(on radio, voiceover) This is Pamela Moran. I realize that this isn't my normal radio slot, but normal isn't a word that applies much anymore. Not around here. I don't know how to gently lead up to something like this, so I'm just going to say it. I just found out that someone very near to me died. As you all know, four days ago there was a bombing at the Hump Bar, and the city is still not back to normal. People are trying to understand how something so terrible could have happened here. The destruction, debris, both physical and emotional have taken a heavy toll, though the Army was quick to respond. I too was one of those who was glued to my television. It was as if I only listened to the news reports long enough, and watched the images enough times, that somehow it would all change. On that first day that we were hungering for information, my son came up to me and asked me if I could take him to the beach. Our adult world is falling apart, but in my child's world, he just wanted to go to the beach he said he'd found this secret place where the gold starfish are, and he wanted to show it to me. But no I couldn't pull myself away. I just sat there in front of the television hypnotized by it all. People who aren't in the military don't understand the unique bonds that are forged so quickly on an army post. Maybe it's because we move so much. You know when you rarely spend two or three years in one place, it forces you to get to the heart of things. That's why when one of these people who we've come to care about like they're our own family slips away, leaves us forever, the loss is almost unbearable.

Pamela