PART 1 – My Mother Promised She Would Wear Crimson to My Wedding, But I Was Twelve When That Promise Became Impossible

I used to believe that if someone loved you enough, they would always find a way to come home.

I don't believe that anymore.

I learned it when I was twelve years old, sitting beside a telephone in my grandmother's house, waiting for my mother's next call.

My mother, Rachel, was an Army medic.

She had raised me alone in Boise, Idaho, and until the day she left for Iraq, I had never really understood what it meant to miss someone.

She was my whole world.

There was no father waiting at home.

No second parent to take her place when she was tired.

There was just Mom and me.

She knew everything about my little world.

She knew which school subjects I struggled with, what food I refused to eat, and exactly how to make me laugh when I was upset.

Sometimes she didn't even have to say anything.

One look at her face was enough.

That was the kind of mother she was.

Then came the deployment.

I remembered the days leading up to it more clearly than I wanted to.

There were bags to pack.

Things to arrange.

Conversations between adults that I didn't fully understand.

Grandma Ruth was going to take care of me while Mom was away.

Everyone kept telling me I would be fine.

I nodded because I didn't want anyone to think I was frightened.

But I was.

Terrified, actually.

The thought of waking up without my mother in the next room made my stomach hurt.

Mom tried to make everything sound ordinary.

She spoke about her deployment as though it were another responsibility she had to finish before returning to our regular life.

She reminded me that Grandma Ruth would be there.

She told me to keep doing my schoolwork.

She even reminded me not to leave things lying around the house.

Ordinary instructions.

The kind of things I had heard a hundred times before.

I didn't know those little reminders would become memories I would hold onto for years.

The day she left, I tried very hard not to cry.

I failed.

Mom pulled me close and held me for a long time.

I could smell her familiar perfume.

I remember pressing my face against her shoulder because I wanted to remember exactly how it felt.

She gently moved my hair away from my face.

"You're going to be all right, sweetheart."

I shook my head.

She smiled.

"I know this is hard. It isn't easy for me either."

I wanted to ask her not to go.

I wanted to tell her that whatever she needed to do, someone else could do it.

But I understood enough to know that my words wouldn't change anything.

So I hugged her again.

And then she was gone.

Grandma Ruth tried to keep me occupied.

She made sure I ate breakfast, got to school, and finished my homework.

She kept the house running.

She did everything a grandmother could do for a child whose mother was thousands of miles away.

But she couldn't replace Rachel.

Nobody could.

The telephone became the most important object in our house.

Whenever it rang, I looked up immediately.

I didn't care who was calling.

For one brief second, I always hoped it would be Mom.

Sometimes it was.

Those calls were never long enough.

Mom would tell me about the little things she could safely share.

She asked about school.

She asked whether Grandma Ruth was taking good care of me.

She wanted to know if I was eating properly.

I asked her when she was coming home.

She never seemed annoyed by the question.

She always answered as gently as she could.

"Just keep being my brave girl."

I tried.

I really did.

But sometimes, the moment I heard her voice, all the feelings I had been holding inside came rushing out.

I'd start crying.

I'd tell her I missed her.

I'd ask whether she missed me too.

And every time, she found a way to make me laugh.

She had a particular promise she liked to repeat.

She said she would not miss my wedding.

Not for anything.

She even knew what she wanted to wear.

A bright crimson dress.

She wanted it to stand out so I could recognize her immediately.

"Imagine me walking into the room in that dress," she told me during one call.

I laughed through my tears.

"Everyone will look at you."

"Good. Then nobody will miss me."

She sounded so certain.

I believed her.

I imagined that day sometimes.

I imagined growing up, finding someone I loved, and standing at the end of an aisle while my mother watched me.

I imagined her smiling.

I imagined the crimson dress.

I imagined everything going exactly as she said it would.

At twelve, I didn't understand how fragile those plans could be.

I thought the future was something we were guaranteed.

I didn't know that some promises were made with all the love in the world and still couldn't be kept.

Mom continued calling whenever she had the opportunity.

Her voice became something I waited for.

Even a short conversation could make an entire day feel easier.

Grandma Ruth noticed.

She never complained about how often I sat near the telephone.

She understood.

She had lost someone she loved, too.

One evening, after another call ended, I stayed beside the phone for several minutes.

I didn't want to move.

Grandma Ruth came and sat beside me.

"She loves you very much."

I nodded.

"I know."

And I did.

That was what made everything so difficult.

I knew my mother wanted to come home.

I knew she wanted to see me grow up.

I knew she had plans for us.

I held onto those things because they were the only things that made the distance bearable.

I didn't know that the next news we received would change the meaning of every promise she had made.

Click here to continue reading: PART 2: The Phone Call That Took My Mother Away Left Me With One Person Who Refused to Let Our Family Fall Apart