A mother’s heart weeps in silence. The hardest trial for any loving mother is that very first parting with her son—the first one that is truly serious and painfully long. How do you survive it without breaking? How do you go on living through the separation, and where do you find the strength? This is the story of that journey, and so much more. That pivotal summer brought so much anxiety. Like any mother, I waited with a heavy chest and a racing heart for the moment my grown-up boy would face his first real trial in life. My eighteen-year-old son was getting ready to be drafted into the army. The days flew by so fast that the dates on the calendar blurred. With every page turned, the separation drew closer. Before I knew it, he was getting his photos taken, gathering paperwork, and passing his military medical boards. Then, his deployment date was set. So soon? He was brave. Incredibly brave. He made the choice to serve his country, just as a real man should. In the peaceful times that now belonged to a distant "before," he could have easily pulled some strings, found a loophole, or draft-dodged his way out of service. But my son chose the honest path. I waited for the day of his departure with a constant knot in my stomach. Meanwhile, he lived his final days of freedom to the absolute fullest, caught up in a whirlwind of events. He began spending nearly all his time with his girlfriend. The upcoming separation weighed heavily on them, yet they were certain their love would stand the test of time and distance. During their final photoshoot before he left, they looked stunning, like a bride and groom. He wore a pristine white shirt and black jeans; she was in a long, vibrant red dress. The pictures turned out gorgeous. They looked radiant. He didn't forget his friends, either. Many of his peers had also been drafted and were throwing send-off parties. It was during one of those nights that he got truly drunk for the first time in his life—completely wasted, drunk as a skunk, babbling and losing his lunch. Watching this amateur drinker was somewhat amusing, though cleaning up the aftermath was less so. But how could I not care for my boy? To me, he will always be my beloved child, even as he steps into manhood. There was also a warm farewell with the family. We gathered, a loud and lively crowd, at my husband's family home in the countryside. Back then, my in-laws were still with us. While our draftee was away serving, his grandmother passed away, and a year later, his grandfather followed her. It breaks my heart to think about it, but that is a story for another time. Back then, everyone was still alive and well. Aside from the three of us, both grandmothers, his grandfather, aunts, uncles, and cousins all came to see him off. There were long talks, words of wisdom, old memories, advice, and just the comfort of being together. And, of course, music. We couldn’t do without it. Since early childhood, my son’s heart had belonged to his art. Around the seventh grade, he asked for a guitar for his birthday. My husband and I thought it was just another passing phase, but it turned out to be a lifelong passion. Ten years later, he is still making music. But back then... Surrounded by his loved ones, he played and sang, pouring his heart out and building a reservoir of memories. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that those memories would feel terribly scarce once he was gone. About a week before his departure, a girl who studied at the music conservatory and wrote her own material unexpectedly reached out to him. That was how their duo was born, and they recorded a song called “When Will I Wake Up?” He tracked his vocals right before leaving. I was so grateful for that. “I’m so tired. When will I return? The old me, the one who didn't fall. The old me, who is still alive. I’ve waited so long to finally wake up.” Their track was released when my son was already far away, hundreds of miles from home. During my darkest hours of longing, I saved myself by playing it on repeat. I also listened to his covers of popular songs and rewatched his videos, grateful for anything that brought comfort to my anxious, aching heart. Letting go is an agonizing task. When you are buying essentials for the road, packing his duffel bag, and looking at this grown yet entirely inexperienced young boy, a lump rises in your throat. You understand the reality of what lies ahead and dread the hardships. After all, your son is far from perfect. He has always been hot-tempered, stubborn, quick to talk back, and prone to defying authority. I was terrified that his defiance would come back to haunt him out there. Every glance at him during the car ride to the enlistment office, the sight of his tear-stained girlfriend breaking my heart, the agonizing wait for his name to be called, and finally, the bus carrying my child away into the unknown—it all left a bitter taste of helplessness. From that moment on, every ring of the phone carried the desperate hope of hearing his voice. When he did call, I could tell he was exhausted and completely in the dark about what came next. But unlike me, he wasn't afraid. “Mom, nothing makes sense yet. They gave us our rations, uniforms, and duffel bags. We’re just waiting.” “A lot of guys have already shipped out. There’s only a few of us left. We're just waiting to be picked up by our units.” Then came a phone call at one in the morning, letting us know he was being sent to the other side of the country. It meant nearly two days of travel. But at the very least, he could still use his phone and freely share updates. And I was relieved. Infinitely grateful that we live in a digital age, unlike mothers just twenty years ago. The stories of mothers who went through this back then were far bleaker. Today, we have the chance to stay connected, even if it’s only once a week. Back then, they had to rely on letters that could get lost, delayed, or arrive long after the fact. And paper... what can a scrap of paper truly tell you? It cannot convey the whole truth. But the voice of your own child, even through the slightest shift in tone, tells you exactly how things are. When you’ve known your son since he lay in swaddling clothes, you can read his mood with absolute precision. At first, things went well. Yes, it was tough and unfamiliar, but manageable. The training program, the drills, the strict routine, and the discipline. The lack of freedom and the absence of everyday comforts. My husband and I became regulars at the local post office, shipping out one care package after another. Every time my son called, he had a running shopping list of treats and essentials—like tactical gloves or new guitar strings. Yes, even in the army, he couldn’t live without music. He kept a notebook filled with military chords, though he slipped his favorite songs in there, too. Once, he asked me to send him the lyrics and chords to a bunch of tracks. I scribbled down the titles in a frantic rush, my handwriting so messy I could barely decipher it myself afterward. But that was the easy part. The real challenge came next: I had to print out the actual sheet music. Over the course of his service, I printed and mailed about a hundred pages. It was a grueling task, but there is nothing a mother won't do for her son. Time kept moving. They say time heals all wounds, and eventually, the sharp edge of my ache began to dull. I stopped crying into my pillow while staring into his empty bedroom, where the lights no longer turned on in the evenings. Instead, I lived for his calls, listened to his voice in his music, and kept my own countdown. As New Year’s approached, it meant we were about to hit the halfway point. From then on, the clock would start ticking backward. It was a small victory, though milestones like that often bring a wave of melancholy. And what of the romantic front? When my son first left, his girlfriend stayed close to me. We cried together, talked through everything, and waited for him as a team. It brought us close. She visited our home often and slipped her own letters into our care packages. Six months later, as the clock struck midnight and the New Year arrived, she called to wish me well. It was a polite, sweet greeting. Yet, it left me with an uneasy feeling. My intuition was proven right almost instantly. That very night, my son called to tell me that his girlfriend was no longer waiting for him. My heart broke for him, and I was terrified. Terrified that he would do something reckless, the way young men so often do in those situations. What if he lost his head? I felt a mix of fury and bitter disappointment. How could she? What happened to all that love? How could the girl who sobbed in my arms and swore to wait just throw it all away? They had been together for three years, planning a whole life together, and they made such a beautiful couple. True, they weren't perfect. He was a staunch truth-seeker with a stubborn, possessive streak, but he was fiercely loyal and dependable. She was overly flirtatious and constantly craved physical affection, yet she was bright and charming. They had built something real, only for it to collapse like a house of cards in a single second. My son, a hopeless romantic, lost a piece of his innocence that night. But to my immense relief, it didn't break him; it became his foundation. Granted, that foundation would crack more than once under the weight of future heartbreaks, and he would eventually shatter his rose-colored glasses for good. But that is a story for another day. For now... the remaining six months were winding down. My son kept calling, his moods shifting like the tides: anger, resentment, bitterness, acceptance, and finally, total indifference. Yet, he hadn't forgotten the girl who was no longer his. He knew it was over, but he refused to just let it fade away. He believed you can only truly end something when you look the person in the eye. Spring flew by. My son was stationed at the checkpoint, working grueling twenty-four-hour shifts back-to-back. He was exhausted, but he held on, knowing the end was in sight. The final month of his service—the first month of summer—was the hardest. Time crawled at an agonizingly slow pace. Sometimes it felt like the entire year had passed quicker than those final thirty days. When only a few days remained, I started a public countdown, marking each passing day with a post on social media. And then, the joyful moment finally arrived. I had waited for my son for a whole year. When he finally reached our hometown, just a few hundred yards from our doorstep, I stood frozen by the wide-open window. I scanned the passersby, sighing in disappointment every time a stranger or a little schoolgirl with ribbons in her hair turned the corner instead of him. The minutes dragged on and on. Good Lord, where was he? And then, he walked into view. So tall, so handsome, and... with that familiar round face of his! He was in full uniform, with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. It was a beautiful, unforgettable moment. The moment he stepped across the threshold, it felt as if the entire year vanished, as if he had never left at all. My boy was still the same familiar soul, just a little more grown-up. But before I could even fully process his presence and enjoy having him home, he decided he needed closure. Yes. Barely an hour later, he changed into civilian clothes and rushed off to see the girl who had caused him so much pain. Perhaps a shred of hope still lingered in him, but she hadn't changed. She welcomed him like a complete stranger. She offered a strained, awkward smile and talked to my son while frantically texting someone else on her phone, looking for an escape. She had been terrified of his anger, but the army had changed him. He had learned restraint. He found the strength of character to simply say goodbye, put an end to it, and walk away. The story ends there, but life goes on. If there is one thing I want to leave you with, it is this: parents will always wait for their children, and their hearts will always ache for them, no matter where they are or how old they get. No one will ever love a son more deeply than his mother. Cherish your parents. After all, they are the only parents you will ever have. And to the boys shipping out to the army: think of the ones who love you, and take care of yourselves for their sake.