Pain in parenting

I don't know how I survived being separated through his time in bootcamp. I wasn't going through the pain of exercise, the lack of sleep or the fear of failure. I was going through the thoughts of not parenting my oldest son. I watched him leaving the house and getting in to the car to be driven to the recruiter's office where I would drop him off. I thought of him leaving the house as a daily member of this family. When would he come home next? When he does it will be for a visit. Was I prepared for this? I found out in the days and weeks that followed that I wasn't. In no way was I ready for my son to leave. The son I had I raised since I was a teenager. The son I had made my sole focus for the last 21 years. I watched him sleep on the couch that morning and thought how would I feel without this? I had no idea the pain of saying goodbye. I sank into a deep depression while he was in bootcamp. I was unable to cook or attend to my house. I needed to hear his voice, the one I still recognized as the voice that first said "Momma" to me so many years ago. And when I did I heard him struggle to tell me about the hardships he had endured. He called me soon after arriving in bootcamp and had been pushed to his limit. He asked what day it was, what time is was and cried that he missed me. Instead of allowing myself those tears I searched everywhere in my soul to find the resolution he needed. I whispered "It will be ok. You're strong. You can do this!" I wondered if I could? The next phone call was better. He gave me hope he'd make it through. He didn't know he was bringing me out of my own darkness but he did. I couldn't bare another desperate call.

His graduation was one of those moments that will stay with me forever. I sat for three hours so I could be in the front row right in front of him. I knew I needed to be as close as possible. When he marched in and I didn't recognize him because he was so thin my heart sank. I saw him in a military uniform for the first time and became overwhelmed with anxiety. He will stand in harm's way to defend our country. That's what that uniform told me. I remembered him in his little league uniforms, his Catholic school uniform and now this. This is not one I would have chose for him. But he was so proud. He told me later he earned his uniform and the right to wear it. I would have to put aside my feelings and embrace his. I am proud of my Sailor and I pray for my Son. The US Flag means a little more to me these days. It represents my Son and his beliefs of freedom and democracy. When I see a home with a flag flying I know they support him as well. I wear my Blue Service Star proudly. When someone asks what it is I proudly say I am the parent of a serviceman. I am a proud Navy Mom.

The grey haze is lifting and I'm talking to him frequently. He still has struggles with his new life but they are fleeting and evolving. His life is a service driven life. His purpose is defined and his course is set. I'll ask God that when Ryan's ship is headed towards a storm he sets his sail and endures the waves. It's all I can do.