Monday, July 16, 2018

corner

anyone who really knows me knows i'm not a worrier.  i'm not a hypochondriac.  i don't keep close tabs on my boys' whereabouts.  and i generally assume everything is going to be ok and everybody is going to be fine.  in fact, if i err to either extreme, it's laissez-faire.  

so if you'd asked me three weeks ago how luke's beast experience was going to be for me, and many did, i'm sure i said something to the effect of, "i'm looking forward to the quiet.  i'm sure he'll be fine."  the weeks leading up to his departure were stressful.  the magnitude of the commitment he was making at 18 years old weighed on him and, in turn, me.  far beyond the four years of college, luke's full-time obligation to the military is another five years and then three more after that, as in-active reserves, at a minimum.  (if he pursues aviation or any number of other advanced degrees, it will be longer.)

so, those weeks were heavy with the weight of his imminent oath, but light with any awareness of what the first couple weeks might look like for me.  i imagined that first week home, with todd visiting his girlfriend in philly and luke safely tucked into the army's bosom, as a much-needed reprieve and rest.  lots of time to read, relax by the pool, catch up with friends, and enormous productivity at work.

ah, the lovely haze of delusion... 

instead, it was more akin to the acute pain of losing a limb and what i imagine the phantom sensations must be like.  i know in my last blog i wrote about all the little ways my routine was thrown off and how overshadowing all the absence was a fierce pride.  and i don't mean to take away from that now.  i do feel enormous pride for luke and his decision and his unstoppable determination that propelled us to this place.  but the protective umbrella of pride and optimism collapsed under the weight of heartbreak by the weekend.

now i admit, i've had some codependent relationships in my lifetime.  i have.  (who hasn't?)  but the connection i have with my children and the constant thread of communication i've shared with luke especially, is something altogether different.  though todd and i are more similar in many, many ways and shared more common interests and activities throughout their childhood and adolescence, luke has always been the protector and connector.  from the time he could speak, the sun never set on a day that he hadn't checked on me.  (aside from a few days in middle school, when he was in europe.  though he did sneak one illegal call from a hotel phone, mid-week.  but i digress...) 

i spent hours over the weekend combing through thousands (no exaggeration) of photos posted from a parade that was open to the public... hoping for a glimpse of my "waldo."  (proud to report i found him - several times!)  and though the photos gave me a moment of comfort, the avalanche of questions in my mind only grew.  somehow holding him in my mind and heart, conveying telepathically, prayerfully, my love and support felt like a must-do.  as if, were i to let him slip from my forethought for even a moment, he would feel it.  irrational, i know.  there was no room for rational there.

the second week of this separation began last monday and it's around that point that i started to look for mail from him.  though i'd mailed at least a letter a day, i knew it would take a while for him to have access to mail, time to write, and then, of course, the pinnacle of reliability, our beloved usps.  but with each report of parents, some as far away as the west coast, receiving cadet mail on monday and tuesday, the lump in my throat grew.

though some helpful friends suggested that "maybe he's having too much fun to write," or "maybe he's tougher than you think," i knew with certainty that both possibilities were irrelevant.  no amount of fun or toughness would keep luke from writing to me.  but only i could know that, the way i did, and i saw both skepticism and sympathy in the consolations offered by those around me.

it was his 11th day at west point when i first received mail from him.  thursday of the second week.  they say god won't give us more than we can bear, but i do believe my breaking point was near.  i received three envelopes from him that day, with multiple days of letters enclosed in each.  he wrote to me every day, at least once, often more. and in these letters that spanned his first five days as a member of our united states army, he reported that the single hardest thing was being out of communication with me.  considering the other hard things he detailed, that told me a lot.  

and you might think that this was a huge relief, hearing from him, finally.  it was however, only a small relief.  hearing his voice in his words was wonderful, but hearing his struggle and loneliness was heart wrenching.  the peppering of references to the hard parts gave me topics to worry about, but mostly it was his heart and mental state that concerned me and underscored my own heartache.

(and i thought this would be a reprieve...)

as if the mail and waldo-hunting of photos wasn't enough to occupy my mind, parents were instructed to be on stand-by last week for that first phone call.  some cadets began calls as early as sunday of their first week.. and the window stretched all the way to saturday night, of the second week.  we were advised to keep our phones charged and ringers on and nearby from 8a to 10p, as the cadre leadership "would allow calls when training schedules permitted."

now, i know we're all addicted to our phones. it's the most ubiquitous punchline and judgement and complaint from parents, employers, teachers, partners, police, and everyone else in our modern american society.  but i offer this challenge to you:  keep your phone in your hand or pocket and be ready to answer it at any time for 7 days.  that means the bathroom, the copier, your colleague's office next door, a client meeting, hell - even the deck where you might momentarily step to water the plants.  this is absolutely a crazy-making dictate.  oh and by the way, "the call could come from any number and if you miss it, don't call back or text." 

so i'd like to report that this was no big deal.  that i carried on about my life normally and just slightly elevated my phone-attentiveness.  but that would be a lie of epic proportions.  i can't recall a time in my life where resentment and attachment were so intertwined, particularly toward an inanimate object.  it was 9:19pm on saturday night, 41 minutes before the calling window officially ended, when my phone rang with luke on the other side.  i already had tears in my eyes, imagining it wasn't happening; a pit in my stomach, frustrated with my helplessness; and a pounding headache from the stress and general lack of self-care that had consumed the week.

but then he was there.  his voice on the other end of the phone, right now, in the present tense telling me how he was doing and probing, insistently, on hearing how i was doing.  and for the first time in 13 days, since he'd kissed me goodbye on july 2nd at 7:47am, i was ok.  i was actually better than ok.  i was great.

that was two days ago.  two amazing nights of sleep ago.  a full day of my phone volume turned off.  and a work day that has shaped up to be fairly productive and focused.  i miss him like crazy still.  i mailed him a letter this morning on my way into work.  i've even checked the facebook page once today (as opposed to dozens) and flipped through a few new photos, wondering if i'd see him.

but, i'm tentatively reporting that i've turned a corner. 
my mind has allowed itself to set him slightly off center, stage-right.
still visible, still in my peripheral even, but ever so slightly moving closer to the wings.
one-third of the way through, i'm starting to create a little space for myself.

d:  strength and peace
b:  i know my sons
g:  they know me  [sweet evidence:  luke closed one letter from last week with the charge, "be at peace, momma," and todd and i cried together when we read it.] 

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