A normal day. That’s what most days are.

Wake up, make the coffee, get the kids dressed and out the door, get ready for work. Prepare for your day.

Tuesday, It’s just a normal day. Everything is fine. Dad is safe. Mom is safe. Amber and kids are safe. Gini is safe. Seth is safe. It is just a normal day.

The days leading up to the last day, they were just so very, normal-or were they? We have had a year to reflect. Why didn’t the days leading to his passing not come with a warning sign, a feeling of unrest?

Saturday May 7th, 2022:

Somehow in the middle of the ocean, Gini’s phone begins to work. Sitting in a game of Bingo, a screen shot of a funny face of Seth comes across in our Brother and Sister group chat. Gini chimes in and both Amber and Seth are surprised that she has service. We chatted about Mother’s Day gifts and how Mom would love Seth’s gift the most because he was, of course, the favorite child. We laughed about always having to get everything together for Seth, but we didn’t mind at all. Gini tried to send them a few photos, but they wouldn’t go through. It’s okay, they will see them when I’m back on land.

It’s okay, because It’s just a normal day.

We didn’t end our last conversation thinking, this is it. This is the last call. This is the last text. Who does? If we did, we wouldn’t let the conversation end. We wouldn’t hang up the FaceTime call, we would keep texting. We would keep our eyes on one another.

Monday, May 9th 2022:

Mom, Amber and the kids chat with Seth about his upcoming Land Navigation course, sitting on the couch, talking away just like they normally did. He filled them in on his upcoming duties. He scouted the area before hand; definite signs of bear activity. Provided the list of names who would be out there with him; he refused to go alone. He voiced his concerns with leadership and you could see the look of worry on his face. He reassured everyone that he would be safe. He gave the kids statistics on bear attacks, because they voiced their own concerns; Gabbs was so very worried. He would be safe. He would call after. He loved them.

He spoke with Dad, sharing the same info. Dad is on the road. They talked every day. Sometimes short calls, sometimes hour-long conversations.

A normal day.

The Last Day, May 10th, 2022:

Seth loved the outdoors. He loved working with his guys. And even though it was too far away from family and friends, he loved the beauty of Alaska. He was able to spend the weekend before hunting in the Last Frontier with one of his best friends, Levi, who just happened to be in training in Fairbanks, Alaska. Seth was stationed at JBER, Anchorage Alaska, about four hours from Fairbanks-but that’s nothing when it comes to best buds seeing each other. They had a great weekend together. This hunting trip is where he captured the epic Mountain top photo; he was such a stud.

We imagine he woke up, made a cup of black coffee, gathered his gear, took a minute to sit on the couch and collect his thoughts before meeting up with his guys to start the Land Navigation course. He stopped at the gas station to grab a few lunchables to eat after they were done. They were still in the back of his truck when we were given the keys.

That night we waited on the call from him. The call that told us of everything he was able to see in the woods. The call that told us about the conversations he had with his guys. The call that told us what he was cooking for dinner. The call where we were able to see his face. The call that let us know he was safe.

That call never came.

The next day, Wednesday, May 11th, 2022:

Mom heads to work. Dad isn’t awake yet, He is on the other side of the country, several hours behind us. Amber heads out the door, takes the kids to school and heads to work. Gini is sitting in the dining room on a cruise, waiting for everyone to join for breakfast.

Still no call or update from Seth.

Did you know there is a military rule that death notifications cannot be given during certain hours? That’s something we learned.

Our call from Seth never came. Instead, St. Johns County Sherrif’s Department is the one calling. They need Mom to meet them at the station. Mom and Amber race there. Panic ensues. Who is it? Dad? Gini? Couldn’t be Seth. It’s not possible. He is safe.

“We regret to inform you”…

That’s how the conversation began. The rest is a blur. It wasn’t a normal day. It was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It was an out of body experience. Our lives came to a crashing halt with “We regret to inform you, that your son, Staff Sgt. Seth Plant has passed due to injuries he sustained during a bear attack yesterday.”

It was impossible. Yesterday? How could that be?

Seth took his last breath at 2:45pm Alaska time. It would be 9:30 am the next day, Eastern time, before we knew, Seth wasn’t safe. 17 hours and 45 minutes prior, Seth had lost his life.

The days that followed:

The family began to gather. Mike drove to the closest airport and left for Alaska immediately. Gini made it home on Thursday. Levi was there in Anchorage waiting for him at the airport. Friday, Mom, Amber and Gini left for Alaska, refusing to come home without him. Unable to stay behind while Mike faced what lied ahead alone.

It would take days to learn any of the details. It would be 12 days before we brought him home. And 18 days before he was laid to rest in his hometown. And now, here we are 365 days later, and the gravity of his last day sits heavy on our hearts and minds.

During the twelve days, we packed his apartment, Met the friends who treated him like family and visited the places he talked to us about. We even tried a reindeer dog… not fans.

Seth’s unit followed us to the Anchorage airport. This is the first time we have seen the casket, we had maybe 15 minutes. No grieving in private before hand, our raw emotions in front of his unit and Soldiers.. Levi serves as his military escort and he prepares us for what happens next. We watch, broken, as they load the casket, draped with an American Flag that Levi purchased that morning, onto the plane.

When we land in Dallas, the welcome and respect shown to Seth, completely overwhelms us. Water cannons line the tarmac. Veterans are lined along the baggage carrier to escort his body with respect. We are led to a private luggage hanger, where we wait for our next flight. Just us, Levi, a chaplain, and Seth.

Once we make it to Jacksonville, the pilot makes an announcement. He asks that every remain seated while the family and military escort exit the plane first. The solider below has made it home. Everyone is so kind. There is clapping. There is sobbing from complete strangers. The window shades are drawn to give us privacy as we are reunited on the tarmac with our family.

As we make our way to the tarmac, we began to shake, we have to be strong. Our family is watching and waiting as we deplane. They were so far away, it seemed like miles. Once they were given the go ahead, they run to us. The kids race to Amber, and we all embrace. We gather around our boy.

Joy’s brother, Barry grabs our hands and said “You did it, you brought him home”. Our sweet boy. How can this be? It is all so very real now.

He was welcomed home as the Hero he truly was. The Soldier we were proud of. The local legend we all knew him as.

Hundreds of people lined the roads. Every exit on the highway was blocked by Fire and Police. We heard the words “We have the road” by the officers. Every car pulled over to allow us a clear path from the airport, through Starke and through St. Augustine, his final resting place.

Signs were made, flags were flown, and so many tears were shed. We had a caravan of family members, friends, FHP, Clay, Bradford and St. Johns County deputies. Veterans on motorcycles drove in front. His closet friends on their motorcycles drove behind the caravan. Seeing our family on the road, crying, yelling “We love you” “Stay Strong” “Welcome Home”, left us beaming with pride, and heart broken at the same time.

We pass Mike’s brother Paul, standing on top of his truck fighting back tears, waving to us desperately. We watched as we pass by a group of Seth’s closest friends holding each other, so overcome with emotion they can barely stand. Hundreds lined the roads, possibly thousands, waiting for us to pass by, waiting to pay their respect as we made our way to the funeral home.

We finally make it. The officers, exhausted and hot from the long ride do not drive off, they line up in front of the funeral home and salute as we pull in. Now we come face to face with so many of our family and friends, sharing one thing, a shattered heart.

The support our family has received since learning the news has blown us away. The support that didn’t stop after the funeral, that remains a constant. We see you. We love you. We thank you.

Our hope is that Seth is never forgotten. We will continue to fight for him. We will never stop.

Our family has started this blog to share with family and friends, to be a source of hope for those who are beginning their journey of loss, to share our grief, to be a resource to Military families, but most importantly to honor our Seth. You will hear from the family and friends throughout the year. We hope you stay with us.

As a way to honor Seth, we have formed a Non-Profit Organization, Say When and Remember Him. We are so excited for what will come from sharing Seth’s story and how he will continue to impact lives, even though he is not physically here with us. Stay Tuned!

With Love,

The Plants