After a wonderful 3 days with my son awhile ago, I said goodbye again. Spending the evening with highly decorated service members telling me how much they appreciated my son’s work was one of the proudest moments of my life. Writing about zenning up as a military parent hasn’t been as therapeutic as it once was. I’ve been frozen at the keyboard, erasing everything that I write because even basic Information is too sensitive to share, even when our loved ones leave and come back in is too sensitive to discuss on the blog. So I’m finding my comfort in providing counseling services to our military through my practice as a therapist. I feel like I’m actually doing something, something honest and true to help these families. I miss my son. Last message from him was about the lousy weather. So of course I’ve spent the last few days feeling that lousy weather right along with him. I always take on the feelings of my kids. When my daughter gets sick, I feel her symptoms even though I’m not sick. When my son is tired, the fatigue I feel is overwhelming. He never states that he’s tired, but I can hear it in his voice. I worry. This time more than others. Praying more than usual. Through my work with the military I’ve learned so much. Too much. So now, I’m left to worry from a different perspective. Zenning up has taken on a whole new meaning this year. My son was able to see my granddaughters for a quick minute before he left. They adore him, just look at these faces. He has to come home safe for them. He just has to. Peace, love and little donuts.
I can’t help but get choked up every time I hear our national anthem played before a football game. The addition of a flyover gives me goosebumps to boot. Our family has had the advantage of extra time with our airman this summer and fall. I know it is coming to an end too soon but am grateful that he’s had a moment to catch his breath and lead a somewhat normal life.
Leading a somewhat normal life, included totaling his beloved Subaru on his way home from the base, only 2 miles away. He was only slightly injured but decided not to call me until he had been released from the hospital. How ironic is it that he does two tours in the middle east in 1 year and ends up getting hurt on a short commute home because another driver decided they needed that extra 20 seconds to pull out in front of him.
As we begin our countdown, my restful summer slumber is beginning to be interrupted by the worry of sending him back to a place even more corrupt than when he left. With news of an increase in shootings by middle east soldiers on our troops, I wonder how this deployment will feel differently than the others. Is he worried? If he was he certainly wouldn’t share it. I’ll wrap my arms around my boy in early on this winter and see him off again, this time with more stripes on his arm and a brand new commitment to serve another 4 years. I wonder what the next four years will be like for the military after this election plays out.
Ironically I’ll be in D.C. on election day. I have no idea how I feel about the candidates. I’m numbed by the ads, felt little satisfaction about supporting either candidate after the debates.
Election day for me will be spent in Arlington paying tribute to the fallen. I can’t avoid Arlington any longer. This is the year that I don’t flake out on the men and women who made it possible for me to cast my vote. A vote that was particularly difficult this time around.
Peace, love and little donuts….next report will be from Arlington.
Hear me please. With so many deaths in Afghanistan this July, I have little to say today. But what is here is important. I’m in a spiritual place this week, this seems like a fitting place to read these names out loud. Since the start of U.S. military operations in Afghanistan, 16,858 U.S. service members have been wounded in hostile action, according to the Defense Department. Naming them each week would simply be impossible. I can’t even mention the emotional wounds that we may never know exist. Average age of the dead listed below…………………..23. Twenty three years old. Their lives had barely begun. Two were national guardsman. Can anyone hear me?
Nearly every year I visit Washington D.C. for training in cancer care or advocacy work that provides me with the skills I need to do my work as a therapist and advocate. Every year I walk around the monuments, the capital, visit the restaurants and experience the power that you can literally feel coming from the ground there. It’s like your being shocked at a low voltage from the moment you see the White House. When I see the Honor Flight WWII Veterans sitting in the lobby of the hotel, I thank them for their service and sometimes, they cry. When I worked for hospice, my territory included the Missouri Veteran’s home. Sometimes, I had as many as 15 Veteran’s to see on my caseload there. Walking through end of life with these Veterans was vastly different than walking the path with civilians, but that is another entry for another day.
When I’m playing advocate, I take the elevator to the basement lunch room surrounded by uniformed women and gentleman with more “lapel flair” than I’ve ever seen and it is simply surreal. I smile at them, thank them for their service, then watch as they make their way to lunch looking like American royalty. They go home each night to their families and put their jammies on just like everyone else but they look like some serious super heroes to this girl. I’m star struck as they walk so straight to their tables. I wonder if my son will work in the Pentagon like his uncle before him. I feel a pang of guilt as I remember the thoughts in my head begging him not to re-enlist unless he can spend less time “over there”. So glad I didn’t say it out loud. I’ve no right to say it aloud.
Each year I say to myself “this is the year I will visit Arlington”. Each year I am unable to make the short trip by car or train to pay my respects to those who gave everything. I am afraid I will just lose it and embarrass myself in front of strangers. This year will be different. This year I’m going to pay my respects to someone who lost his young life just two years after getting married. He was part of my son’s military family and this year, in death, he will give me strength that I need to visit this sacred place.
Today, the following Air Force servicemen were buried at Arlington, 50 years after being lost in action. After taking off On Christmas Eve 1965 an Air Force plane nicknamed “Spooky” took off from Vietnam for a combat mission and never returned.
Col. Joseph Christiano, of Rochester, New York;
Col. Derrell B. Jeffords, of Florence, South Carolina;
Lt. Col. Dennis L. Eilers of Cedar Rapids, Iowa;
Chief Master Sgt. William K. Colwell of Glen Cove, New York;
Chief Master Sgt. Arden K. Hassenger, of Lebanon, Oregon;
Chief Master Sgt. Larry C. Thornton of Idaho Falls, Idaho.
Say their names out loud in your prayers tonight or on your yoga mat tomorrow morning. Namaste’
You just don’t want to let them go……
I shop for food. Lots. Cooking is my passion. My parents were chefs. My father loves nothing more than to make me surf and turf when I visit. My son loves his papa’s surf and turf. My weekly boxes of “stuff” that get sent when he’s deployed don’t include surf and turf. I cook fresh and local so it doesn’t exactly mail well over there. So I find odd items that I know he’ll like and send him those instead, with the occasional vegan cookie or energy date bar without sugar. YUM! My mom sends me healthy stuff, lucky me, I imagine him saying as he watches the cookies and candy come in from other parents. His father makes him homemade beef jerky. How cool is that?
He won’t tell me what to send him. This is maddening for me and the rest of the family. The only things he’s really talked much about are the single serving packaged olives that I sent him once and the Trader Joe’s Panang Curry Tuna that goes into each and every box. The olives I was only privileged to find once in my weekly excursions. So this week when I happened upon them I bought the entire display. For future deployments. The entire display. For future deployments. Seems unfair that only a few families have to endure the continuous cycle of deployment. With only one percent of the U.S. population in the military, this is the sacrifice.
We think differently. “I’ll buy this for the next one”. The next one. Think about that statement for a while. We get to put our hands on our kids for a moment in time only to send them back again within a couple of months. People look at me like I have 3 heads when I try to explain to them that his work requires him to be there continuously and that he feels compelled to DO the work. The work matters. It makes a difference that he’s there. I thought about deployment when he enlisted, knew it was the reality of this life. I must admit I didn’t expect to endure deployment over and over again. I wonder how his body will continue to hold up under the physical and emotional toll that these deployments take on a human being. I worry about cancer from the chemicals and the exposure to the elements. I worry about crashes on the ground and in the air. I worry about his nutrition, his emotions and most of all I worry that he’ll not a find a good woman who understands his lifestyle in the military to share his life with. Someone else to send him boxes of stuff and notice when he says “I really liked the olive packs”.
How many mothers do you know instruct their sons to BANK YOUR SPERM, just in case the right woman never shows up, this way you can still experience fatherhood. I worry about infertility. This comes from being an oncology social worker AND a military mom. Happy father’s day to all the military Zen dads out there. Send a box of stuff this week to a deployed dad you don’t know. They’ll appreciate it.
http://www.loveboxesforourtroops.com Peace, love and little donuts,
Yesterday at noon I heard the sound I had been longing for, “hey mooooooooom, I’m in the states”. After an hour of advising him to keep his stimulation down, stay out of Wal-Mart, don’t go to any bars, and stay away from loose women (okay, I advise of him like that even when he hasn’t deployed) and listening to him talk about his commute, he boarded one more flight to get him home. At 6:47 I received the text: Beer is delicious. My baby boy was safe and sound in his condo at his home base. After another 1/2 hour of advising, keep your stimulation down, don’t drink more than 2 beers, keep processing and stay away from loose women he was off to bed and I slept like a baby for the first time since the early spring. I know it won’t last, this feeling of safety that I have when he’s on US soil, but he’s here NOW and I’ll get to put my hands on him in a couple of weeks after he’s in-processed and he’s ready for me to PUT my hands on him. I posted a picture of him smooching me when he was a toddler on his Facebook page this evening, just to hear him chuckle. He’s still my little boy. We don’t see these warriors as civilians see them. When he sends me pictures of himself standing in the desert in BDU’s holding a machine gun, I see my little boy in a ninja turtle outfit jumping off of his red bunk bed. Today I had the blessing of a long conversation with a dear friend, a mother of four. She is my hero, raising 1 very special little girl along with her 3 beautiful boys in such a lovely zen mom way. She asked me “what is it like, to know your son goes through everything that goes along with war?” ” Michelle, it is every terrible thought and feeling you could ever imagine, it never goes away when they are gone, it just sits there waiting to pounce on you”. You “zen up” by staying busy and trying to be worthy of his sacrifices for you. You tell everyone you come into contact with that he’s there. You make every civilian see the sacrifices by wearing his unit pin or plastering your vehicle with stickers that shout out your pride. You take every moment to educate 99% of the rest of the country about what it is REALLY like to be a military family member. You try to comfort your daughter, his big sister who still calls him “bubby” when she looks up at you like she’s 3 years old again and says “he needs to come home now”.