That’s me in the picture: Major Terri Gurrola embraces her daughter on her return from service in Iraq

Leaving my daughter behind is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. She was two when I began a year-long deployment in Iraq in 2007. She was going to turn three while I was away, and I wouldn’t even be able to see her on her birthday – this was in the days before internet video calls. My biggest fear was that she would forget who I was.

I can remember this moment as if it happened yesterday. It was 11 September 2007, and I was flying into Atlanta from Iraq for my mid-tour break: after two weeks, I’d have to turn around and leave Gaby behind again. I was a captain then – a military doctor, which I still am – and I’d been stationed in a place called FOB (forward observation base) Hammer. Being out there was difficult not only because I was missing my daughter terribly, but because I was the only woman in the entire battalion.

When I got off the tram from the runway, a gentleman from the USO – the nonprofit organisation that works with the uniformed services – came forward to greet me, as they do all returning servicemen and women. He put out his hand and said, “Welcome home, Captain.” I knew that my then husband George (we’ve since divorced) and Gaby would be waiting for me somewhere. And sure enough, just as I reached to shake the USO man’s hand, I heard this beautiful, familiar voice shouting, “Mommy!”

All I could do was zone to the left, where the voice was coming from, and run across the airport. I remember sliding on my knees and grabbing Gaby; I couldn’t let go of her for one second. She kept saying, “Mommy, I missed you.”

I was crying tears of joy for the fact that Gaby hadn’t forgotten me. When I finally came up for air, I saw that every single person in that airport was crying, too. Men, women – I kid you not: they were all just bawling.

I had no idea the impact this photograph was going to have. I mean, wow: Gaby and I have appeared on buses and train stations; on army posters; even on a commercial for life insurance. Even now, looking at the picture brings tears to my eyes. It shows the true emotion of what we military parents go through.

My going away was hard for George, too. I remember him getting quite upset, and saying, “I’ve been everything to her all year – father and mother – and now you’ve been back for just one day, and suddenly she loves you more.” But this photograph reminds people why we in the military go through all of that. We do it so that our children can have a safe world to grow up in.

After my second stint in Iraq, I stayed at Fort Benning in Georgia for a couple of years and had my son, George. Two years ago, I moved with the children to Korea. I now head up the medical clinic at Camp Humphreys.

It’s so different having the children with me. It’s much more like normal civilian life: I do my job, and then I go home and look after my family. But the photograph has followed us even here. One day, in the commissary, Gaby and I were standing in line when she said, “Look, Mommy, it’s us!” And there we were on a big poster. Gaby is so proud – she says all her friends call her a movie star.

Interview by Laura Barnett

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