The United States Army has always been part of my life, even though I never wore the uniform.
My paternal grandfather, a Puerto Rican, served his country. My father followed that path, becoming an Army officer and serving in Vietnam. After the war, he left the Army, then later returned to military service. Both of my older brothers graduated from West Point and served in the Army in Germany. One rose to the rank of colonel. I was born in Germany to a Puerto Rican father and an Austrian mother, and we grew up with the Army shaping where we lived, the people we knew, and our understanding of service.
I nearly followed that path myself. I took and passed the tests, then changed my mind. I don’t remember all the reasons, although I do remember my brothers discouraging me from following in their footsteps. Apparently, they had some thoughts about their little sister joining the ranks.
My life went in another direction, but the Army remains part of my being.
On Veterans Day, I think of my family and all who have served. I think especially of those who return carrying wounds we can see and wounds we may never fully understand, and the families who carry so much alongside them.
I’m grateful. I also find myself asking: What does that gratitude require of us?
Surely it means making care accessible, taking their experiences seriously, and staying present long after the welcome-home celebration ends. It means helping people find belonging and purpose when their military service ends. And it means holding ourselves—and those who lead us—accountable for the decisions that place them in harm’s way.
Recently, news of the fire at the Eagle’s Nest brought back a childhood memory of visiting that place with my beloved Austrian Opa. Only decades later did I learn that he had served in the German army during World War II.
I hold love for my grandfather alongside the responsibility to look honestly at that history. Having military service on both sides of my family gives me much to sit with: love, duty, obedience, leadership, and the consequences that reach far beyond any battlefield.
What has stayed with me from that childhood visit is the extraordinary view. From that height, you could see so much beyond the place where you stood. That feels important now: remembering the history beneath our feet while widening our view of the world around us.
Perhaps that is what the eagle brings to this story—keen sight and a perspective broad enough to take in the surrounding landscape. My own Eagle’s Nest is the home I hope to create, where love, truth, accountability, grace, and peace can take root. It is also a reminder to step back and look farther: beyond the immediate conflict, beyond our own position, toward the people affected by our decisions and the generations who will inherit their consequences. Honoring those who serve asks that much of us—to consider the whole landscape before choosing our course.
I have always wanted to see our military serve as a force that helps preserve peace. I know that hope exists alongside difficult realities. Those realities make wise leadership, diplomacy, restraint, and care for those who serve all the more necessary.
To honor veterans past and present, and those who will serve in the future, we can tend to the people already carrying the cost of war while working thoughtfully to prevent the next one.
I want my grandchildren to inherit a world where service is respected, wounds are cared for, and peace is something we practice—in our homes, our communities, and the decisions we make together.
To my father, my brothers, and everyone who has served: thank you. May our gratitude be visible in how we care for you and in what we choose to build next.