I want to write every single day, but all I want to write about is how much I miss my son. No one wants to read about how much I miss my son every single day.
When I received two letters from him earlier in the month, it was like opening the most amazing gift on Christmas morning. Even though I was sad and I missed him, I had his handwritten letters that I could read and know that he’s okay.
I have accepted the fact that I won’t be able to hear his voice, but I still need to know how he’s doing. I want to know how he’s holding up to the intense training. I want to know if he had his wisdom teeth pulled. I want to know if he has pneumonia like several other recruits in his platoon. I want to know that he’s getting through this and hopefully, that he’s thriving.
But the last time I received a letter from my son was on May 14th. Every day I wait for the mail. I think I hear the mail truck and I go running to the window to see if it’s there. My heart starts pounding. Surely, there’s a letter today. But for the past eleven days, there hasn’t been a letter.
So, I read the two that I have, over and over and over again.
“I miss you a lot. I didn’t think that I would, but I do.” He wrote. “I hope I hear from you soon.”
He didn’t know at the time he wrote that letter that I had started writing and sending letters to him daily. And I’ve been writing every day since.
But I’ve heard nothing from him in return.
The silence is hurting my heart.
“Hopefully today” is what I say every morning when I wake up.