I cried. I cried a lot. My husband asked if the ache was worse because it was Basic, not something we already knew. My answer is yes. Flights across oceans and continents, jostling car rides across dry river beds that weave between mountains, even putting a kid on a plane for months at a time away for school… I know these things. I know the college dorm drop off and the time change juggling so that I can get a FaceTime video tour of a space shared with a roommate I’ll never meet in person. I know how to encourage a kid to hang in there when their end destination will be a remote village where I’m praying they can eat the food without fear of parasites and I know how to encourage a kid to sneak in extra calories throughout the day when the school cafeteria is so sloppy on labeling allergens that a whole host of offerings can’t even be considered.
But I don’t know Basic.
And I cried.
I cried as he wrestled John Mark on the couch, which normally drives me nuts. I cried as he sat with Jude, admiring the tractor in the hay field. I cried as I made his breakfast, and I cried when he turned down his lunch. I cried as we encircled him in prayer just before walking out the door. I cried in the car as we drove him, his Daddyman and I, to the airport.
And I cried as we said goodbye.
I cried when he was gone, of course. By the time the evening rolled around, I had a pounding headache from the constant tears, but no call from Jack telling us he had arrived. Just a quick text to his father, and then, silence.
It’s the silence that makes me cry the most. So many weeks of silence ahead.
But I’ll get used to it.
I’m a mom.
It’s what we do, this catch, nurture, release cycle. We do it with babies, and I’ve learned that we do it with adults, too. We are the safe space, we are the home that allows for that healing pause after a hard thing. I’m ok being that person for my kids, whether they are 2 or 25 or 52. It’s who God has allowed me to be for these precious people of His, and I’m honored… even when it hurts.
If you see me in the next months, I’ll have my phone. I’m not normally attached to it; it’s not really something I feel naked without. But Jack might call, you see. The silence might randomly be broken. And yes, I’m a mom. I’m not going to miss that call for anything. Anything. He might need to hear my voice. To remember that he is loved. To have someone tell him that they believe in him. That he was created for a time such as this.
And I’ll be here, on the other end of the line. Cheering him on. Always, his mom.
If you have a child enlisting in the Air Force, I cannot recommend the support of Air Force Wing Moms enough! They have FB groups that encourage YOU, the the mother, through the entire process, as you walk into the unknown alongside other moms in the same stages. It’s been a lifeline for me, and one I am so thankful to have found!