Life of a Military Mom

This month I’ve found myself reflecting deeply on the military—what it means to our country, but also what it has meant to me personally as a mother.

My son started college in the fall of 2021. He was my first child to leave the nest. Those early days were hard, but having him close by helped. He adjusted to residence hall life—new roommate, new routines, the typical whirlwind of freshman year. We visited often, went to football games, and like most college kids, his first real trip home was for Thanksgiving break.  I remember the moment vividly. I was sitting in a Mexican restaurant with my girlfriends when my phone rang.

“Mom, I joined the Army…I leave for basic training in January.”

He was already on his way home. I was stunned.  Over Thanksgiving break he talked about his roommate, who was already in the Kansas National Guard and then told us he was joining to be a military police officer. Everything after that felt like a blur.

My dad had served in the Navy, but it wasn’t something he spoke much about—other than the fact that they served too much chicken, which explained our lack of chicken dinners growing up. That was the extent of my military knowledge.  Thankfully, I worked with two Marines who patiently answered a million questions. I had friends who had served, and moms with deployed kids, who helped fill in the gaps. But it was still a whole new world I was entering.

I wrote often in my journal during that transition. One night, stands out sharply in my memory—his arrival at Fort Leonard Wood. If any moms out there use Life360, you know exactly what I mean. I watched him all day: from MCI to St. Louis, along the interstate, all the way to base. My husband and I joked that he made it to St. Louis before we even made it back to Pittsburg.  And then he reached Fort Leonard Wood…and suddenly the location disappeared. My lifeline to my child was cut off. I felt helpless in a way I’d never felt before.  And then he called. In the middle of the night.  “I’m here. I’m safe. I’ll call when I can.” Click.  No emotion. No comfort. Just protocol.  I sobbed. My heart broke into pieces.  That moment changes a mother. It still sits inside me in a place I can’t fully explain.  We made it through basic training and AIT. My little boy came home a man—disciplined, mature, changed. We were so proud, and I was so relieved to hold him again.

Then came news of his deployment, to a part of the world where conflict was almost certain. But this time, I was better prepared. I had learned the rhythms of military life—the secrets, the silence, the waiting, the not knowing. He saw places I will never see, lived in heat I hope never to feel, met people from cultures we only read about. It was a long year, but once again, when he returned to my arms, there was a relief and safety I can’t describe.

Today, I am the proud mom of an Army Sergeant. He has worked hard not only for his future and ours, but for his country.  Recently I began reading The Women by Kristin Hannah—a historical fiction book rooted in the real experiences of the women who served in Vietnam hospitals. I’m grateful I picked it up, and even more grateful I didn’t read it while my son was deployed. It stirred something deep in me and made me reflect even more on military service—its sacrifices, its costs, its silent burdens.  And as a therapist, I see the injustices our veterans continue to face. The red tape. The barriers to mental health care. The staggering suicide numbers—6,407 veterans in the United States in 2022.

Now during the government shutdown, some military families face missed paychecks, lost insurance, and even food insecurity. None of this is acceptable.  I am thankful my son has support and resources. Many do not.  So as we prepare for Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, I hope we all take a moment to reflect on the men and women who serve—and on the families who serve silently alongside them. Most people will never truly understand what they endure. But I can tell you, as the mother of a soldier: it is a lot and they deserve better.