It was my senior year at Bitburg American High School in Germany, and I was at tennis practice. I noticed my mom was rushing up the concrete stairs that led to our school, and I was frantically running scenarios through my mind of what I possibly could have done to make her so angry. I was at a loss, and even more confused when instead of storming towards me, she went straight for my coach and spoke to him discreetly.

Everything quickly became a blur. At least 3 other sports were at practice — football, volleyball and cheer — and it felt like coaches and other athletes were suddenly everywhere on our tiny campus, trying to figure out where people should or even could go. Our high school was on the base annex where a lot of families lived, but other families lived on the main base about 30 minutes away or spread amongst the nearby German communities. We were going into lockdown and communications were becoming more and more difficult. Families who lived on the annex began opening their doors and taking in people who couldn’t get home.

My dad served as building manager for our stairwell housing. The role typically didn’t require much, but what had taken place in the US was quickly changing everything. With my dad at work on the main base and no idea when he’d be able to get back home, it was on my mom and I to make sure every family in our building knew that America was under attack. I don’t think I’ve thought about being part of that since that day. I was barely 16.

We took in several of our “chosen family” friends for quite some time. I would have welcomed more into our small home for the added comfort of knowing the people I loved were safe. And yet sometimes I snuck onto the balcony and sat on top of the freezer, pretending to read while completely zoned out.

The National Guard arrived for additional security. We cooked for them. It was the only way my mom’s best friend knew how to process what was happening, so we cooked and cooked in an attempt to make sure everyone had a homemade meal in the middle of what felt like chaos. Food is healing.

My dad soon had a go-bag ready. That bag became part of our new norm, but it had been jarring at first. I was so young when he was deployed for Desert Shield that it felt like my first experience. I also knew that he almost hadn’t made it back home to us before. Somehow, we had been extremely lucky, and there’s no rhyme or reason why.

Today, I’m honored to be part of the GSF National Outreach Team, helping create unique experiences for families of fallen heroes and wounded veterans/first responders. The support and connection opportunities that our Foundation provides did not exist when we almost lost my dad, and my mom and I would have been alone with minimal resources. I think about that often, and work to create experiences that will foster lasting connections.