11/11/2025
Fourteen years in the Army, thirteen in the Air Force — two uniforms, one lifelong mission.
Started basic at Fort Sill (1991) while still in high school, then Combat Medic AIT at Fort Sam Houston (1992) — back when it was 91A, later 91B, now 91W Health Care Specialist. Began active duty in January 1993 with the Air Cav at Fort Campbell. A year later, I was selected for the elite 160th SOAR (Special Operations Aviation Regiment) — the Night Stalkers — and became a mission-qualified Special Operations Flight Medic, providing trauma care in places the maps don’t even bother to name.
After years of running and gunning with the best warriors I’ll ever know, I came off active duty, joined the Guard, and finally got to college. I finished my degree just in time for Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom, deploying as the Senior Medic with the 1139th Military Police Company to Baghdad.
Coming home changed everything. I traded my Staff Sergeant stripes for butter bars, commissioning into the Air National Guard as a Medical Service Corps Officer. Later, I rose through the ranks and served as an Orthopedic & Spine Surgeon, carrying the same mission forward — this time from battlefield to operating room.
Twenty-seven years of service. No breaks. No shortcuts. From medic to surgeon — from the field to the OR — the mission never stopped.
Along the way, I’ve buried more brothers and sisters than I care to count — some to combat, some to cancer, some to su***de. Each loss leaves a hole that no medal, no ceremony, no folded flag can fill. Those are the kinds of wounds that don’t bleed on the outside.
But not all wounds come from war. Some come from betrayal, lies, and systems that fail good people. Some come from parental alienation — the slow, deliberate destruction of the bond between a father and his children.
I’ve fought battles in deserts and operating rooms, but none have cut as deep as being separated from my own kids. To be erased from their world through manipulation and deceit — that’s a wound that never stops aching. It’s a war fought in silence, with no support, no medals, and no reinforcements. And yet, I still believe that truth has a way of surfacing, and love has a way of finding its way home.
Every child deserves their father. Every father deserves to love, teach, and protect his children. When a parent uses a child as a weapon — to punish, to control, to erase — it is not just cruel; it is evil. There should be a special kind of hell for anyone who poisons a child’s mind against a loving parent.
Those who’ve lived through it know — parental alienation is a living death. You grieve for people who are still alive. You love people who have been taught to hate you. You pray for the day they realize the truth, and until then, you wake up and keep fighting for your own peace, your own sanity, and the hope that one day, reconciliation will come.
But here’s what I’ve learned: God doesn’t waste pain. Every loss, every scar, every lonely night — it all has purpose. I’ve been broken, glued, re-glued, and held together by God and Jesus Christ, by faith, by purpose, and by sheer willpower. What man tried to destroy, God used to rebuild me stronger, wiser, and more anchored than ever.
I’m not perfect. I’m not a hero. I’m just a man who refused to quit. A soldier, a father, a surgeon — rebuilt by grace and grit.
So this Veterans Day, I honor not just those who wore the uniform, but those who keep fighting unseen battles long after the uniform comes off. Some of us still fight — for our families, for our peace, for our faith, and for our purpose.
Because not all wounds are visible, and not all wars are fought overseas.
I live with grit, growth, and gratitude — for every mile, every scar, and every ounce of strength that got me here.
I’m nothing more than the sum of broken pieces — glued, re-glued, and held together by God, by Jesus, and by the belief that I still have a mission only He could design.
🇺🇸 NSDQ
