When a Son Goes Off to War

When a Son Goes Off to War

By http://my.barackobama.com/page/community/person/gGZQbf">Marla Turner - Jul 18th, 2008 at 11:58 pm EDT
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When I first heard Barack speak at the convention in 2004, I was enchanted and excited. I asked the question out loud, "who IS this guy" to no one in particular because I had never heard anyone talk like that, not ever. There was a sense of familiarity about him and I felt like we were connected in some way that was not at all logical and yet entirely plausible. I thought his stance on Iraq was spot on and was pleased to know that there was someone of position who believed that the invasion had been a terrible mistake. I did not yet realize how much those words would come to mean to me.

In 2005 my then 22-year old son enlisted in the Marines. Not a typical recruit, he already had two years of college under his belt, was living on his own, and had a job with managerial responsibilities. The day he called to say that he wanted to come over to talk about something important had me thinking a lot of things – none of which had to do with the military.

We sat together at the table in my sunny kitchen while I listened to the setup: “I know you’re not going to like this”. When he was done, I sat in stunned silence, digging my fingernails into my palms so I wouldn’t cry while I tried to collect my thoughts. You know how they say a life can flash before your eyes? It’s true. I saw it all in an instant - starting with the day he was born, him waving goodbye on the first day of kindergarten, struggling over his math homework, his first date, being fitted for his prom tux, waxing his car, high school graduation, and then a glimpse of a flag-draped coffin.

He had expressed interested in joining the service right out high school and we dissuaded him. Many of his buddies signed up and I think he was looking for a way to stay connected with them. Or maybe he was looking for an out where college was concerned. Regardless, as I sat there with him that afternoon I realized that this boy of mine had truly become a man. He obviously felt strongly enough about his decision that he was willing to risk the disappointment of his parents and family. So strongly that he didn’t tell me he was thinking about going into the service; he told me after he had already signed the dotted line.

He went on to complete the Marine’s boot camp, a feat I could not have accomplished even at my youngest and fittest. Right after that, George W. Bush decided to “surge” and my son was one of the 25,000 additional Marines sent to Iraq. Because of his deployment, we missed out on family occasions that cannot be recreated. My husband and I missed seeing our only son marry. And he and his wife missed out on spending their first year of married life together. He missed seeing his sister and only sibling graduate from high school and go off to college. He missed the 90th birthday party for his great-grandmother and shortly thereafter, her funeral. He also missed the funeral of his grandfather. He missed his best friend, who he lost track of when the friend was also sent to Iraq. He missed his family as he spent his 23rd birthday in 135-degree weather courtesy of the Iraqi desert and the United States government. And though the rest of us were able to experience those occasions together, our capacity to connect, to bond, to create memories over those experiences was diminished because we were not the same family in his absence. Who knows how different our experiences might have been had he been there with us?

Next month he deploys again. Only this time we don’t know for sure where he’s going. Iraq? Afghanistan? The mind threatens to think of places even worse than that (thanks, Dubbya). It seems crazy to me that more troops are being sent there right now when we know that in a few months President Obama is going to begin bringing them home.

And so we wait. But we pretend like we're not waiting. We talk and joke and ask the usual, "how was your day?" questions. We know its coming but there's nothing we can do about it, so we're just trying to be as normal as possible.

We try not to ask too many questions. We know he can’t answer many of the things we really want to know. So we talk about the safe stuff; where will you store your new truck? How much notice do you have to give the movers? Do you know when you’re leaving? It's tough to ask the hard stuff, because, after all, how do you say it? "Son, have you drawn up a will?" "What kind of funeral do you want?" And "Is there anyone in particular you'd like to be a pall bearer?"

So, we keep our fears to ourselves and try to think positively. We want him to know that we love and support him and even though we’re different without him, we're not going to fall apart in his absence. We want him to know that we'll be there for him every step of the way because, God forbid, if something happens and his survival is threatened, we want him to remember that he has lots to come home to so that he fights hard to stay alive. And although I know he knows, I don't even tell him how I feel about this terrible horrific war anymore, because I know that it is inconsistent with the doctrine he has to believe in order to do the job required of him.

The only thing I tell him is that I love him and I’m very, very proud of the man he has become.

And I count the days until President Obama brings him home.

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