http://open.salon.com//blog/southseattlegal/2010/08/04/sending_a_child_to_warSending a Child to War
Barbara Napier
He clung to me as he did when he was a child and wanted to be taken with me, to the store or the gym, wherever I was going. Then I would have to pry him off to get out the door. But now I did not want to pry him away, I wanted to hold him tighter, to make him a part of me again when I had been able to keep him safe for so many months. It felt that way like the most important part of me was being torn away and I would give anything to keep him...hide him... where he could not be found.
The goodbyes had started months before. Each time "my soldier" my son had to leave for that last bit of training that the military had deemed necessary preparation for the killing fields. Wherever they were, whoever was killing or dying in this particular time. I knew in my soul that each of these preceding departures were not goodbye, not the goodbye and I refused to be the one who made it more difficult by crying. So I didn't. Until now because now I knew this was the time. Standing outside of those old WWII Army barracks, in that North Carolina night with the sound of crickets screaming, at such a volume that I knew they must be everywhere.
Finally I pulled myself away from him, because I knew I had to and the longer I clung the more I prolonged our pain. Now it was time for him to turn to his Dad, along with me he had several times seen his son off on less serious deployments, but those times knew that he would certainly see him in a few weeks or months. This was different we all knew it. There were no words exchanged between father and son on that late September night, no words I can recall being spoken, but I could hear the sobs, floating in the humid air and saw just the shadowy outline of the two bodies holding each other as they shook and swayed loosing their balance in the passion of goodbye. It was after all finally that.
snip//
The day he deployed from South Carolina we had to board a plane home (to Washington) without our first born. My husband made a comment something about drinking until he couldn't think. I know I heard the words, I don't remember exactly what he said but before the sentence had fully left his mouth he broke down. I had expected this from him at some point, but was not prepared for the overwhelming emotional effect it would have on me. I finally had to ask him to stop, it was wrong of me I wish I had let him cry. "You have got to stop, please." It was too much... that he also knew that this was a horrible thing we were doing. We were about to get on a plane and go home and let our son leave on another plane to a place where other people's sons (and daughter’s) just like him, no better, no worse, were dying almost daily. Those children’s parents loved them just as much, prayed and cried every bit as hard. And yet here we were letting him go and what choice did we have? It is a basic parental instinct to protect your child, strip that ability away from any parent and it is enough to drive them mad.
And so we went home. And we waited for word; every day as more were killed and injured (severely in many cases) we watched the news and hoped to hear that it was not his operating base that was hit. Not his unit not a soldier from Washington. There is a grateful and guilty sense of relief in learning that it is someone else’s child and not your own that now lies dead or injured on a battlefield far away, in a place we can't imagine.