I wrote down most of these lines one evening early last winter after spending the morning at the Army hospital with my son. It was too hard to finish at the time. I want to stress that what follows is not a political commentary, nor meant to invite same. As Plato said,
Everyone is fighting a great battle.
And that is every bit as true for our beloved children. They all leave the downy nest in time and make their way in a dangerous world. I wonder if all mama birds cover their eyes with their wings as they launch as I do….
*****
"It won't be long and we will get you out of here," the camouflaged young man promises the soldier. Nearby in the crowded waiting room a tiny boy wails, distraught, tired, sick. We are all waiting.
"Man, I can't stand kids screaming. I think mortar is more tolerable than that!" he laughs. There is no response.
"You have kids?"
Nothing.
Then there is a slow, barely perceptible nod. Yes.
"How old?"
There is a pause, the soldier looking as though he was trying to remember a very far off dream.
"Three years old and nine months."
"Boys or girls?" the young man persists cheerfully.
Another painful pause.
"The older one is the boy," the soldier replies in a whisper.
"Ha! That's good! Then he can watch out for her when she's a teenager!" the young man chuckles.
All around the waiting room is filling with crutches and wheelchairs and soldiers walking, carrying their charts. I search their faces, wondering. They filtered past me a few moments before, in the snow, outside the door as I tried to make a cell phone call, their bus bringing them from the airport. A few hours earlier they stood in a battlezone waiting for med-evac. I worked my way back inside to my new recruit. Before the doorway I wait as a soldier sits up on his gurney and transfers to a wheelchair.
"Don't forget your bible now," they remind him and a quick scan of the gurney finds the worn volume that has accompanied him to the desert and back.
Back in the lobby we wait for the last bus. A series of department representatives make their way in to brief the new arrivals. They will be admitted. They will all undergo TBI – traumatic brain injury – screening. And they are instructed to call their mothers. In no uncertain terms. Call home first they are told. There will be congressional inquiries and desperate searches for them from stateside family if they are remiss. No mistake – their mothers need to hear they have arrived and know when they will be home.
It is different now. I used to look at soldiers through the eyes of a wife. In many ways I still do. I think of that three year old boy waiting for his Daddy. I think of his wife who is doubtless counting down til her husband is home and they can get "back to normal".
But today I sit next to my own son who will join their ranks soon. I look at their backpacks. Did I ever notice before that their blood types are written on them? I think of my once baby boy, and my friend Lisa's marine son, our old friends back home whose son is a Reservist, countless other stories we have heard. Looking around me it seems all I can see are mama's, there in spirit, holding vigil at home.
This is a different sort of feeling. I became used to letting go of my husband, though it never got easier. I am just beginning to learn to let my babies go. It seems this will be even harder. All these years of protective instincts on high alert. Then one day you are supposed to turn those off as they venture off without you. How do we do this?
I think we never really do this. That is why along with instructions for administrative paperwork there is the directive – Call home. Whether it is a literal battlefield or a spiritual battlefield, at some point they all go out to fight their battles without you. And you suffer, you cry, you want more than anything to turn back time and enjoy the absolute certainty of looking at a living room strewn with Legos and goldfish crackers knowing that, at that moment, all is well. It is a small window of time in their lives where we believe we have the ability to completely protect and control. And it doesn't last long.
"You ok?" asks the young Marine with the wheelchair who has come to retrieve the soldier by my side.
"Hmmph," is all he musters.
"It's ok," says the Marine in reply,"you're here now and we'll take care of you."
"I don't need a wheelchair." The soldier has found his voice.
"Uh, you sure?"
"I don't need a wheelchair," he insists.
We all watch as he works himself to his feet, gets his weight balanced between his crutches, and makes his way to the hallway. I pray for his healing, in all the ways he will need to heal. For his wife, his babies. And for his mother.
I look over at my son, assuring me with confidence and courage. "It's ok, Mom."
I search his eyes and try to interpret his response. Is it denial? Naivete? Then I understand. It is simply faith. The one realization I have had watching and talking to this boy-turned-man is that my children have tended to believe what I say. Reality is, this makes me pause and consider the extent to which *I* have believed what I was saying all these years. In the night I have done battle with crazy fears and nagging doubts. Was he really meant to do this? This one? What if…? Should I have said more? Less?
That torrent of panic is stopped in its tracks when I remember his face and my children's words. It either all makes sense and is falling into place exactly as it should or nothing makes sense and is all just a random series of meaningless disasters. I remember the words of a friend many years ago, when I was first carrying these babies, telling me that my children's stories have already been written upon the heart of God. He knows what lies on every page. He is good. Whatever He allows will be for our ultimate good. Now I must choose to believe and rest in that peace or be overcome with torment.
I choose Him.
I choose peace.
Starry Sky Journal 
Beautiful Kim.
He knows what lies on every page. He is good.
“I can do all things through Him who gives me strength”.
Absolutely beautiful — but you should put a warning label on that for pregnant moms of teenagers who want to join the military. You’ve got my crying into my oatmeal. LOL
With tears in my eyes reading this. My brother finished his first deployment (he is a Marine) in January and will redeploy this fall. He missed his daughter’s birth and first Christmas. He will most likely miss her first birthday and second Christmas. He came home much the way he left, thankfully. But I know that may not be the case the next time around. I know my children will have to make decisions in life that may be very scary for me. But knowing it and living it are two very different things. Motherhood is a huge leap of faith. Thank you for reminding me of that. God Bless You!
Oh goodness, I too like your friend above, am pregnant and have a teenager who wants to be a Marine. Yesterday evening, he was talking about it again. I’ll be proud of of him if he joins, but at the same time the mother in me wants to cling on to him. Thank God for our faith. I don’t know how we would get thru life without it. Okay, now I must get some tissue. lol!!! Thank you for sharing. I’ll keep mom and son in my prayers. đ
I think there is this assumption that if only people made different choices then things would have turned out differently but that isn’t necessarily so. If he stayed home he may have gotten hit by a bus, mugged, or taken down by a deadly virus. Who knows. We can’t escape the will of God. If it is will that we endure trial then to be sure we WILL. If we dodge one, another will find us, probably making the original trial seem favorable by comparison. That thought gives me much consolation and peace these days. That peace that was sorely lacking throughout our own active duty years because I fought and resented every step of the way sure we could be happier if we changed this or that.
It doesn’t matter if we are military or not, or traveling or not, or well or not. Gods will is going to be done one way or another. We see the scary things, the worrisome things, the sad things. We rarely consider all that we have been spared because we got those instead of the far worse options. We should.
This was lovely and true. My husband is deployed right now. He’s in the medical corps, so we see a lot of the wounded day to day at his workplace when he’s home, and he’s also rotated at Landstuhl caring for the med-evac wounded. The week after he deployed I passed a young military couple in the airport – he’d been blinded (I assume while deployed) and was walking slowly and falteringly, led by his wife’s hand. I’m used to seeing crutches, burns, and wheelchairs when I’m at the hospital on post, but it’s so easy to let fear carry you away when sights like that couple catch you unawares and off-guard. Thank you for this post.
Very beautiful. I don’t have children in the military, but I have had one leave the nest. Really hard to let go, but I am so proud of the self-sufficient, hard-working, honorable young man he is. Prayers for you and your special son. +JMJ+
Beautiful, Kim. I will always be grateful for your (continued) example of peaceful surrender to His will.
Beautiful. I’m crying. Godspeed, Asher.
I think, as mothers, we do truly believe everything will be o.k. — as long as we can protect them. Instinctively most mothers know what is best. The hardest part is letting them decide that for themselves.
St. Michael the Archangel, protect us.
Beautiful, Kim. Many prayers for you all.
Thanks for sharing. Just at the moment I thought I could not go on I read your blog. My daughter has just moved out and started her first job and now my youngest who was in the seminary for three years is coming out. I think my heart is in a thousand pieces. He needs time. He is grieving the death of a professor, mentor. I pray he finds his way. I who have homeschooled him since the beginning can see all his gifts.It is so hard to let go of these kids. I will pray for you and yours as I ask you to pray for me and mine.
Kim The postmade me think,cry, and remember to relax in the hand of God Thank you Annie
Thank you. My husband left two and a half months ago for my first (his third) deployment. We have a 17 month old daughter who misses her Daddy very much. Less than a week after he left, we found out we have another blessing on the way. This life is not for the faint-hearted, but my Soldier is so worth it.
I have limited time and physical wherewithal for reading my beloved blogs these days, and so I am late to this … It is beautifully expressed, Kim, and I thank you for sharing it.
What I have learned through all these years of mothering is that we cannot bleed for our children: their fates are their own, their crosses, their joys, their choices and dreams … Are all theirs. God cradles our children as He cradles us. We cannot bleed for them and so, yes, we must be steadfast, loving and strong, there for them when they need us; praying for God’s will to be done, whether they be near or far, no matter the calls they answer, no matter the causes or conditions of their trials (and our worries). My faith has deepened through the raising of one of my children in particular, for she was born with a condition which will always (always) be a source of physical trauma and mental anguish (for her), for it manifests on both levels. I cannot bleed for her. I have learned that I can only do my absolute best by her and for her when my faith in God is rock steady: God is always and ever working towards the best for all creation, no matter how painful it may seem to us at the time, no matter how lost we may be at times.
I hope this comment doesn’t seem too random! This is what your post inspired in me! đ Blessings to you this spring day.
Oh my dear…
They. are written on His Heart. It’s what makes me keep going, Kim. And smiling — through worry and tears sometimes. God bless dear Asher — and his wonderful family! Adding his name to the top of the prayer list with our other soldier friends.