Last August, I handed my first born over to the U.S. Army.  Joel had just graduated high school, and he decided that he’d like to join the U.S. Army Reserves to serve his country and to help pay for college.  I went with him to talk to the recruitment officer, and Sargeant Jackson sold us both on the plan.  But still, on the day he was to head off to basic training followed by AIT, I broke down  I cried through our entire going away breakfast and finally, I regained my composure as we left him at the recruitment office.  Why was I sad?  Well, if you’re a mama, you probably understand ALL of my worries.  But one thing that struck me was this:  This isn’t what I planned for my life.  I never imagined my baby boy training to defend our country, learning to use high-powered weapons, enduring  drill sergeants yelling at him and actually liking it. 

Upon returning from his Army training in January, Joel spent a semester at a community college near home as he planned to transfer to KSU. This August, we delivered Joel to Manhattan, Kansas with much joy.  Joel has always wanted to go to K-State; he’s basically bled purple since he was in the womb.   This was always the plan — Joel would attend KSU.  So we happily moved him into a musty old dorm room, as his father and I believe that everyone should live in the dorm at least once.  And yet a day later, Joel, new to a KSU fraternity, moved to the frat house when a spot suddenly opened up.  This was definitely not the picture I had in my mind when I was snuggling my newborn son in the middle of the night after a feeding.  My son — in the Army and in a fraternity?  This wasn’t what I planned.

The thing is, I get caught up with pictures in my mind.  These pictures — visions of what my kids should be like, how a family should operate, what parenthood should look like — trip me up.  Instead of enjoying what I do have, these visions sometimes make me crazy.  But the past nineteen years of motherhood has taught me to let go of my preconceived ideas or even societal expectations.  There are many ways to be a good mom.  There are many ways to have a happy family.  There are many ways to grow a son into an amazing man.  For Joel, his way to manhood has been paved by the Army and by his new fraternity.

Before he left for basic training, Joel had a pretty typical 18-year-old cockiness.  Don’t get me wrong — I loved his quick wit and his confidence.  But hiding out behind this confidence was youth and inexperience.  When Joel returned from the Army, the changes were shocking.  Joel came back with real confidence. He had skills. He could shoot military weapons  with accuracy.  He successfully passed PT tests, putting his high school cross country skills to good use.  Joel learned to drive a Humvee and trained in the military police.  He came back with a love of fitness, believing that exercise is an important component to a healthy life.  Basically, Joel returned more of a man and less of a boy.  He came back disciplined and focused.  And though I worry daily about him being deployed, I am glad that he became an Army Reservist.  I think that joining the Army helped Joel understand how to reach his full potential, and I’m not sure this would have happened as quickly if he’d gone to college right after high school.

Another thing that has pushed Joel toward manhood is being a part of a fraternity.  To be fair, Joel’s dad and I were GDI’s (gosh darn independents).  We were not Greek.  I have always had preconceived notions about fraternities, I must admit.  And yes, some of my notions are true.  But a few weeks ago, Rich and I drove to Manhattan for a Covid-safe, outdoor Family Day.  When we got there, Joel was selling beads to raise money for the fraternity.  He was absolutely in his element, socializing and chatting people up.  (Yeah, he’s an extrovert, like his mom.)  I could tell that he enjoyed living in the house with the other guys.  The fraternity has daily study hours, so Joel’s grades are in check.  He has some great friends.  He seemed really happy and healthy and focused.  During our visit, there was a short fraternity ceremony; after hearing about the accomplishments within the fraternity, I realized that I had been wrong about fraternities — or at least this one.  I could see how this experience (even with the typical frat-boy shenanigans) could be beneficial for Joel.  

These past nineteen years of motherhood have taught me so much.  I’ve finally learned to ignore the pictures in my head of what a “proper” child (or family) should look like.  I’ve tried to let my children grow into who they were meant to be.  I can’t force my path on Joel.  I have to let his life be his own, and I have to trust his choices.  There are many ways to grow into manhood, and so far, Joel’s on the right track.  He is happy, healthy, and figuring things out.  That’s all this mama could ask for.

If you know me at all, you know one of the great passions in my life is reading.  You should also know that one of my all-time favorite book series — okay, my FAVORITE series — is the Harry Potter series by J.K Rowling.   One thing that struck me on my first read was that Harry always called Voldemort (the force of evil in these stories) by his name.  He did not fear saying Voldemort aloud, as the other characters did.  In fact, Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore said this to Harry:  “Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.” 

I’ve taken this advice to heart.  Yes, I know this is a fantasy series, and the characters are not real.  But the characters who reside in the Harry Potter series offer great insight into humanity.  They teach about bravery, love, kindness.  And Harry, most of all, teaches readers how to face the hardest of things in this world with great courage.

The past few years have been hard on my family.  On December 2, 2016, my beloved daughter was diagnosed with glioblastoma, a very aggressive type of brain cancer.  She was twelve.  Her illness, her brave fight and her death have taught me the  same lesson as in the Harry Potter books:  Say the name — the name of what you’re facing, the name of what you’re feeling.  So here goes.  Here are four words that I refuse to talk around, to use a euphemism for — cancer, grief, love, death.  These are words that I choose to say aloud, even though they sometimes breed discomfort.

When Ally first came home from the hospital after two brain surgeries within one week, we had a new word in our family:  Cancer.  I hate cancer.  I wish we could abolish the word as well as the disease.  However, I immediately felt that if we could say the word cancer aloud it would reduce people’s fear and give the word some normalcy.  Cancer.  Yeah, we’re dealing with cancer, but we are still getting up, living life, trying to be decent humans.  When people asked me what was wrong with Ally, I told them she had cancer.  I didn’t — couldn’t — sugar coat it.  She had cancer, and we were fighting it.  That was the truth, and I didn’t see why I would want to hide it.  

Another word I have come to use regularly is grief.  People don’t really like to talk about grief, but I use this word all of the time because it is true to my life at the moment.  To be fair, I’ve been grieving for nearly four years — for the loss of Ally’s childhood, for our family’s sense of normalcy, and now — for Ally’s death.  Turns out, you’re not exactly the most popular person in social circles when you go around explaining that you are wrestling with grief and that you try to walk through it every day.  This conversation is uncomfortable.  And yet, I think it’s important to let people know that GRIEF is what I’m experiencing.  It’s grief that tries to keep me in bed; it’s grief that makes me cry as I sit in the parking lot preparing to go into work.  I feel like it’s inauthentic to avoid the word.  I am grieving, and I refuse to lie about it.  

My next word is love, and perhaps this is the one bright spot of this piece.  When you go through an unprecedented tragedy in your life, you realize how fleeting life truly is.  You realize the importance of love — love of self, love of others, love of life.   For me, this manifests in how I talk to the people in my life.  I tell pretty much everyone that I love them because…I do.  Tragedy sometimes allows for the strangest of emotions, and when you lose someone you loved, you want to hold on that much harder to the other people in your life.  So I tell my parents, my friends, my co-workers, the guy that carded me at the liquor store that I love them, and I mean it.   I am no longer willing to use this word sparingly.  

Death is another word I use with regularity.  I speak of Ally’s death.  I try not to say “my daughter passed away” unless I’m talking to children because the truth is, my daughter died.  I hate this word, as it is a constant, sad reminder.  But it is true.  And I made a decision a long time ago to speak my truth.   I try to speak of Ally’s death with courage and honestly as it is part of my journey.  It makes no sense to me to try to soften the blow of my loss by saying Ally “passed away.”  She died.  She fought.  She was loved.  And I’m not going to discount her short life by using politically correct terminology.    

Thank you, Harry Potter, for teaching me to be honest, to say the precise word, to look fear in the eye and not cower.  And thank you, Ally Baier, for teaching me the same things.  My life will continue to be better — more honest and truthful and courageous — by your examples.