As I walk into Jan's office I have to take a calming
breath to settle the butterflies in my stomach. It is early April and I am
about to tell Jan and Richie that I have joined the Air Force and will be
leaving for basic military training in September. At this point, I am 90% sure
they will both be approving towards my decision to serve my country, but there
is still an air of hesitation. I was one of two head cashiers at our location
and I knew my absence would put a strain on the schedule. I sat down in the
spare chair as Jan closed her office door; I was 50/50 nerves and wild
patriotism.
I blurt it out all in one sentence and the two of them
just smile at me. They both congratulate me and then move on to assure me that
we will work out the scheduling and that I have their full support. They express
relief to hear that I am not planning on leaving the company altogether, only
for a short hiatus for my training. I couldn't be happier.
Let's fast forward to September 20, 2016. I get on the
bus that will shuttle me to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas where
I was meant to complete my 7.5 weeks of basic military training. Now, people
told me that Texas would be hot but I always laughed it off saying "you
know I work in a greenhouse right? How can it be hotter than that?" Well.
It can! I am here to tell you that those "Nantucket Blue" t-shirts
breathe so much better than ABU's!
Unfortunately, my story takes a turn for the worse here. About
a week into my boot camp journey, on September 28, 2016 I suffer a panic attack
so severe that it lands me in the hospital in the middle of the night and
roughly 36 hours later I am moved from my dorm to another section of Lackland
AFB called "Medhold". Medhold is where Trainees go when they are
injured and need to heal before they can continue on with their basic military
training. It is also where trainees go when they are going to be separated from
the Air Force be it for one reason or the other. It is a type of holding area,
if you will. It is unlike regular boot camp in many, many ways. Unlike regular
boot camp, or Line Flight, you are not allowed to train as most people are
there to heal injuries. There is very little to do all day, except try and stay
out of trouble. I had heard that some of the people currently in Medhold had
been there for 5 months or more which horrified me.
It was determined that I would be medically separated
from the Air Force due to my anxiety and panic attacks. The process of being
discharged from the Air Force is a slow, painful and arduous one. I am not
embarrassed to admit that it was the lowest point in my life. I truly struggled
to find purpose in each day I was there. I struggled with thoughts of self
harm. I struggled with feelings of abandonment. I felt alone. I felt left behind.
I felt forgotten. I felt invisible. I truly felt abandoned.
The only thing anyone looked forward to in Medhold was
mail call which took place every week night at 1900 (7:00PM). Now, because I
was moved to a different part of the base a week in, my mail took a bit longer
to reach me as it had to be resorted. It wasn't until I had been in Medhold for
4 days before I got my very first letter. I can still feel the surge of emotion
I felt in that very moment when the MTI finally called my name and I got to
walk to the front of the line to get my letter from home. It was impossible to
hold back my tears in that moment. Not only did I get a letter; I had gotten
two! One from my father and one from my boyfriend. My spirits soared.
After receiving my first few letters I was determined to
write as many letters as I could every day in hopes of getting letters in
return. It was the only communication with the outside world that we were
allowed. Every day the few friends that I had made and I spent most of our times
writing letters. Sometimes we would have contests on who could write the most
letters. On an average day I would write 5-8 letters. And after my first week
in Medhold I was getting a steady two letters a night. One from my father and
one from my boyfriend. The two of them wrote me faithfully every single day.
During the first few weeks I wrote my boyfriend and asked
him to share my address on Facebook and to ask my friends to send me letters
because I really needed the encouragement. He put up a simple status on my
Facebook stating how I was suffering from panic attacks and would welcome any
love anyone could send. This was in the first week of October. At the same time
I had written Jan at Mahoney's. I sent her two letters. One, I wrote to her
explaining my situation. I wrote her and told her what a hard time I was
having. How terrible I felt every day and how alone I was. I wrote her and told
her about my anxiety and my panic attacks. I wrote a second one for her to post
saying hello to everyone and how much I missed them all. Little did I know Jan
posted my address right next to the time clock with a note that said "Send
mail to Nikki!!!" Little did I know.... Little did I know what an Earth
shattering difference she was about to make in my life. Such a seemingly minuscule
gesture.
Now, a single letter took about one week to mail out of
Texas and make it back to Massachusetts. And then it took another week for a
response to make it from Massachusetts to Texas and to reach me.
Two more weeks go by. By now, it is mid October. At this
point I had probably written well over 50-60 letters. I could have bought stock
in the one brand of pens they sell at the BX (base exchange) with the amount of
pens I went through. I was so incredibly grateful for the two letters a night I
would get. One from my father and one from my boyfriend. But each night I
yearned for my name to be called more than twice. I knew my boyfriend had
shared my address and I was curious why none of my friends had written me. Not
a single one. And by this point I was starting to feel extremely depressed that
not one of my friends had taken the time to write me a letter. I struggled not
to be selfish. There were many girls in my dorm that weren't getting any
letters and I knew just how lucky I was to get my two.
It was a particularly hot night in the third week of
October when God answered my prayers. That night at mail call my name got
called more than once. It got called more than twice! It got called a whole
bunch! I walked up to the front of the line as the MTI just kept calling my
name and finally handed me a stack of letters of all shapes and sizes. I was
getting teary eyed as my dorm mates were remarking at all of the letters I got
and asking who they were from?! Had my friends finally written me? There was my
father and my boyfriend's letter and then under that was a letter from a
coworker. I smiled and moved to the next. Another coworker. I shuffled through
every letter. Every single letter I received that night... were all from my coworkers
here at Mahoney's. The girls around me giggled and said "Barnes, how many
letters did you get?" I smiled, and through tears of joy, I said "I
got 13 letters tonight! And they're all from my coworkers back home!" They
each gave me a quizzical look asking in disbelief that I had that many
coworkers who wrote me.
I was so humbled. I was floored. I cried and laughed as I
read each letter. There was so much love, so much encouragement. There were
letters and colorful cards, even hand painted cards. Prayers and poems and
funny stories about how cold it had gotten but it didn't stop Richie from
wearing shorts. I laughed through each letter.
But it didn't just stop there.
On October 17th I would finally be medically cleared to
be sent home. I know four weeks doesn't seem like a lot to most people, but it
feels like an eternity when you're away from everyone you love. Let me tell
you.
On Wednesday October 19th I would be moved into a
separate dorm where they put trainees who have been medically cleared to go
home, called the Separation Dorm. It was especially hard on me. I had to leave
the friends I had made back in the other dorm. Now I had to play the waiting
game. I had to wait for them to call me down to discharge processing. Every
morning around 0800 they would make the announcement for which girls would be
leaving. I had hoped to leave on Thursday or Friday because they didn't do
separations on the weekend.
Friday came and went and my name didn't get called to
leave. I would have to stay for another weekend. I was beginning to lose my
last bit of hope. I was at my wits end and I was absolutely desperate to go
home. I had very little strength to keep fighting. I knew I was so close to the
end but not knowing when it exactly was just completely ate at me. Saturday I
spent a good chunk of the day praying. And then on Sunday, I spent every second
my free time, (which was a lot) praying. I was begging God. I was on my knees
begging Him to send me home on Monday. I had been so strong. I had made the
most of this journey. I had struggled with the meaning of this voyage. I had
struggled with my faith. I had struggled with my sense of duty to my country.
All day. All day I prayed and prayed for my name to be on the list. For my name
to be called at 0800 on Monday.
My name was not called that Monday. I stood in front of
the intercom and covered my face, sobbing. I was so broken. I was truly unsure
how much more I could take. I was distraught and felt so forsaken. I tried very
hard not to be mad at everything. I sat back at my bunk and reread letters.
All day I had periods of on and off crying. I was lost.
Mail call came and went. About 30
minutes before lights out I was called down to the main office, which, this
late, was not exactly a good sign. I was worried. I was called into the mail
room because I had gotten a package. In my complete self pity stupor I almost
didn't even recognize the first name of the person who had sent me this
package. I was, truthfully, a little mad. I stood there, in my bitter pity
party haze and thought to myself "why is someone sending stuff when they
know I'm leaving sometime this week?"
In BMT you have to empty packages in front of MTI's to
make sure you aren't being sent anything inappropriate like food or electronics.
I emptied out the small box into my hands. Three 5x7 photo albums landed
straight into my palms. The MTI's took one look at it and dismissed me as it
wasn't anything inappropriate. I trekked back up into my dorm, sat on my bunk
and opened the first of three photo albums. On the inside cover people had
written little messages to me. I quickly realized who had sent this to me.
Dotti. One of my fellow cashiers.
"Nikki, stay strong, we miss you!" "Nikki,
so proud of you! Love you!" "Nikki, come home soon, you're greatly
missed!" Just to name a few of the dozens of messages written
in these covers.
Dotti had gone around and taken pictures of everything!
She snapped a picture of every single one of our coworkers. She took pictures
of the displays. There was even a picture of the Mahoney's van, which made me
laugh quite loudly! Every single person signed it. I cried and I laughed
through every single picture. I felt so loved. My heart swelled to the point of
bursting. I couldn't even believe it.
A girl sat next to me and asked to look through the
albums with me. She leaned in and said "Is this your family back
home?" I shook my head and said "No..." But I paused. I smiled,
as fresh tears fell on my cheeks as a thought dawned on me. I said "These
people? They're my coworkers, but to answer your question... Yes! These people
are all my family back home and I cannot wait to get back to them."
I understood, in that moment, why I didn't get sent home
that day. I was meant to get this package. It was the completion of my journey.
It gave me the strength I needed and had so desperately prayed for. I went to
bed that night with those albums under my pillow. I thanked God over and over
again. I thanked Him for sending me that strength. I told Him I was okay and that
I had enough to make it through what I had to.
The next morning. Tuesday the 25th, my name was called to
go home and I left Lackland Air Force Base.
I will never forget this gift for all of my days to come.
I will never to able to fully express just how deeply I was endeared to my
family at Mahoney's. Never. I will forever be thankful and I'm not sure if
anyone will ever know how much this meant to me in that moment. I was sent this
incredible gift during my lowest of lows. It wasn't fancy. It wasn't expensive.
It was love. It was friendship. It was strength. It was my family rallying
around me to hold me up for the last leg of my journey that I would have never
been able to complete without them. It was exactly what I needed in the very
moment I needed it most.
I truly believe that Mahoney's is an exemplary example of a family oriented business. They
lead by example and it trickles all the way down to each and every one of us.
My story wouldn't have been made possible without their story. Without their
devotion, example and love of family. I will forever be grateful to them. I
will forever be grateful to be part of this family. I'm not sure I can ever
repay them. But I'll surely do my best to lead by their example. And I can tell
you this much: the Mahoney's uniform is one I am proud to put on every day.
