Watching, Waiting, and Praying

My son, Sgt Devildog, and his unit are in training, getting ready to deploy...somewhere. Since his last deployment, he's moved up to a leadership position. This summer, he was meritoriously promoted after he won his Battalion's Corporals' board and he's now a squad leader for a Marine infantry unit. (Can you tell that I'm extremely proud of him?) It's that pride in his demonstrated leadership and his accomplishments that conflicts with my mother's instinct to protect him and keep him safe. Even though I want to protect him in any way I can, I know that he has chosen a dangerous career. I know that he loves what he does, and genuinely cares about "his" Marines and "his" mission. I know that he is a "Marine" through-and-through; even if I don't fully understand all that being a "Marine" entails. (I was a rear-echelon Air Force attorney, after all.) So as mom, I will support him while he's deployed, in any way I can. I'll stock up on boxes for care packages. I'll write letters and emails and send cards. I'll even pretend I can bake. But I'll also worry, wait, and pray. He is my son, after all. In my mind, this 6-foot-something Marine is still my little boy. I held him, nursed him, diapered him, and comforted him when he cried. I went to numerous football and baseball games to cheer for him. I helped him with his spelling words and pretended I understood basic math. I kissed his hurts and praised his accomplishments. I love him as only a mother can love her child. I know and understand that he's now a man; an intelligent, strong, and self-reliant man with a family of his own, but he'll always be my little boy. So I'll watch the news, wait for his return, and pray for his safety.