April 29

April 29 marks a day in the life of this mom that I keep in my mind's eye, tucked away for safe keeping. It was just two years that my oldest son departed for the Air Force. April 29, 2010. It had been marked on the calendar for months, staring at me. As a parent, you fear the unknown, but in this case, I already knew the torrent of emotions coming for me. I had been through this before.

When Tyler joined the Army two years prior to Tim's departure, I fell almost completely to pieces. Okay, completely to pieces. At one point, I was sitting inside my closet, crying to my sister on the phone. Fear of the unknown, loss of parental dreams, and probably shock, consumed me completely.

Tim's case was a little bit different. He was older when he enlisted. Having gone to college and graduated the year before, I felt a little better. He had been sheltered at college, but he was not a baby in my eyes. I felt he was more ready to go. Whether I was right or wrong, I have no clue. I can only say what I felt. 

We always say that Tim needed more prodding to get going as a child. When he got on the bus for kindergarten, he was hesitant. We had to nudge him forward and say, with a huge, fake smile pasted on, "Go on honey. You'll be fine." When Tyler got on the same kindergarten bus three years later, he didn't even so much as look over his shoulder at us. He flipped his hand in the air, like he was saying "Later, guys! You'll be fine." We went in the house and cried.

It should have surprised no one that Tyler went first to the military. Tim always checked things out thoroughly before taking action, really testing the waters. Tim waited politely to be lifted out of his crib. He hesitated before hopping on that bus. He weighed the military and the branches strongly before he went.

Tyler climbed out of his crib, again and again. We couldn't contain Tyler as a toddler. He climbed on the windowsills. As a teenager, he climbed out the windows. He jumped off the roof. It's a wonder any of us survived his childhood.

Tim eased us into parenting, in many ways. He gave us a chance to catch our breath I think. Funny the things that come to mind, years down the road.

So, when Tim left for the Air Force, it was knowing some of what lay ahead. For us, we knew how it would feel to watch him swear in, to say good bye for what seems like an eternity, and the joy of seeing him again. Our fear was perhaps less because we knew more. (Tim, call your brother, and thank him...)

I'll fast forward for you now. Today, Tim is serving as part of Tops in Blue, a group within the Air Force that provides entertainment and encouragement to military members (and families) world wide. If you'd like a closer look at Tops in Blue, visit Tim's website:  Tim Sentz. 

Some of the Tops in Blue Crew! My son, Tim, is on the very right in the photo.

Moment of Truth

Moment of Truth

While I was painting my kitchen the other day, I thought back to the last time I had painted it. It was December 26^th, four years and four months ago. While most families were playing with recently unwrapped gifts and toys, I was painting walls furiously. It was quiet in the house, too quiet, really. The entire family had been walking around on eggshells for months. And then the phone rang.

Tyler answered it, talked just low enough for me to be unable to make out his words. Then he called to me from the other room. “Mom, its Sergeant V. He wants to know when he came come by to talk to you and Dad.” Apparently, his Army recruiter thought a home visit would be more convenient.

I didn’t have to think about it at all. “When Hell freezes over, Tyler!” I shouted loud enough, I’m sure the sergeant could have heard me without benefit of the phone.

“Uh, yes, Sergeant? She’s not quite ready to talk to you… Sure, I’ll let you know when.” That’s my boy, blessed with the gift of understating the obvious.

And the paint fairly flew onto the walls. I painted yellow, green, plum. If it stood still, I slapped a coat of paint onto it. I couldn’t get enough painting done. For days and days I painted. Then winter recess ended and we went back to school and work. There, I avoided the unavoidable -- or so I thought.

Weeks went by, and the eggshells continued to be walked upon. At the same time, my husband and I had been discussing the ROTC option with Tyler. He pursued it; that felt like a better option. If he was set on going, I wanted him to go to college first. Tyler, though, continued to press the recruiter visit as well. I kept dodging him.

Finally, in complete frustration, Tyler laid it right on the line for me. “You just think your kid shouldn’t go. You don’t mind if other people’s kids go!” And there it was, the rubber meeting the road, right in my kitchen. I was too stunned to say anything. Was he right? Was I that person? Was I the person willing to enjoy freedom but not accept the risks and responsibilities that go with it? That was an epiphany for me.

Eventually I did go to meet Tyler’s recruiter. It was a snowy, blustery, frigid day. For me, Hell had indeed frozen over. I do believe I mentioned that upon entering the office. I wore black, head to foot, underwear included. My point was not lost on anyone.

After lengthy discussion, Sergeant V. asked if I would sign for Tyler, giving my permission. Sign my child’s life over? Very quietly he said, “I know what you’re afraid of.” How could he? At what, maybe 25 years old, how could he know?

“You’re afraid that you’ll sign, and if something happens, that will make it your fault.” I could not speak. He nailed it. Tears streamed down my face. How could I sign? How could I not?

Ultimately, it was never my decision. I could only choose to support my son or drive him further away. There was really no choice at all.