75- The number of days since I have hugged him. 2-The number of times I have heard his voice. 24- the number of sweet letters that he wrote me while he has been gone.
Basic training is not for the weak. It breaks you down mentally and emotionally, testing your strength and determination, your will to survive in adverse conditions. And that is just what I have been through, so I can only imagine what my son has endured.
Weeks before Seth left, I began to do my research on basic training. I wanted to know as much as I could to support him on this journey. I, however, failed to prepare myself for what I would experience. Frankly, I thought it would be a walk in the park with Seth under the direction of the U.S. Army. After all, he was my “challenging” child. From school to home life, he kept me in a tizzy. His big personality and impulsive nature make my life- how do I say this- less than boring. So when he enlisted, I saw basic training as three months of worry-free living. No more worrying about where he was, what he was doing, or if he was safe. I could go to sleep at night and rest easy.
Boy, was I wrong!!
The first two weeks I seriously questioned whether this was the right decision. Our communication went from anytime to never. You would think that the start of a new school year and a house full of kids would keep me busy, but it didn’t. My old worries were only replaced with new ones. No longer was I worried about him being a typical 18-year-old boy. I was now worried about if he was happy, if he was lonely, if he was questioning this decision like I was.
Joining Facebook groups for military parents didn’t help either. It seemed like every time I opened a page, another mom had posted about her son being injured, in the hospital, or trying to quit.
Then his letters began to trickle in. It was nice to finally hear from him, but the words he scribbled on the paper determined my emotional state. If he had a hard week, I did too- at least until the next letter arrived. And I wrote him feverishly. He needed encouragement, so I supplied it. I mailed a letter every day and sometimes I mailed two or three....one day I mailed five.
I wrote some that were never mailed. I poured out my heart in them-- pages and pages of tear-soaked, snot-stained, emotion-filled letters that he would never see. I would write one letter about how I really felt, and then flip the page, wipe my face, and write him a letter filled with happiness and excitement.
As diligently as I wrote, I prayed ten times more. I started praying in the morning as I dressed for work, during the National Anthem and moment of silence at school, every time I opened my phone and saw his picture, in the car driving to the post office, and at night before bed. I prayed for him, his drill sergeants, fellow SITs, the base- you name it and I prayed over it. I prayed for his health, his happiness, his safety, his PT tests, his shooting ability, his rucks. I covered him in prayer.
As time went on, I saw the answers to my prayers in his letters. He was doing well. It was also clear that he was changing. Each envelope that I ripped open held a letter that was written by a young man who was growing and maturing, emotionally and spiritually. He was not just surviving, he was thriving. That made this momma’s heart happy.
Ten weeks have passed, and we have four more to go. BCT is over, and AIT starts on Monday. This weekend is family weekend. We have made the drive to Georgia to spend a few days with Seth. Tonight, after 75 days, I will rest my head in the same town that my son rests his. He will be minutes away from me.
1- I am one sleep away from what I have been waiting for since he walked away from me and vanished into that recruiting office. Tomorrow I get to hug my son.
