Patty is originally from Southold, NY.  She works as a medical billing specialist in Islandia, NY, and is currently working on her Bachelor’s Degree.  She is the hot momma of Joshua, who recently reached the ripe old age of five!

There are not many people in this world with whom I would, and have, without a second thought, shared a 3x3 shower stall, and have written letters, sung songs, talked about guys, and passed around “contraband” Snickers and MRE brownies, all while sitting on opposite sides of a bathroom in doorless stalls on facing toilets.  Patty’s pretty much the only one with that distinction. 

(I believe we also once fenced with our crutches, and definitely snuck into the ice cooler on more than one occasion, usually with canteens full of juice and candy bars boot-banded to our shins and biceps.)

In June 2001, the week before we both shipped off from MEPS in Ft. Hamilton, Brooklyn, Patty and I met at our Initial Strength Test (IST – Recruits are required to pass this test in order to ship off to Parris Island) in Eisenhower State Park on Long Island.  The way she tells it, as we were gearing up for our run, she thought for sure I’d be fast, judging by my running clothes (the racing stripes did it).  She was apparently surprised by my horrible run style (which has been described by many in the past as more closely resembling “flailing” and "loping" than actual running).  We had a few laughs that day, and from the following week, on our ship date out of Ft. Hamilton, we were inseparable.  Although we were separated into concurrent “sister” platoons in boot camp, we still made sure to keep in almost daily contact (through walls; in classes; at chow).  When a few leg injuries landed me in the medical rehabilitation platoon (MRP) on our 10th week of training, I was so happy to see Patty, who was already there, as she sat on her footlocker, crutches propped against the rack (a.k.a. “bed”), who limped over and welcomed me to MRP (the purgatory of boot camp -- we preferred to call it the Misery and Re-Injury Platoon) and assured me that everything would be okay.  Misery truly does love company! 

We met up several times after we were both medically separated from the Corps that December – three days apart – and within a year, she’d moved in with me and some slightly crazy lady in Washington, D.C. (where we had more fun than the law allows!).  While living there, she, like me, would have to be either working or dead to miss one of the Evening Parades at the Marine Barracks at 8th & I, or the Sunset Parades at the Marine Corps War Memorial (a.k.a. “The Iwo Jima Memorial”); to this day, she and I always stand at attention during the Marine’s Hymn, even though we are still both in that weird fully-trained-but-not-graduated Marine/Civilian limbo.  We share the same fierce and relentless love and devotion to the Marine Corps, our country, and each other (I don’t know how many times either of us has protectively exclaimed, “God HELP [person hurting the other of us or disrespecting the Corps or our Flag]; I will kill [him/her]!”).  Life has taken us away from the Corps and, at times, away from each other, but somehow, we always seem to find our way back. 

She has been so supportive and loving and honest from the day we met; a girl couldn’t ask for a better friend.  In truth, the bond we share is closer to that of sisters than of friends; to this day, I would lay down my life for her.  That she will stand beside me on the most important day of my life is an honor and a blessing.