In Living Color
"Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive. " ~Harold Whitman
Our oldest child was impacted the most by Vic's deployments. He was our child born during the quiet times of the Army, before terrorism and war. Mitch knew an Army where dad would go away for field exercises, school and temporary duty, the kind that only lasted a month. When Vic deployed the first time, Mitch was 8 years old and fully aware of the change that war brought to our lives.
It took me six weeks to realize that something was bothering our son. After two trips to the youth counselor, I realized that he was irreconcilably upset about his dad being gone and that he didn't want to bother me with his feelings because he knew I was sad too. I will never forget the look on the counselors face when she came to tell me what he had shared in their time together. She cried and I cried because of the magnitude of the sorrow that Mitch was keeping inside. The second deployment became a time of anger and hostility followed by resignation by us both that it just was going to be rough. I tried everything I could find to keep our son from suffering during his father's absence, but all I could do was love him and relate with him and pray that the time would go quickly. I have only realized recently how terrible the toll was on Mitch.
When we moved to Florida and our family began to assimilate to the civilian community we live in, it all became painfully clear. Compared to his peers, Mitch was like a black and white cartoon in a colored world. The lively, joyful, fun child that we once had was a mopey and distant youth. The journey to recolor our son, to connect him to his passionate self, began.
There were numerous round table discussions with his dedicated middle school teachers and their principal. Every meeting would be an update on Mitch's progress and how we could intervene and encourage him to pull him up to speed. There were always anecdotal stories and lots of laughs, and there were inevitably some tears as the teachers and I continued to realize the magnitude of the intervention we had begun. Every meeting I would leave with a renewed dedication to saving our son. Every day I would drive away from these discussions and cry in the car. It has been a long, hard road.
I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mitch was made for something amazing in his life. I believe we all are. Tapping into that special gift or trait is our life's goal. Our oldest son, now a teenager, towers over me with a huge body frame and feet to match. His size is shadowed only by his amazing heart. The compassion and connectedness that this young person has is like nothing I have ever seen before. When he is a part of something fantastic, his smile and his joy can light up a city block. The energy he can exude will make you feel like you can fly. He reminds me what passion feels like and how it feels to truly be alive. It is the vision of this child that kept me focused and gave his father patience during the past months.
Mitch returned from his first four day field trip where he studied marine biology. I waved his bus goodbye, terrified that he would have a bad time and not connect with the kids in his class while away from home. The teenager who came off the bus was the kid we've been fighting for. Mitch jumped in our truck exhausted and energized, talking a mile a minute, recounting every minute of the trip to the Florida Keys. For hours I sat and watched his face as he entertained us with his camp songs and snorkeling stories. When I was sure he could talk no more I went to the school website to see the pictures. There I found the proof of what I was hoping would be true. Our distant and monochrome son had completed his transformation. Pages of photos opened before me, a youth around the campfire, in the mix, under the water and on the beach. All of the pictures showed him with his huge smile and his dancing eyes, but most wonderfully of all, in living color. It is a picture that we've all been waiting for.
Our oldest child was impacted the most by Vic's deployments. He was our child born during the quiet times of the Army, before terrorism and war. Mitch knew an Army where dad would go away for field exercises, school and temporary duty, the kind that only lasted a month. When Vic deployed the first time, Mitch was 8 years old and fully aware of the change that war brought to our lives.
It took me six weeks to realize that something was bothering our son. After two trips to the youth counselor, I realized that he was irreconcilably upset about his dad being gone and that he didn't want to bother me with his feelings because he knew I was sad too. I will never forget the look on the counselors face when she came to tell me what he had shared in their time together. She cried and I cried because of the magnitude of the sorrow that Mitch was keeping inside. The second deployment became a time of anger and hostility followed by resignation by us both that it just was going to be rough. I tried everything I could find to keep our son from suffering during his father's absence, but all I could do was love him and relate with him and pray that the time would go quickly. I have only realized recently how terrible the toll was on Mitch.
When we moved to Florida and our family began to assimilate to the civilian community we live in, it all became painfully clear. Compared to his peers, Mitch was like a black and white cartoon in a colored world. The lively, joyful, fun child that we once had was a mopey and distant youth. The journey to recolor our son, to connect him to his passionate self, began.
There were numerous round table discussions with his dedicated middle school teachers and their principal. Every meeting would be an update on Mitch's progress and how we could intervene and encourage him to pull him up to speed. There were always anecdotal stories and lots of laughs, and there were inevitably some tears as the teachers and I continued to realize the magnitude of the intervention we had begun. Every meeting I would leave with a renewed dedication to saving our son. Every day I would drive away from these discussions and cry in the car. It has been a long, hard road.
I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mitch was made for something amazing in his life. I believe we all are. Tapping into that special gift or trait is our life's goal. Our oldest son, now a teenager, towers over me with a huge body frame and feet to match. His size is shadowed only by his amazing heart. The compassion and connectedness that this young person has is like nothing I have ever seen before. When he is a part of something fantastic, his smile and his joy can light up a city block. The energy he can exude will make you feel like you can fly. He reminds me what passion feels like and how it feels to truly be alive. It is the vision of this child that kept me focused and gave his father patience during the past months.
Mitch returned from his first four day field trip where he studied marine biology. I waved his bus goodbye, terrified that he would have a bad time and not connect with the kids in his class while away from home. The teenager who came off the bus was the kid we've been fighting for. Mitch jumped in our truck exhausted and energized, talking a mile a minute, recounting every minute of the trip to the Florida Keys. For hours I sat and watched his face as he entertained us with his camp songs and snorkeling stories. When I was sure he could talk no more I went to the school website to see the pictures. There I found the proof of what I was hoping would be true. Our distant and monochrome son had completed his transformation. Pages of photos opened before me, a youth around the campfire, in the mix, under the water and on the beach. All of the pictures showed him with his huge smile and his dancing eyes, but most wonderfully of all, in living color. It is a picture that we've all been waiting for.
Oh I'm so happy for you Pam, I'm glad that Mitch had a great time...
Pam, I am so there with you. Of course I wasn't overseas, coming back to America. But, I have had my children go through this mopey stage for so long with deployment related issues.
I thought we were fine then, that we were a normal family dealing with it, Then all of a sudden, some other adult that my child has confided into, now is standing before me expressing things that my child could not share for fear of making me sadder.
I do remember thinking of my kids as Pinocchio, we were all like puppets with no life or "color" in us and doing what we thought we needed to do. And every once in a while we looked like we were ok, but it was just a "puppet show".
It is those precious moments that we savor when we as parents get to see our children come to life after this sadness...more like they are in that "techni-color". Thats when we see that our lives are a living work of art- God's Master Pieces in 3D.
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Deanna,
I love the thought of our kids in Technicolor! How perfect. You are right, you don't know how tough it is until you are on the other side of it all. Military Families are Strong! and Amazing. All the best ~ Pam
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