“I’m more than honored to give my life for my country.”

We are not a military family but it was fast becoming our new reality. Here we were sitting around my folks’ dining room table discussing what we had come to know about the ins and outs of military life. The recent months had initiated our three families. We talked about it all: Boot camp and its demands; the rigors of training; the writing and receiving of letters; a shared desire to support our sons; the current world situation; and our concerns for future and potential wartime maneuvers.

My two sisters and I had entered a new world. Each of us had launched a son into military service that year of 2012. Our three sons now represented the United States, one as a Navy Aviation Machinist, another as an Army Ranger, and the third as an Army Officer. My son-in-law, with many years in the Air Force, rounded out our family’s military presence. With our sons now entering the fray, we felt uncertainty and concern, and unvoiced fear. We also felt pride and assurance. Our sons were the type to go the distance.

Earlier in the year, my son at age twenty-nine, college graduate and hard worker, had announced to me his intention to enlist. He had expected me to buck it, to question his thinking, and to make argument. Instead, I remembered back to a decade before, when I had discouraged him from enlisting soon after his high school graduation.

This time I was quiet and kept my own counsel. I feared that the tender heart which I knew was part of my son’s persona would not be a good fit for military life. Now he was a man, responsible, strong and caring—but it was no less hard.  He toned, jogged, and ran, ate healthy, made good choices, and reduced calories; mentally, physically, and intellectually prepared. He knew it would take intentional determination on his part.

My prayers for him and his cousins have become frequent and routine over the past few months. Complications are to be expected, and there were a few. The challenges came and went. The boys made it in and kept on going. I knew my son would be an asset, which he has proven to be, but he was also older than the younger set. He was fit due to his fitness regimen, which paid off. It also helped that he was level-headed, respectful, hard working and able to get along with people. His life experiences had been many and diverse, and he knew how to manage his own affairs. He and his two cousins worked hard and sought to do well, and they soon became leaders in their own right. But a mother remembers her little boy; she knows her son’s vulnerabilities. I shouldn’t have worried. He has managed quite well.

After he was good to go, the memories began piling up. First, came the day of sending him off to boot camp. My mother, youngest daughter, and I,  driving twenty hours straight, returned from Colorado to our home in California, arriving at 1:30 a.m., the morning my son was scheduled to leave for boot camp. It was important for me to see my son off, when he would take his leave at 10:00 a.m. We slept a few hours and then it was time. My father stood with his grandson under the walnut trees next to the driveway. They were facing each other at eye level, both straight and tall.

My father expressed his wishes for his grandson, for the best in the days ahead. He encouraged with confident words that said he was proud of my son. It struck me as significant, like a familial blessing being passed from generation to generation, the stuff that forms a boy into a man. I could hear their talk, but I was not close enough to be part of the conversation.

After my father finished speaking, grandpa and grandson shook hands and hugged. My heart tugged as I watched the two of them. My father is not a man who makes speeches; this was an eloquent, rare moment I was privileged to observe. Then the five of us gathered in a circle, clasped hands, and my dad prayed for my son’s safety and strength. A sense of the surreal accompanied me as I drove my son to the recruiter’s office and said goodbye to him. The long wait had begun.

The intervening years between then  and now have played like a series of snapshots, one after the other: Attending my son’s graduation in Illinois; watching the various cadet units parade into a cavernous building, dressed in navy whites, marching in rows to a drum cadence; swelling pride in my heart with an accompanying mist in my eyes, my married daughter and middle son sitting next to me—all of us straining to see as my son’s unit enters the building in uniformity of precision—and then seeing him.

It is a Wow moment. Afterwards, we go out to eat, my navy son, my second son, and my oldest daughter. The restaurant offers my newly minted sailor-son a meal on the house in thanks for his military service, which comes as a surprise to him and the three of us. He is modest, uncomfortable with the extra attention. We walk out on the pier by Lake Michigan. Other cadets are there with their families. It is a sweet time, and I find myself in awe. Again, it feels surreal.

The third picture is when he comes home on leave. He arrives in his navy service uniform, affectionately called “peanut butters”; he knows I will enjoy seeing him in military attire. We sit on the back patio and eat an informal meal.

My son shares a few stories, how he is the old man in his unit—how the younger guys respect him and call him “Grandpa”—the challenges and successes, what he has learned during training as a plane captain for a land, not sea, position. I see in him a defining, a new level of maturity with an acquired confidence in bearing. He knows what he is about. My man-child is kind and helpful, appreciative of the home-cooked meals and says so. “This tastes great, Mom!” The days pass much too swiftly.

His story is only a continuance, not an ending. The other day, we talked on the phone. His request for an extension is approved, and he wants me to know what the next few months will entail including another deployment. We talk about the business end of things: a power of attorney directive, a will, and finances. I ask if he will be at risk when he deploys.

He states that he doesn’t expect to be involved in any military action. Then his voice becomes solemn, quiet, clear and direct. By his subdued tone, I sense his next words will be meaningful.

After a pause, he says,

“But if that should be the case, if I should make the ultimate sacrifice, I want you to know, I’m more than honored to give my life for my country.”

I know his words are true. Honesty is in his voice. My heart becomes still as I remember them; and the tears swim. He’s a good son, one of America’s strong and true, and I miss him today.

I love you, my son.

-2016