What No One Tells You About Loving Someone You Can't Protect

The Weight of the Gear

I remember in 2008 when my son Andrew was a 2nd Lt in the Marine Corps, deployed to Afghanistan on a forward operating base. I visited him before he left, in Twentynine Palms, Southern California. I tried on his backpack and gear. It was so heavy I could barely stand up wearing it.

Andrew smiled and said, "Mom, you don't even have a weapon on you."

My younger son, Rob, was a student at UCLA at the time, so I flew into Ontario airport, and he picked me up on the way to 29 Palms -- a mother-son trip before Andrew shipped out. We ate as much Mexican food as we could find. We drove by the hospital where Rob was born. We looked for our old home nearby and drove past it slowly.

I could not have imagined, in my wildest dreams, that both of my sons would one day be in combat. That my two beautiful little boys would grow up and become Marines.

What I Already Knew

I remember the day I learned Andrew had joined the Marine Corps and that Rob -- who had a Navy ROTC scholarship to UCLA -- had chosen the Marine Corps option. I remember bursting into tears, fear washing over me from every direction. The only thing I knew about Marines were they wore outstanding uniforms and they were the first to get shot at. 

I had no say. And I knew it. But I remember a conversation in the car when I said, "I know you've decided." But I want you to hear my perspective. I am not some overly emotional mother who is simply terrified. I am someone who just returned from Germany, where I counseled family members and soldiers coming back from Iraq. Some came back with no legs.

I sat through the memorial services. I've stared at the rifle in the boots, detached and numb, wondering how life would be for their families. 

I've seen the blank stares on the faces of men returning from Iraq for "reintegration." I shook their hands. I could see the stunned, vacant look...the one that makes anything any of us could say about not drinking or taking it easy seem almost laughable to them. They sat through the lectures and endured them because they were commanded to be there. That is what I saw.

So I asked them: What will you do when you see your buddy blown up by an IED? What if you come back with no legs? How will you handle that?

They were kind. They were patient. They said, "We've thought about it, Mom. We're willing to take that chance."

What I Wrote at 12:30AM and Never Published

What follows is a piece I wrote on June 18, 2008, at 12:30 in the morning. I never published it. I found it again recently, and I think it belongs here now.

My son is in a war zone, and I can't sleep tonight.

We haven't heard from Andrew since May 30. That's 19 days. Four Marines were killed on Saturday, and  I'm freaked out tonight more than usual.

Three days ago, I was sitting on a metal chair in front of a Quiznos in Los Banos, California. We were on our way back from LA, from Rob's graduation. On the phone, Andrew's girlfriend Nicole says: Did you hear that four Marines were killed yesterday, and they're still waiting to notify the families?

My mind raced wildly. We haven't been home for two days. The Marines in their uniforms who knock on the door to deliver the news...maybe they couldn't find us. They wouldn't have been able to find us.

And then I heard Nicole say: Andrew is okay.

It's 12:30 in the morning. My son is in a combat zone. He is somewhere I can't find on a map, somewhere Google doesn't know about. How is he managing 50 or 60 Marines? He's only 25. How are they living? Is the Taliban firing rockets at them? Does he have anything besides MREs to eat? Where do they get water? 

My son is in Afghanistan, and I can't sleep tonight.

Nicole says she heard from someone on his base that they'll deploy again to Iraq in September next year. I ask myself, lying awake, "How will I do this?" Rob will be deployed in 2010. How is it possible that a mother can have two sons deployed? How can that be?

I tell myself Marines are trained extremely well. I tell myself Andrew knows what to do. I tell myself he will be okay.

Yesterday I mailed a package to him. Cheezits, red cinnamon vines, pistachios, and hand wipes. His books. His maritime magazines. The woman at the post office put a smiley face on his box to thank him for his service. She told me he would be okay, come back, and live a long life. I fought back tears. It was one of the most powerful things anyone could say to me. She was the mother of a son who had been deployed the year before. She got it.

My son is in a combat zone, and I can't sleep tonight.

Can you help me? I silently asked the Universe. 

Of course. What do you need?

I need to have my son back safe and sound. I need peace so I can sleep tonight.

This is the ultimate letting go. 

When you can't protect your child, you have to surrender and trust.

I was startled when I saw this photo of Andrew for the first time 

Nearly 20 Years Later

We did three deployments to Afghanistan. I say "we" because the families go through the deployment too...not on the battleground, but at home, wearing an invisible cloak of dread. Waiting for the knock on the door. Waiting for someone in a uniform to say, "Ma'am, we regret to inform you."

We were the lucky ones. They came back. Physically unscathed. Mentally and emotionally...I think they're okay. But some of the men they led did not come back. One lost his leg. He saved my son's life, fiercely firing from the turret while another Marine bandaged his leg after it had been hit by an RPG.

I think about the Gold Star families often...the families whose service member did not return.  I wonder how they feel right now, watching this new war unfold. The one in Iran. The one that is illegal. The one our president cannot give a straight answer about...why he started it, what it is for, and who it serves.

For me, it brings it all back. The terror. The stress. The helplessness of a mother who cannot protect her children.

And I keep asking: For what? Why are young men and women going to war...much less to fight in a war that no one wanted except those who can profit from it?

What about the innocent girls killed at that school in Iran? What about their mothers? Innocent people dying now because of one man's decision? The insanity of it. The cruelty of it.

Military families are one of a kind. They are fierce and strong, and they carry the weight of wars that most people never think about. Trust me when I say that every parent right now who has someone deployed to Iran or the Middle East is lying awake at 12:30 in the morning asking: Will they come back? Will I see them again?

That is the deepest lesson I have learned and continue to grapple with. When you can't protect your child, you have to let go. You have to surrender and trust that they will come back to you.

We are the lucky ones...the ones who get to see their grandchildren. And I am grateful every single day. 

My son Rob returned from his Afghanistan deployment in 2011. One of the happiest days for me. 

I still lie awake sometimes. Not for Andrew and Rob anymore...they made it back. But for the mothers who are lying awake tonight, the way I did. For the families wearing that invisible cloak of dread right now, waiting for a knock on the door that they pray never comes.

For all the innocent people who have been displaced, who've lost loved ones, the people who fear for their lives because of the idiocy of men who treat human lives as collateral in their pursuit of power and money...men who have never worn the gear, never knocked on a door, never waited by a phone for 19 days.

This is what war costs. Not just lives...though God knows that's enough. It costs the sleep of every mother, every father, every partner who loves someone they cannot protect.

So if you have someone in your life who is carrying that weight right now, acknowledge them. Bring a meal. Send a text. Let them know they are not invisible.

And if you are against this war, say so...loudly, repeatedly, to the people who have the power to end it.

Save your representatives as favorites on your phone. Call them. Visit 5calls.org for scripts.

Show up to the No Kings March on March 28...find the closest one here: NO KINGS MARCH

I'm not going down without fighting. For my grandchildren. For democracy. For every mother lying awake tonight asking the same question I couldn't stop asking in 2008.

How many will die now? I refuse to stop asking.