Page 92 of Fight Or Flight

Brooklyn

You would think with all the talk of me turning eighteen while my mom was dying that I would’ve realized my birthday would fall on Mother’s Day this year. But nope, it didn’t cross my mind until I overheard Riggs, Lauren, and Eric talking about it in the kitchen one morning before school. While they tried to decide how we should celebrate, I obsessed over the fact it would be the first time I didn’t make my mom a Mother’s Day card. The first time I didn’t make her breakfast—even if it was only a bowl of Cheerios and a cup of coffee. And the first time I would have to blow the candles on a cake without her there singing to me.

I don’t care how strong Eric thinks I am.

I am not that strong.

That’s why on the way to school that day, I told Eric I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday and I asked him to relay the message to Riggs and Lauren. I’d have plenty of birthdays to celebrate in my lifetime, I could skip one and they could celebrate Lauren being a mom the way they have for the last eighteen years.

I’d be spending my birthday at the cemetery, honoring the woman who selflessly made sure I was taken care of my whole life, even in death.

Of course, Eric tried to change my mind, but he eventually backed off—to a degree. This morning when I opened my eyes, I found him sitting on the foot of my bed with a bouquet of flowers. I thought they were for me, but when I went to take them, he shook his head and told me they were for my mom.

Now here we are, at my parents’ grave on my eighteenth birthday.

On Mother’s Day.

The stone that once read only my dad’s name and beloved brother now reads beloved father too. Right next to his name, etched in the granite, is my mom’s name and the words, beloved mother.

I’d have to thank Riggs for that later.

Eric pushes the metal cone holding the flowers into the ground and glances over his shoulder.

“This good?” he asks.

“It’s perfect.”

He’s perfect.

When he first told me he was coming with me to the cemetery, I argued. That fear I’ve been trying so hard to suppress came surging back. In two months he’ll be leaving for Fort Benning and won’t be here to hold my hand whenever I miss my mom. He won’t be here to decorate her grave with the prettiest pink roses I’ve ever seen. He might not even be here next year to wish me a happy birthday at all. I had the support system nailed, but days like today I turned to Eric. I relied on him to get me through, and that was a problem. I couldn’t be dependent on him.

The contract has been signed, and Eric has already started to prepare for the day he leaves. They only allow trainees three square meals a day—no snacks. He doesn’t want to battle his snacking habit while training, so he thought he’d get a handle on it beforehand and cut all junk food from his diet. Our midnight Oreo sessions are a thing of the past for now.

And then there’s that crazy stuff he does with my uncles every Saturday. The first time he left with Riggs he came home exhausted and every part of his body hurt him. But he didn’t complain—not really. He knew his dad was worried about him and if teaching him how to shoot a gun brought Riggs peace, Eric was all for it.

His dedication made it even more real, but my boyfriend isn’t a soldier yet. I reminded myself of that fact this morning and gave up the fight to push him away. It’s okay to lean on him while he’s still here. At home Eric Montgomery belongs to me, when he’s there learning how to defend our country, he belongs to the Army.

I came across a prayer the other day when researching blogs dedicated to military wives and girlfriends and one verse really stuck out to me.

Give me the greatness of heart to see the difference between duty and his love for me.

We may not have said those three words out loud, but I feel them.

I feel them every time we’re together.

When he calls my name.

When he takes my hand.

I feel his love in every single kiss.

Right here and now, as I watch him rearrange the flowers in front of my parents’ grave, I feel the love. And it’s okay to let that love in, because like my mom said, love will blanket me when I need it most. When I’m sitting at this grave alone and he’s in the field, love will be the saving grace that keeps me strong for him.

Brushing the dirt from his knees, he stands and takes my hand, pulling me into the crook of his arm. I wrap my arms around his middle and stare at the ribbon on the flowers.

Happy First Mother’s Day in Heaven.

So sweet.

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