An Open Letter To My Military Child
As I write this, tears are welling in my eyes. You, my military child, are 4. Where did my little guy go?
You are none the wiser. You fell asleep a couple hours ago, the words, “I love you, too” barely out before dreamland summoned you.
Four. I’m sure it seems like time has dragged on. You have, after all, been talking about your birthday all year long. But for me, for your Dad, this year has come and gone like a lightning bolt.
Why was it so fast for us, and not for you?
Buddy, you have been through so much in the past year. You lived in every moment. Your Dad and I, we had moments of trying to soak it all up with you, and others when we thought we were too busy. But you always redirected our attention to the fun, the exciting, the mesmerizing. Thank you.
It’s a beautiful outlook you have, and one that served you well through our first military move.
You were home with us when the packers arrived, but you left for preschool shortly after. When you came home and saw all of your toys packed up, you were surprised, but you took it in stride.
When we spent the next week sleeping on air mattresses, you saw it as a campout adventure. Dad and I were tired, but we couldn’t help smiling with you.
You were a champ on the road trip from New York to Texas. It was a lot of time in the car, but you napped soundly, and you were thrilled with the stops in New York City, Nashville, and New Orleans. I think the carriage rides in each city were your favorite part of the trip.
When we arrived at our last stop, a hotel that would be our home for six weeks, all you wanted to do was explore. The emotions hit later.
You snuggled up to me as you do at bedtime, and my heart broke for you. I knew you’d make lots of new friends, but in that moment, you missed the ones you left in New York. That was all you, my big-hearted military child, could think about.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Change is not your favorite, but like me, you take a beat to feel all the things, and then you do just fine.
And that’s what happened.
You learned to ride a bike with training wheels in the hotel parking lot.
You tried new foods in the hotel lobby.
You jumped from bed to bed in our room.
And the long-awaited day that the movers delivered our stuff, you were the bravest I’d ever seen you. I’d made a new friend who had kids your age, and asked if you could spend the day with them. You walked in, said hi to everyone, and ran off to play without saying goodbye.
That’s just who you are, buddy. You make friends easily, as many military kids do. You love them right away and with your whole heart. But what’s even more impressive is that you understand that some kids take time to warm up. You’re patient with them and happy to offer a wave instead of a hug or share space but play separately. It’s incredible; some adults don’t recognize boundaries as well as you do.
But that was only the first half of the year.
You were only 1 year old when your Dad was at JRTC. It wasn’t a conversation I had with you. Soon after we moved into our new home, we found out he had to leave again. Your Dad and I didn’t know how to tell you about the deployment that would keep him away for your birthday, Christmas, and so many other special days.
We showed you our home and the place where he was going on a map. We tried to explain time zones. Confusing, for sure. Most kids don’t learn about those until they are a bit older.
Video calls seem to help a lot, but what amazes me is that you let me know when a video call is too hard, and you need to snuggle your Daddy Doll (and me) instead.
Sometimes you let me know what you need, easily and with words. Other times, the emotions are heavy. You don’t have the words. But you let me know with your tears and tugging on my sleeve. I hope that I’m giving you what you need in those moments. Thank you for (usually) being patient with me.
You’ve been through so much in your four years, my little sir.
You know your Dad and I love you—to the sun and the moon and the stars and back.
We are proud of you.
I hope that when we celebrate with your friends today, you will see how much they (and their parents) love you, too. We are all here to help you through the ups, downs, and unknowns of this military life.
You didn’t choose it, and it is really hard. But today is about you. Let’s focus on celebrating your birthday (yes, it’s finally here!) and eating that cake!
I’M NOT CRYING– YOU’RE CRYING! Your “Little Sir” is a trooper– as are most of our military kiddos. So grateful that we get to be just a little bit of your story in this season. Happy Birthday, Little-Big Man! (And congrats to his mama for 4 yrs of keeping him going).