A Year Without My Son

Today is July 3rd. My son has been gone since May 3rd, but he has been in country, stationed at Fr. Stewart Georgia. I never knew what the term "blood running cold" meant until the morning he was leaving. When I heard him moving around in the bedroom next to mine, I woke up and I felt an icy cold fluid run through my veins. While he was in boot camp and even in Camp Roberts CA for part of his training, I wrote to him every single day. Upon his return, he said "mom, you don't have to write everyday now. You can text me, call me, e-mail me. I won't have anywhere to put all the letters you send and I won't want to throw them out, so please don't write). I have to admit, I was a little hurt, but I also understood. It wouldn't be the same. See, I am a writer. I started to journal a note to him each night and ....well, I don't know , it didn't seem to work. I thought of writing to him and just "delivering the letters" to his bed next door, so when he came back there would be a pile of letters for him to read (Just what a 19 year old boy wants, 365 letters from his mother!) But I also recognize that I won't survive this year emotionally without writing. Then I started a little e-mail group with friends of the family. My first "delivery" was last week as he prepares to leave for Kuwait on July 6th. That brought many good wished and prayers, but I don't want to presume that these people want to read all my thoughts. Or for that matter, why would you? But a mother sending a son to war is something that is timeless. It has been happening for centuries and I am, in some way, trying to convince myself this is "normal."
Funny, the feeling of the cold blood in my veins is telling different.