It's been five years this month and yet I remember the details of the day like it was yesterday. One of those events that's etched in your mind for a lifetime. Five years - all that time and so many thousands of families who's lives have changed forever. For us, it was six months of sleepless nights, praying for that phone call at 3 a.m. from the other side of the world, and then laying there crying when the satellite would shift and the phone call dropped after only a few seconds. Our friends and family rallied around us and we got through - thanks in great part to a local embedded reporter from the South Bend Tribune - a former Marine who requested to be assigned to our unit. In retrospect, we were lucky - he left and returned home within a span of six months. I doubt that he considers it "lucky". He was there at the beginning - the early days - no email, minimum communication with the rest of the world - no showers for weeks, sand in his food and a tent on the desert floor. I'll never forget his words when he called me from California six months later - as he stepped off the plane - "MOM - I'm home - and there's a cool breeze and green grass everwhere!!" One of the things he told us he'd never take for granted again - "a porcelain toilet seat".