In this day and age, we shake our heads when we see someone immersed in their devices and chide them for being phone addicts. When a loved on leaves for basic training, even the people who are the quickest to make fun of such individuals becomes just such an object of scorn.


The reason they do that is much different than just wanting to keep up with the latest celebrity tweet, to catch your friend's funny antics on Snapchat, or to find out if someone has made their relationship "Facebook official."

For the last ten days, I have not been involved in a business or personal conversation when I have not warned the other person that my phone might ring, and I would walk away without warning. If I found myself in stores or offices, I made sure that the reception was adequate. If not, I exited quickly, often times garnering odd glances from the people around me. I don't leave a room, take a shower, or do anything without my phone within arm's reach or earshot. I make sure I have a charger handy, and I don't let it get below 50% battery life.

You see, not only is my son on military time. So are we. We don't know when he will be able to call or for how long he will be able to talk to us.

And every single day I ache to hear his voice.

The first call came at exactly 7PM on Tuesday night. It lasted seven minutes.

I get up very early, so I was asleep. When I saw his face and name on my caller ID, I thought I was dreaming. Then, I was scared to answer it because I wasn't sure how long I'd get to speak with him.

He was talking normally, so I realized we may have a few moments to visit. I ran outside to get my husband, frantically trying to put it on speaker phone.

My son told us he was okay, but he was tired. He told us he missed us and loved us very much. Multiple times. My heart was absolutely squeezing in my chest, but I did my best and didn't cry. Yet.

We talked a little bit about what he had been through the last 10 days, and he said he was anxious for the first three weeks of actual training called Red Phase. (SEE VIDEOS BELOW FOR WHAT RED PHASE INVOLVES) We reassured him of how much we believed in him, how strong and brave he is, and how much we love him.

He told us he would call once he got to the area where he needed to be for the next part of his training, but warned the call would be abrupt.

His time was up and the call ended. I sobbed like a child.

Morning came, and I held that phone like it was an appendage. They don't give a timeline. We were fortunate to know that he would call at all.

I was in a doctor's office and looked down at my phone. "No service."

I sprinted down the hall and burst through the lobby door, to the surprise of the receptionist, and outside. Not three minutes later, my phone rings and my son's face and number appear on my phone.

Thank you, God!

"This is PFC... I'm at basic training at Fort Benning. I made it alive. I love you."


I think I managed to get in an "I love you" moments before the "click." I hope so.

I have no idea when the next call will come. Until then, I will write as many letters as humanly possible once I have an address to send them to.

And you can guarantee that I will have my phone charged at no less than 50%.

God Bless Our Military and God Bless America. Please pray for them.



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