MiamiCubano
El Martillo (My Boxing Name)
As I've been sharing more of these that have come my way these days, thought I'd pass along this one. This time this was sent to me by my mother, who, when given the chance (and even when not given the chance), will go on endlessly about her "Marine Mom" pride. Enjoy...fwiw.
Please Tie Your Shoes.
I have always told my son to tie his shoes or he might fall and break his neck or don't run with that stick or you will poke out an eye. It's almost our family joke, "I know mom, tie my shoes or I will fall and poke out an eye." He kids with me, but my fear has always been genuine.
In September of 2006 my fear increased about 500 percent, my world turned upside down and I thought my life was coming to an end. I was not afraid of my dying; in my mind it was my only choice if, God forbid, anything were to happen to my son and he died before me. I figured I would be five minutes behind him; that my heart would just stop.
I could never explain how this felt to someone who had not been there except to say imagine someone had just blindfolded your baby and set him on U.S. Interstate 80, or 95 or any freeway and left him there in the dark. Now imagine someone shooting at him too.
In reality, my baby had been sent to Iraq in his third year of his four-year active duty commitment to the United States Marine Corps. My son, the rifleman, was deployed to Iraq for seven months.
The weeks leading up to that day were the worst. Every fear magnified a million times by what I didn't know and more importantly what I did know. Having been a peripheral part of the Marine Corps community for nearly three years, I knew one thing. Any mother's son can die. I think most of us military parents go through the numbers game and the endless questions in our heads. When was the last time someone in my family died? Are we due? When was the last time I prayed? Is it too late? What if something happens to him? Will I feel it or will I have to wait for the knock at my door? And I thought; will my daughter in law be able to call me or will she be so devastated that she curls up in a ball and I won't know for hours?
My thoughts were always wandering to the dark places. I felt melodramatic at times and other times simply practical. Rarely was there a moment of time when my son was not on my mind. He was my first and last thought everyday. I struggled through conversations with God not wanting to appear that I was asking anything for myself, even though I was. I also didn't want God to think that I was a hypocrite and that I would start to go to church all of a sudden if he let my son live. And sometimes I would think, maybe God plays no part in this at all. Maybe this is not his job, this whole war and warrior thing.
Night after night I didn't sleep. Even before he left the United States I would watch the news all night, knowing full well the news we got at home was seldom accurate and almost always incomplete, and my mind would wander to all the places it shouldn't.
I foolishly signed up for the online news alerts, including the Department of Defense causality releases. One after another would pop into my email. "The Department of Defense announced today the death of a Marine who was supporting Operation Iraqi Freedom"...Day after day until I could no longer read the names of someone's son or husband or father and my head hurt just looking at the first few words.
My son was able to call me from Iraq on a few occasions. He always assured me he would be fine and I wanted to believe him. I wanted to tell him he better be... but I carefully chose my words every time we spoke just incase it was the last.
I asked him once about a unit that had suffered many losses and if he thought it was a leadership problem. "No" he said. "Sometimes mom, it's just sh!t luck."
That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted to believe that he had some control over things. I hoped his intelligence alone would bring him back home to his family in one piece. But I knew he was right.
I kept thinking back to the fear I felt when he first told me he was joining the Marine Corps. Pride never did out-weigh the fear. When he went to boot camp I was grief-stricken the whole thirteen weeks and when my friends compared his time at boot camp to their kids going away to college I truly wanted to rip their heads off their shoulders. I kept thinking that perhaps the grief I felt was a premonition.
Halfway through his deployment when we were just starting to see light at the end of the tunnel, we received word that the unit would be extended. The seven month deployment would be extended anywhere from 60-120 days. The odds of him not being injured or worse increased in my mind if not in reality. The sleepless nights grew longer and the one-ton elephant on my chest became a two-ton humvee. I became even more obsessive about care packages, baking cookies and finding ways to get him all the foods he loved. The sense of powerlessness was overwhelming.
My daughter-in-law and I talked on the phone two, three, sometimes four times a day. Our mutual love for him was the common denominator that allowed us to support one another so completely. We held each other up on days I know neither one of us could lift a feather we were so weak with fear. She became my best friend. My confidant.
During the deployment my son periodically had access to the Internet. His communications with me during those times were what sustained me the rest of the time. He was always his witty self and we rarely talked about anything related to his job but instead about the house, cooking, crazy animal antics or furniture moving mishaps. I would go back to those instant messages that I learned to save and read them days later looking for hints of despair or signs of stress. I saw only my own.
Thankfully, time did not stand still. On May 5th, 2007 my son and a couple hundred of his friends stepped off the bus in California. His beautiful bride found him in that crowd of hundreds and ran into his arms. My anticipation of seeing him was not unlike the day he was born. I hugged him as hard as I could as long as I could without looking like a mom over the edge. I did a quick check for any new scars on his face or hands and was relieved to see none. My eyes watered, but I did not sob or pass out or wail like I thought I might. And now I am relieved to say; I don't have to die. No more melodrama for me please.
The interesting thing is that the fear has not passed. It's like a bad cold that will not go away. I told my son to expect me to keep worrying for a while. I will tell him to be careful driving, skateboarding, swimming, walking, and breathing. He understands I think when I just have to say to him; tie your shoes son, so you don't trip and break your neck. Okay?
Katie Wigington
Please Tie Your Shoes.
I have always told my son to tie his shoes or he might fall and break his neck or don't run with that stick or you will poke out an eye. It's almost our family joke, "I know mom, tie my shoes or I will fall and poke out an eye." He kids with me, but my fear has always been genuine.
In September of 2006 my fear increased about 500 percent, my world turned upside down and I thought my life was coming to an end. I was not afraid of my dying; in my mind it was my only choice if, God forbid, anything were to happen to my son and he died before me. I figured I would be five minutes behind him; that my heart would just stop.
I could never explain how this felt to someone who had not been there except to say imagine someone had just blindfolded your baby and set him on U.S. Interstate 80, or 95 or any freeway and left him there in the dark. Now imagine someone shooting at him too.
In reality, my baby had been sent to Iraq in his third year of his four-year active duty commitment to the United States Marine Corps. My son, the rifleman, was deployed to Iraq for seven months.
The weeks leading up to that day were the worst. Every fear magnified a million times by what I didn't know and more importantly what I did know. Having been a peripheral part of the Marine Corps community for nearly three years, I knew one thing. Any mother's son can die. I think most of us military parents go through the numbers game and the endless questions in our heads. When was the last time someone in my family died? Are we due? When was the last time I prayed? Is it too late? What if something happens to him? Will I feel it or will I have to wait for the knock at my door? And I thought; will my daughter in law be able to call me or will she be so devastated that she curls up in a ball and I won't know for hours?
My thoughts were always wandering to the dark places. I felt melodramatic at times and other times simply practical. Rarely was there a moment of time when my son was not on my mind. He was my first and last thought everyday. I struggled through conversations with God not wanting to appear that I was asking anything for myself, even though I was. I also didn't want God to think that I was a hypocrite and that I would start to go to church all of a sudden if he let my son live. And sometimes I would think, maybe God plays no part in this at all. Maybe this is not his job, this whole war and warrior thing.
Night after night I didn't sleep. Even before he left the United States I would watch the news all night, knowing full well the news we got at home was seldom accurate and almost always incomplete, and my mind would wander to all the places it shouldn't.
I foolishly signed up for the online news alerts, including the Department of Defense causality releases. One after another would pop into my email. "The Department of Defense announced today the death of a Marine who was supporting Operation Iraqi Freedom"...Day after day until I could no longer read the names of someone's son or husband or father and my head hurt just looking at the first few words.
My son was able to call me from Iraq on a few occasions. He always assured me he would be fine and I wanted to believe him. I wanted to tell him he better be... but I carefully chose my words every time we spoke just incase it was the last.
I asked him once about a unit that had suffered many losses and if he thought it was a leadership problem. "No" he said. "Sometimes mom, it's just sh!t luck."
That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted to believe that he had some control over things. I hoped his intelligence alone would bring him back home to his family in one piece. But I knew he was right.
I kept thinking back to the fear I felt when he first told me he was joining the Marine Corps. Pride never did out-weigh the fear. When he went to boot camp I was grief-stricken the whole thirteen weeks and when my friends compared his time at boot camp to their kids going away to college I truly wanted to rip their heads off their shoulders. I kept thinking that perhaps the grief I felt was a premonition.
Halfway through his deployment when we were just starting to see light at the end of the tunnel, we received word that the unit would be extended. The seven month deployment would be extended anywhere from 60-120 days. The odds of him not being injured or worse increased in my mind if not in reality. The sleepless nights grew longer and the one-ton elephant on my chest became a two-ton humvee. I became even more obsessive about care packages, baking cookies and finding ways to get him all the foods he loved. The sense of powerlessness was overwhelming.
My daughter-in-law and I talked on the phone two, three, sometimes four times a day. Our mutual love for him was the common denominator that allowed us to support one another so completely. We held each other up on days I know neither one of us could lift a feather we were so weak with fear. She became my best friend. My confidant.
During the deployment my son periodically had access to the Internet. His communications with me during those times were what sustained me the rest of the time. He was always his witty self and we rarely talked about anything related to his job but instead about the house, cooking, crazy animal antics or furniture moving mishaps. I would go back to those instant messages that I learned to save and read them days later looking for hints of despair or signs of stress. I saw only my own.
Thankfully, time did not stand still. On May 5th, 2007 my son and a couple hundred of his friends stepped off the bus in California. His beautiful bride found him in that crowd of hundreds and ran into his arms. My anticipation of seeing him was not unlike the day he was born. I hugged him as hard as I could as long as I could without looking like a mom over the edge. I did a quick check for any new scars on his face or hands and was relieved to see none. My eyes watered, but I did not sob or pass out or wail like I thought I might. And now I am relieved to say; I don't have to die. No more melodrama for me please.
The interesting thing is that the fear has not passed. It's like a bad cold that will not go away. I told my son to expect me to keep worrying for a while. I will tell him to be careful driving, skateboarding, swimming, walking, and breathing. He understands I think when I just have to say to him; tie your shoes son, so you don't trip and break your neck. Okay?
Katie Wigington
I'm sure people back home miss you! Tim, thank you for your protecting our country :thumbs: .