Remembering the Mothers

We sent off our oldest son, again, this morning. It never gets any easier. We all stood in a circle and held hands. I had my oldest son on one side and my youngest on the other. After the prayer two boys tried to barricade the door so the oldest one couldn’t leave. Tears were shed and my mother heart was happy and sad and worried and joyful all at the same time.

On this Memorial Day, I am remembering the mothers. Mothers who stood and waved and watched their boys go off– to war.

And then, his spot at the table was empty. His bed wasn’t slept in. The family row at church had one vacant spot. One less voice rang out in song.

The mother looked out her window and her mind’s eye saw a shadow of a boy running past, climbing trees, and catching frogs. She knew in her heart that he was now doing what she had raised him to do. He was answering the call of duty. And so was she. She had sent him off to be a man and stand strong in spite of his fears. To serve his country and fight for a cause he believed in. Possibly to even give his life-blood.

Every day at home he was loved and prayed for. Every day, they were watching and waiting for his return.

Those mothers and those boys were regular folks, just like us. May we be inspired to raise our sons to know honor and right and duty, and to stand strong for what they believe in. They are born to be conquerors, fighters, dragon-slayers. They too must answer the call of duty, whatever that may be for them. There is much to be fought for.

May we never, ever forget.

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