2 weeks into our 227 weeks of wondering, waiting and praying for news.
With the call from the Reception Batallion, all our hearts settled down and life settled into a level pace of normalcy. Back to work, home and the gym, finding peace in the gift of a daily routine.
The mailman has either decided to ignore my nose on the window, or is used to it by now, or perhaps is too frightened to address it.
I'm grateful that the phone does not have video output. Both the cell and the house phone are within reach no matter where I go...the kitchen, the bedroom, the office and yup.....you guessed it, the shower. I've got it down to a science...I can turn off water, mute the radio and say hello in 2 seconds flat. Were there Olympic Gold for such behavior, I'd be standing on the top of the podium glistening in gold.
No coach needed, neurosis needs no tutor.
We've now received two letters. The first took 5 days to arrive from the date written, so it was hard to guess how much may have changed since it was penned. He says he is still doing well, has been bunked with a fellow he really likes..and who "takes it pretty seriously, which is nice because a lot of guys don't". Threw up after all the vaccinations, as did many of the guys. (At this point I wonder if the army needs my help down there taking care of those poor guys). Holding my breath with every word, I wonder if each letter and small scrap of news will cause my now familiar sensation of gasping for air.
There's a smattering of .initialed mumbo jumbo like ACU, BCT and at least one I recognize, the PX. I have no idea what those things mean, so off to google I go.
It's reassuring to read the comfort in the words written. A settled peace in each sentence.
On Thursday, he called briefly one more time, this time with the news of his pending move "downrange". The real world of Army basic training.
And blessed with one more split second of a call to tell us that the address he sent is not correct..and that we should wait until we get a new one before we send letters.
So it's back to stalking that poor mailman and bathing with the phone.
Praying, waiting and gasping for air.
Clinging with all I have, the peace that transcends all.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Stalking the mailman
I've become one of those slightly nutty ladies peering from behind the curtain as the mailman approaches. Hopefully he has not noticed that I've become obsessed with his timing and each step as he carries news to each doorstep. . Watching his every move as he works his way around to our house, at the very end of his lap around the block.
We'd read that the new soldiers were strongly "encouraged" to contact family sometime in the first 48 hours after arriving at base. 36 hours after watching Michael move out of our sight...we're waiting.
I'm terrified that our phones will all die. Worried sick that our mailbox will fade from view and we'll miss "the call" or "the letter".
Heading to work is a real dilemma...what if the call comes while my phone is in my locker. What's Michael going to think if there's only voice mail to hear him?
I trust God..but I'm not so sure about Sprint and the US Postal service.
Dragging my sleep deprived self to work on Friday morning I am discouraged, convinced that I going to miss the first call from our family soldier. Disappointed at having to leave my post behind the curtain.
My coworkers had put up with and supported my tears yesterday, but I was ill prepared for their greeting today...."do you want to go home?". Well, duh! My feet never touched the ground as I race out the door.
Fifteen minutes late my phone rings.
Time stopped as I heard the first news. He's fine, has had no sleep, has no hair left and is full of holes from all the vaccinations he got yesterday. Food is "not bad at all", and uniforms come tomorrow. His voice is light and he sounds genuinely happy. We part with I love you's and we're praying. Wow.
In seconds it's over.
Now it's back to stalking the mailman. Waiting and watching behind the curtain.
Living life as normally as possible, pretending not to notice the empty space in the house.
And finding joy in each precious day.
We'd read that the new soldiers were strongly "encouraged" to contact family sometime in the first 48 hours after arriving at base. 36 hours after watching Michael move out of our sight...we're waiting.
I'm terrified that our phones will all die. Worried sick that our mailbox will fade from view and we'll miss "the call" or "the letter".
Heading to work is a real dilemma...what if the call comes while my phone is in my locker. What's Michael going to think if there's only voice mail to hear him?
I trust God..but I'm not so sure about Sprint and the US Postal service.
Dragging my sleep deprived self to work on Friday morning I am discouraged, convinced that I going to miss the first call from our family soldier. Disappointed at having to leave my post behind the curtain.
My coworkers had put up with and supported my tears yesterday, but I was ill prepared for their greeting today...."do you want to go home?". Well, duh! My feet never touched the ground as I race out the door.
Fifteen minutes late my phone rings.
Time stopped as I heard the first news. He's fine, has had no sleep, has no hair left and is full of holes from all the vaccinations he got yesterday. Food is "not bad at all", and uniforms come tomorrow. His voice is light and he sounds genuinely happy. We part with I love you's and we're praying. Wow.
In seconds it's over.
Now it's back to stalking the mailman. Waiting and watching behind the curtain.
Living life as normally as possible, pretending not to notice the empty space in the house.
And finding joy in each precious day.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Life is like a waterslide
Early last week, Michael, Emily, my dear friend Anne and I drove down to Kalahari waterpark, one of Michael's "last requests". We roared down waterslides, relaxed in the hot tubs and frolicked in the wave pool without a care in the world. My favorite slide of all is the "toilet" one. The four of us piled into a round raft, plopped our butts into the separate spots provided and pretzeled our legs into the middle. We were a whirlwind of motion as we struggled to be the one on top, but when all was said and done, Michael's knees ended up on top of all of ours...sticking out at an awkward angle. We hung on, got pushed into the tube and were instantly screaming with fear in total darkness. Swirling wildly in different and unseen directions we roared with laughter as we hung on in anticipation of each twist and wild turn. When we reached the next "level" there is a swirling bowl of water....yup, just like a toilet bowl. We slowed very quickly, pitching me forward onto Michael's outstretched knee. The color is faded now, but I had a great shiner to show from having been flushed down a toilet with my family and friends. We ended with one more flush and were shot into a big pool, laughing our fool heads off.
Life is like that. You have an idea of where you are headed, but you are not the least bit aware of what lies ahead. Twists and turns bring about surprises, hurts and perhaps even a scar or two. You have no real control, but sometimes the best choice is just to go with the flow. The end may come as a surprise, but the memories never completely disappear.
On Tuesday, four of us piled into the truck for the drive to Lansing. Michael, Emily, John and I were trying to stay positive, but it was not easy. As much as you can prepare for such change, there are still unexpected moments. Our room was the very last one in the hotel and was enormous. The largest suite in the entire place with a master suite, a heart shaped jacuzzi, 2 enormous TV's and mutiple couches and chairs...and a dining room. Heavens to mergatroyd! Settled in with takeout steak dinners (yup...Michael was really living it up!), we settled in for the night and spent the evening relaxed, enjoying each others company and hanging on dearly to every moment. Personally I was dreading the moment when Michael would leave for his room, but we managed to make it ok...and with huge clinging hugs we said good night. Goodbye number 1.
None of us slept well.
At 0445 the door opened and Michael walked in to say goodbye once more. He left shortly after for the MEPS. Goodbye number 2.
We ate a quick breakfast and headed out for MEPS and the complete unknown.
The rest of the day is best described as "hurry up and wait". We were able to spend time together between physicals (he gained 9 lbs!), lunch and multiple other odds and ends. We got serious and the emotions started swirling at the Swearing in Ceremony. Families are allowed to stand against the wall in the room, facing the "shippers" as they hold up their hands in an oath to the United States of America in solitude and solidarity.
Thankfully the soldier in charge added humor and some smiles to the service, which gave me what I needed to maintain my fragile composure.
Afterward there is a "mock ceremony" for the families present to take pictures and have one last tiny chance to witness the transformation of a man. (Pending my technical abilities...you may get to see some of this.)
Moments later we lined up near the door of the building applauding and cheering as "America's newest heroes" silently march past us as they exit the building. Goodbye number 3.
Following the bus to the airport was a race for each light as we managed to hit every single light for 6 miles..and that stupid bus got every green. Thank goodness for Garmin...we managed and got there just as they pulled in.
Goodbye number 4 came all too quickly as he headed away from us just an hour later. We stood mesmerized as he took off his shoes, and passed the security check.
He rode an escalator up and in an instant we lost sight of him.
Gone from sight, I felt a moment of complete breathlessness....and finally the tears began.
We hugged and headed home.
Exhausted and shell shocked.
And so it goes....a beginning of a new adventure. Fears, smiles, hope and prayers.
God be with you my son. We are home praying and waiting for you.
Life is like that. You have an idea of where you are headed, but you are not the least bit aware of what lies ahead. Twists and turns bring about surprises, hurts and perhaps even a scar or two. You have no real control, but sometimes the best choice is just to go with the flow. The end may come as a surprise, but the memories never completely disappear.
On Tuesday, four of us piled into the truck for the drive to Lansing. Michael, Emily, John and I were trying to stay positive, but it was not easy. As much as you can prepare for such change, there are still unexpected moments. Our room was the very last one in the hotel and was enormous. The largest suite in the entire place with a master suite, a heart shaped jacuzzi, 2 enormous TV's and mutiple couches and chairs...and a dining room. Heavens to mergatroyd! Settled in with takeout steak dinners (yup...Michael was really living it up!), we settled in for the night and spent the evening relaxed, enjoying each others company and hanging on dearly to every moment. Personally I was dreading the moment when Michael would leave for his room, but we managed to make it ok...and with huge clinging hugs we said good night. Goodbye number 1.
None of us slept well.
At 0445 the door opened and Michael walked in to say goodbye once more. He left shortly after for the MEPS. Goodbye number 2.
We ate a quick breakfast and headed out for MEPS and the complete unknown.
The rest of the day is best described as "hurry up and wait". We were able to spend time together between physicals (he gained 9 lbs!), lunch and multiple other odds and ends. We got serious and the emotions started swirling at the Swearing in Ceremony. Families are allowed to stand against the wall in the room, facing the "shippers" as they hold up their hands in an oath to the United States of America in solitude and solidarity.
Thankfully the soldier in charge added humor and some smiles to the service, which gave me what I needed to maintain my fragile composure.
Afterward there is a "mock ceremony" for the families present to take pictures and have one last tiny chance to witness the transformation of a man. (Pending my technical abilities...you may get to see some of this.)
Moments later we lined up near the door of the building applauding and cheering as "America's newest heroes" silently march past us as they exit the building. Goodbye number 3.
Following the bus to the airport was a race for each light as we managed to hit every single light for 6 miles..and that stupid bus got every green. Thank goodness for Garmin...we managed and got there just as they pulled in.
Goodbye number 4 came all too quickly as he headed away from us just an hour later. We stood mesmerized as he took off his shoes, and passed the security check.
He rode an escalator up and in an instant we lost sight of him.
Gone from sight, I felt a moment of complete breathlessness....and finally the tears began.
We hugged and headed home.
Exhausted and shell shocked.
And so it goes....a beginning of a new adventure. Fears, smiles, hope and prayers.
God be with you my son. We are home praying and waiting for you.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Precious minutes of time
January rains with cold damp air outside. Inside the house it's warm and cozy...for those of us wearing sweaters and flannel. Michael is fast asleep and is completely at rest. It defies my imagination that it could only be 24 hours before we have to leave for Lansing and he's sleeping while I try to stay calm. Today is part fun and some work getting last minute details worked out. I can't believe that I have to sign a power of attorney for my son today. How could that be?
Michael's favorite cinnamon rolls are in the oven. Dinner will be a steak dinner at his brothers house where the three kids will run around like pinballs causing absolute chaos and the adults will hang dearly onto every minute and every laugh. I hope like crazy that his niece and nephews remember him in the years he is away. They are nearly 5, nearly 2 and 7 months old, perhaps a pipe dream, but I worry.
Pasting a smile on my face and heading to the kitchen in my flannel jammies.....
anne
Michael's favorite cinnamon rolls are in the oven. Dinner will be a steak dinner at his brothers house where the three kids will run around like pinballs causing absolute chaos and the adults will hang dearly onto every minute and every laugh. I hope like crazy that his niece and nephews remember him in the years he is away. They are nearly 5, nearly 2 and 7 months old, perhaps a pipe dream, but I worry.
Pasting a smile on my face and heading to the kitchen in my flannel jammies.....
anne
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Introduction and Initiation
Welcome!
My name is Anne and I am a new Army mom. My son Michael is a new Army recruit and is due to ship out to basic training in just a few days time. We are full of emotions, fears hopes and dreams. Our faith is sustaining us at this time, along with a huge amount of love and support from family and friends.
Please join us as we accompany Michael on this amazing and life changing journey.
I will be posting as often as possible, giving updates and details about Michael's life in the Army...from a mom's perspective. No doubt there will be times when I will not share completely his whereabouts for the safety of all concerned, but I will try to be frank about how we feel. I do hope that you will join us as we watch and wait for news.
So...here we go!
My name is Anne and I am a new Army mom. My son Michael is a new Army recruit and is due to ship out to basic training in just a few days time. We are full of emotions, fears hopes and dreams. Our faith is sustaining us at this time, along with a huge amount of love and support from family and friends.
Please join us as we accompany Michael on this amazing and life changing journey.
I will be posting as often as possible, giving updates and details about Michael's life in the Army...from a mom's perspective. No doubt there will be times when I will not share completely his whereabouts for the safety of all concerned, but I will try to be frank about how we feel. I do hope that you will join us as we watch and wait for news.
So...here we go!
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