I distinctly remember getting up one Saturday morning during Christmas break and knowing from that instant that something was wrong. I had a feeling in my gut, I did not smell the cinnamon rolls baking in the oven, the TV was blaring, and my parents bed was not made. I walk out into the living room to find my mom and dad glued to CNN news channel on the TV. It had been two weeks since my brother’s last shore leave on deployment, which means it had been two weeks since we have heard from him. The TV was flashing and the headlines were running across the screen. They read “two fighter jets from the USS Vinson collide and pilots eject into the Mediterranean Sea”. My dad had a blank stare and his mouth was gaping open and my mother’s eyes
