Wild Blue Yonder

My son was born on an U.S. Air Force base a little over 19 years ago in Albuquerque, New Mexico. This afternoon he stepped on a jet bound for San Antonio, Texas, to start basic training for the Air Force.

As I stood at the back of the ceremonial room watching him be sworn into active duty military service, I couldn't help but think back to that time.

He is the first grand child for my parents and consequently holds a special place. He's named after his grandfathers. One who he has never meant because he died shortly after his father and I married, the other who holds him as the idol of his eye. He carries his father's swagger and his mother's stubbornness. He is always the first to help a friend in need regardless of the cost to himself. I'm proud to call him my son.

I knew that one day he would leave. We raised him to be self sufficient, responsible, and to grab life by the horns and live it. Still it hasn't made it any easier watching him leave. Knowing I won't hear the "Love You Mom" nearly as frequent as I've grown accustomed to. That he won't be dropping by to peruse the refrigerator and inhale any unsuspecting leftovers. I'll even miss the petty squabbles between he and his younger brother.

A page was turned today, a chapter closed, a book completed. I hope he knows how much I love him and will miss him.