Our guest blogger for today’s post is Juan Perez. He’s a U.S. Army civilian working as Task Force ODIN-A (Observe, Detect, Identify, Neutralize – Afghanistan) Buckeye Site lead and Army Geospatial Center Afghanistan Representative, 10th Combat Aviation Brigade, TF Falcon. Here’s his story from Parwan Province, Afghanistan:

Juan Perez says he previously found ramp closures an annoyance since it backed up aviation operations on the flight line. The first time he actually witnessed a ramp ceremony with the caskets of three Soldiers carried into an Air Force aircraft, his perspective changed to one of respect and solemnity. Photo by U.S. Army Staff Sgt. Todd Pouliot.
While working at a major military airfield in Afghanistan for the Army’s Task Force ODIN-A, I used to hate announcements for ramp closures. A ramp closure announcement is a notice that a portion or all of the access points to an airfield will be closed, causing delays in takeoffs and landings.
If personnel were leaving or arriving at our base, we could not drive our all-terrain vehicles to pick them up or drop them off at the terminals. I even thought the ramp freezes were the Air Force’s way for some inter-military competition because it seemed that at times our Army unit was flying more aircraft than the Air Force!
I can remember the day my irritation at the ramp closures changed.
I went by our hangar to see if our aircraft had been able to depart before a scheduled ramp closure and came upon a ceremony for three fallen U.S. Army soldiers.
Everything was conducted with military precision, soldiers paying their respects to the passing caskets. There was rare silence in a normally very noisy place. The solemnity of the occasion had me riveted. It felt as if everything surrounding the ceremony took on the solemnity of the moment, with even the towering mountains standing at attention.
Into the belly of a big aircraft they went, one by one. The flag of the country they loved enough to give their lives for was neatly draped over each casket. If what was before me didn’t change how I felt about the ramp closures, what happened next definitely did.
As the ceremony ended, many soldiers from the unit and others who worked with these heroes walked toward the aircraft. A few of us were left behind.
I slowly worked my way to our hangar and as I approached, I saw a soldier sitting where our mechanics normally work. Walking closer, I realized I didn’t recognize this soldier.
Why would he be in our area? Our mechanics weren’t there. I thought I should check this guy out.
I approached him and said, “Hi.” He was looking down, and I thought he didn’t hear me, so I spoke louder.
“Hey, how are you?” I asked.
That was when he looked up and softly said, “I’ve been better, but what can you do.”
I noticed he was crying. I put together the rest of the story without any more words.
I will hopefully never know exactly what a soldier feels when a buddy dies, but I came closer to understanding it right then and there. I couldn’t say a word, and my vision started to get blurry as I gave this young man the space he needed to be with his own thoughts.
Our modest hangar had become a chapel.
If that soldier ever reads this note, I want him to know that because of him, my appreciation of the brotherhood formed from units in combat grew immensely. Every commander must be proud to have such soldiers in their units.
I hope we have no more fallen soldier ceremonies during my time left on this deployment. But, if there are any more, I will appreciate the reason. I want to do my part to honor these soldiers the way they deserve.