do more. I couldn’t adopt a second soldier—I was only one person—but I found another program, called Cup of Joe. For only two dollars, I could send a randomly selected service member a hot cup of coffee and a personal e-mail—a small taste of comfort from home.
I sent twenty cups to different soldiers, along with messages of gratitude: “What I really want to give you for Christmas is the certainty that you are not forgotten. Sincerely, Gina.”
One soldier immediately wrote back to me.
“Gina, that was about the sweetest sentiment I have ever received,” he said. “I will copy this and save it for Christmases in the future. May this message find you with happiness, love, and always security. Warmest of regards, Jim.”
I replied, telling him a funny Sofia anecdote and mentioning my work as a writer.
He quickly responded. “Writing’s always been a dream of mine. In fact, I even got something published once. Check it out…”
I clicked the link he sent. Today I sit in Iraq, my family and loved ones in America… Wait a minute.
It was “A Soldier’s Plea,” by Sgt. James Martin. That was Jim, one deployed soldier out of thousands, who had received my random cup of coffee. Or was it random? My hands shook as I typed a response. “Jim, you have no idea how much your words meant to me…”
Jim and I still keep in touch by e-mail. He’s back home, working for the VA, and I’ve started a blog, “Gina Left the Mall,” about connecting with our troops. My life has changed so much since that sleepless August night when our paths crossed. One article among millions, meant for me to find.
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