DrJ, we’re right where you are, right now. VelveteenKid accepted USMA last night over USNA and his two top-tier EA civilian schools. I’m trying not to retch. He has spent the past four years 3,000 miles away from home at a New England boarding school where service academies are not anyone’s first choice. We were counting on either a DQ or the low acceptance rate to make our angst moot, but here we are buckling up to support our only child on a tough ride. It never made any sense to argue with him as we knew he’d be 18 by the time any appointments were offered, so we’d have no say. Even suggesting that he might enjoy a more normal college experience if he went the (N)ROTC route was dismissed as he considers his LAC-like boarding school experience a “normal” college experience substitute.
So, today is day one for us in coming to terms with the fact that we will soon be a “military family.” I can barely write that. I have no qualms with the quality of the education at the academy, but I am terrified of the potential for the ultimate sacrifice. This past October, one of our son’s closest friends was killed in a jeep roll-over accident on the way back from a weekend camping trip. He was not wearing his seat belt; everyone else in the jeep walked away without serious injury. This boy’s death hit us all very hard. Over winter break, our son told me that he wanted to say a few things about my concern that he might make the ultimate sacrifice. He started off by saying, “Mom, if you’re ever standing before my flag-draped casket <mom-tears started here>, I want you to know that it’s OK to cry, it’s OK to grieve, but I want you to know that I won’t consider my death meaningless.” He went on to say, “You can have the comfort that I willingly chose this path fully understanding this potential consequence, and I’m OK with it. No matter how I died, even if it’s an accident or friendly fire, I died pursuing a cause I believe in, and that can never be meaningless.” He said a few other things, then he hugged me for a long time and said, “This hug is for that time if it ever comes. Remember this. I will be hugging you then in spirit and always, and I hope you will remember my words and not grieve in an empty way.” He was deeply affected by the “meaninglessness” of his friend’s death from not wearing his seatbelt and tried to reassure me that I should not fear whatever he may face. We held him close over the holiday, emotionally and physically.
I love my son fiercely and am finding meaning in every moment I have with him. He graduates June 7th and will be at the academy three weeks later. He’s never really coming home again, just a bit of leave here and there. I can barely breathe, but I will start hanging here for support as we start this journey and learn, along with you and all the other new SA parents here, what this commitment really means.
God bless us, every one.