While my soldier is gone every unexpected knock at the door sends my imagination into overdrive. I discovered a poet by the name of May Hill recently. She is a mother from World War II who writes poetry about her son, her thoughts, and her prayers. Every time I stumble upon an author whose view point was of waiting from the homefront it is such a treat. No matter how many decades separate us there is a bond between those who are left behind.
In the past few months I have thought a lot about what it must be like to send a son or daughter to war. I’ve sent a husband but never a child. This last year I have watched friends say goodbye to their children with a good mix of pride and fear. I’ve felt that. A decade into this world they know what is at stake.
There is so much waiting and anticipation. Waiting for a phone call, letter, just a simple “Hey mom I’m breathing” is such a welcome message.
I haven’t posted in awhile but I was wanting to let all of you know about a special event I’ve been working on that is near and dear to my heart.
Help Rudy get his therapy bike!
Join us for a spaghetti dinner, stay and eat or take it to go.
T-shirts and desert will be available to purchase. All proceeds go to the purchase of Rudy’s bike.
Pray for these 33. Pray for their families. Pray for America that we see, report, and cry out for those who are oppressed.
So it has begun. The long nights, the waiting anxiously to hear from my husband. It feels at times like the challenge is just to get from this day to our reuniting. The in-between is just what we endure as we wait.
That’s not good enough for me.
If he is gone 1 day or 500 days each one is still a gift. I refuse to allow those days, weeks, and months to be stolen by worry.
Each and every day I want to awake in the morning and lie down at night knowing that today… today was and is a good day.
