A heart full of Honor Flight allergies

On a clear, sunlit morning in late May, a group of veterans from Maine gathered at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery, overlooking Washington, D.C. Some sat in wheelchairs or leaned on canes as they silently watched two soldiers march back and forth in careful precision behind the tomb, which reads: "Here rests in honored glory an American soldier known but to God."

The tomb is a monument to, and a symbol of, service and sacrifice. It's the final resting place for three unknown American service members, and honors all unidentified and missing American service members. It's not far from the tomb to the streets of the capital city, with all of its politics and personalities. But the Mainers present understood that in actuality, the tomb is a world away from all of that. When four veterans in their 90s, some of whom had served in the Korean War, placed an evergreen wreath from the Pine Tree State on the tomb, the only sound was the clicking of cameras and the sniffing of people trying to hold back tears.

I learned that those tears have a special name: Honor Flight allergies. As a guardian who got to go on the trip in support of my veteran mom, I quickly discovered that I was very susceptible to those allergies. This spring, my mom, Rose Marie, was invited to join Honor Flight Maine for a trip to Washington, D.C., to see the war memorials there.

A Navy nurse, and a night-shift romance

My mom is very proud to be a U.S. Navy veteran. She joined the Navy in 1963 and served until 1970, during a time when our country sharply ramped up its involvement in the Vietnam War.

My mom was never stationed in Vietnam, but the work she and her fellow nurses did at naval hospitals in Subic Bay in the Philippines, as well as stateside, was a vital part of the war effort. They took care of the sailors and soldiers who were injured in Vietnam, including my dad, who hurt his leg when trying to board a submarine and was my mom's patient in the Philippines. She was his night nurse, and initially thought the handsome, blue-eyed ensign was making a joke when he asked from his hospital bed if she would go dancing.

The Honor Flight Network began more than 20 years ago when Earl Morse, a retired Air Force captain and physician's assistant from Ohio, realized his World War II veteran patients couldn't afford or physically manage a trip to see their newly dedicated memorial. Morse didn't think that was right, so he began to fly them there, for free. Morse asked other pilots in his aero club if they would do the same. Eleven pilots stepped up and volunteered to fly veterans to D.C., and so Honor Flight came to be.

Today, more than 339,000 veterans have been flown to D.C. through the Honor Flight Network, which serves 43 states. Some states make the trip in a single, action-packed, and very long day. Honor Flight Maine takes a different approach.

A weekend in Washington

We met at Bangor International Airport early on a Friday morning in late May and were directed to a terminal I'd never seen before. It was teeming with veterans, their "guardians" like me, and Honor Flight volunteers, who whirled us through a process to collect lanyards and the T-shirts we wore throughout the weekend. We also got our first briefing, which made it all seem more like a military operation. There were more than 60 veterans on our flight, some in their 90s who had served in the military in the Korean War era. In a nod to the frail physical condition of some of our vets, we also traveled with about 60 wheelchairs. In D.C., there were sometimes long walks between memorials, and it was important to make sure everyone could get there.

As the weekend unfolded, I got to meet many other veterans from Maine, which has one of the highest veteran populations per capita in the country. I also learned how very diverse careers in the military can be. People on our flight served as veterinarians, special forces in the jungle, weather specialists, and ground support for some of the space missions, among many other roles. There were also two other nurses in addition to my mom, which made it very powerful when we went to the Military Women's Memorial and were surprised to have our lunch there interrupted by a ceremony for the three of them.

One of the nurses, Beth Parks of Corea, served in Vietnam in MASH and evacuation hospitals and helped author Kristin Hannah fact-check her book The Women, a dramatic and riveting story about nurses in Vietnam. Beth asked my mom if she'd ever served in Vietnam, and my mom answered that she had only been to the country once, while on an R&R trip to Saigon to meet my dad after their marriage. "What the hell, Rose," Beth barked. "Who goes to Saigon for R&R?"

Everywhere we went, people shook their hands, gave them hugs, and told them "Thank you." Everywhere we went, this motley group of veterans, many in their 80s and 90s, somehow melded into a special kind of unit. The men affectionately teased my mom and the other nurses, whom they called "the girls." You could tell it wasn't the first time in their lives they were asked to step forward with a group of strangers to fulfill a shared mission.

Seeing my mom honored as a U.S. Navy veteran was a gift I'll never forget.

Even a couple of months after our trip, I find that my eyes are filling up with so-called "Honor Flight allergies" as I remember the feeling I got when our Maine veterans came off the plane to be greeted in Baltimore with applause, cheers, hugs, and kisses. I believe one debonair gent even kissed my mom's hand as he thanked her for what she had done more than 60 years ago. If that doesn't bring tears to your eyes, well, you are made of sterner stuff than I am.

Seeing my mom honored as a U.S. Navy veteran was a gift I'll never forget. It turns out those Honor Flight allergies aren't just about tears. They're about having a heart full of so much pride it overflows.