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The Mourning Mother
We who sit and wait for the call
There is so much about being the mother of a son who is in the military that I cannot process. With the fighting in Ukraine, the injustice of war is at the forefront of my mind. He is not there. He is not even leaving the US anytime soon. But, his friends are there. They are somewhere near the border. And their mothers are my friends. I cannot separate myself from their inner turmoil.
I have my own wars I have been fighting, lately. These battles happening elsewhere just add to the grief. There seems to be no end to it. If it’s not my divorce, it’s the pandemic, or the total destruction of mine and millions of other small businesses, and the lost of lives of loved ones.
But now, we focus on war. This war is not internal. It’s not my divorce and all of the injustices around it. It’s far away, although it’s really not.
As I sat in mass last night, honoring Ash Wednesday, I could not help but think of my son. He was at mass at that same hour in North Carolina with his beautiful girlfriend, soon to be fiance. I realized how blessed I am. I sat there with a wonderful man. I had a hand to hold, an arm around me, and the knowledge that my son-even though he is far away-is safe and happy. But even at that, tears rolled down my cheeks at times. I miss him. Every. Damn. Day.
