It may be the hardest job in America today. Being a military mom.
Spending every day with a pit in your stomach and fear in your heart. Finding yourself all of a sudden crying in the
supermarket aisle, church pew, a crowded elevator, or just walking down the street - anywhere, anytime.
"You try to stay tough, but the tears come. You can't stop them," Jill Adams says. "I sobbed the whole first week he was gone.
I couldn't believe how much it hurt."
It hurts them all - every military mom like Adams - spending another Mother's Day without a son or daughter off serving their country in deadly combat areas in Afghanistan and Iraq.
We salute you all.
Jill's 19-year-old son, TJ never was off the honor roll in his four years at Burroughs High School in Burbank, but college wasn't in his plans. Fighting for his country was.
He was a big healthy kid with a 16-year-old little brother, Jason, who suffered from epilepsy. Jason was too small and sick to fight. He wasn't strong enough to climb those rugged hills in full gear and weapons looking for bin Laden. TJ was.
The day he turned 18 her son stood outside the local Army recruiting office before it even opened, Jill says, ready to raise his right hand.
There was only one request he made. Put me
in the infantry on the frontlines, TJ said. He wasn't going to play a backup role.If he was going to fight for his country, he wanted to fight. For 9-11, for his mom and dad, for his little brother, who couldn't.
"A few weeks after TJ left I saw Jason crying out in the backyard," Jill says. "He thought TJ didn't want to live here anymore. He felt abandoned. I explained to him why TJ left."
Looking back, all military moms see the first signs, the hints of what might come when their sons and daughters reach 18.
Maybe it's a grandfather or an uncle who was in the war. That puppy dog admiration was written all over their kids faces.
"My father died of a heart attack at 64 on Memorial Day," Jill says. "We'd go to the cemetery to visit him every year, and there'd be tons of men in uniform talking about their service to their country.
"TJ would stare at them and listen. When he was 4 or 5 he walked up to two servicemen at Chuck E. Cheese's and thanked them for making this a great country.
"He did that to anyone in a uniform and now he's in one."
TJ got his wish. He's an infantryman on the Afghan-Pakistan border. He e-mailed his mom last week that his unit was one of the ones involved in helping clear the way from the ground for the Navy SEALs to safely land helicopters inside bin Laden's compound.
"We got him," he proudly told his mom.
Many of our military mothers got proud e-mails and calls like that from their sons and daughters serving in the Armed Forces last week.
For a few minutes, it eased the fear. But even a victory as big as the death of bin Laden couldn't hide the truth.
They were still there. TJ and all the others aren't home yet.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who feels like this, but I know I'm not. There are tens of thousands of mothers like me. It's hard to imagine how it feels until you have a son or daughter there."
At church a few weeks ago, Jill met two older women whose sons didn't come back from Korea.
"How did they live after that?" she wondered, but didn't ask. It was an answer she wasn't prepared to hear.
"I want to stay strong, but I can't talk to TJ without crying," Jill says.
"He says, `Mom, you have to remember I chose to do this. I had to do this.' I know, but I have a hard time talking about it."
So, hopefully all our military mothers will be treated like queens today by their families. They'll smile and say thank you for the flowers and candy.
But the fear isn't going anywhere, especially on Mother's Day.
It stays until all their babies are home safe.
Eva Longoria Kate Groombridge Erica Leerhsen Carla Campbell Autumn Reeser
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