Editor’s note: The following is an account written by Rose Mary Reese, whose son, Cpl. Joseph Reese, served with the Marines in Ramadi, Iraq

As the landing gear is coming down and the plane is making the last descent, I wonder, What are the guys doing? They have endured another year of hardships. Are they singing their Marine hymns now? Are tears being shed? The teamwork and camaraderie they have built is over for some. A few of their fellow company members are in the back of the plane, with folded flags. These past four years of working by one another’s side and fighting will be in their minds forever.

I can hear them now, “I’ve got your back, man!”

“I’m here for you, brother … Semper fi forever!”

“Once a Marine, always a Marine!”

I know one Marine that has said, “Mom, the big thing on my mind, is to get back to P-Town. Never set foot in the Middle East again!”

As I look around, the signs are everywhere, “Welcome home Marines. We love you. Thank you for fighting for our freedom. We missed you son and love you.”

My throat clenches as I fight back the tears. There are thousands of people here, for the Marines homecoming. Anticipation and tension mounts around us. The announcement is made. “The buses are here!” Everyone cheers and strains their necks to catch the first glimpse of the Greyhounds.

Older citizens move anxiously forward, with their wheelchairs right at the curve as they search for their Marine. The television camera crews scurry on top of their trucks. Alert, they record the moment for North Carolina residents. Many American flags wave in the air, kids stretch up tall on shoulders, searching for their family member as others hold a tissue against their eyes. We all feel the happiness and excitement. Adrenaline is the only thing holding us up.

There they are. The first bus is rounding the corner. We all stand, cheering as the band plays. The convoys of buses roll in, stopping inches from us. Then the real fun starts.

Everyone rushes forward, running from bus to bus, searching for their Marine. The Marines smile, though their appearance is haggard. They all resemble their comrades, weary yet exhilarated to be back. Then their families start to identify them. Just as I am about to give up, I hear, “Hey look! The paparazzi are here!”

I turn with the three large cameras on my neck, slowing as I see the young man calling across to me, “That’s my mom.” Tears stream down my face. Yep, that is my son, finally, on American soil. I snap the picture, hugging him tightly. First question he asks, “Where’s dad?” (He was pushed back in the crowd in the excitement, looking like a lot of other parents, and saying, “Which one of these grunts is my son?”)

He soon gets a big bear hug, the emotions overwhelming them both. Yeah, that was a great day. We will never forget his reaction when we hit P-Town. I woke him up as Flat Rock’s Sheetz came into view. He said, “Sheetz! I’m so glad to be back in Powhatan!” We all laughed as he went back to sleep.Who would think someone who has been all over the world, working for freedom, would be astounded by Sheetz? You don’t realize what you take for granted till you don’t have it.

So here I am trying to replace faded, yellow ribbons and America’s flag along the driveway. I place them on the trees carefully as I thank God for my son returning home safely; one last time from Iraq.

One more memory of a homecoming at Camp LeJeune. Lord, I better go get the cameras ready and the tissue box.

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