A mother describes her son's homecoming from war

There's not much that could make the mother of a soldier feel happier and more relieved than to see her child step onto American soil after a year in a war zone. I drove to Fort Campbell, home of the 101st Airborne, for my son John Civitano's (Mount Tabor, 2009) homecoming ceremony recently, and it was as joyous and tear-filled and overwhelming as you might imagine. First there was the endless line of weary but handsome uniformed boys coming down the stairs of the plane, weapons at their chests. Like John, many were barely 20. Restrained by a fence, the crowd of families and friends went wild as the travel-weary soldiers made their way down a line of dignitaries, shaking hands as they went. At the end of the line they were reunited with their wounded comrades, some of whom had been temporarily released from the hospital to join their company for this moment. The wounded then led the formation into the steaming, overheated hangar where the blessedly brief ceremony took place. If the generals had gone on too long, half the audience would have passed out from the heat and the other half would have probably disregarded orders and rushed the soldiers.

There was plenty of sobering information at the homecoming ceremony as well. The predictable effects of a particularly difficult deployment were discussed. Brochures were available. There was a campaign with bumper stickers and keychains urging soldiers, "Don't be That Guy." The guy they don't want them to be is the one with undiagnosed PTSD, with DUIs or anger-management issues. I was told by the workers at one booth that among the recently returned soldiers at Fort Campbell, DUIs averaged three per night. They cautioned us to remain watchful, because the symptoms of PTSD often don't show up right away.

We were given about 10 minutes with our soldiers, which in our case featured John saying, "Don't cry, mom. Come on, don't cry." Then they had work to do. While we family members stood around in a parking lot swatting at mosquitoes, our soldiers turned in weapons, received room assignments and took care of a thousand pieces of business before we could whisk them away. It was almost midnight when I finally drove off with John, and the only place that was still open to get him something to eat was a drive-in near the hotel. We then had a day to run errands (by which I mean shop: He needed things like sheets and towels, a fan, a broom, a bedside table, and food and toiletries for his barracks room — a room that is so small, by the way, that when he holds out both arms he can almost touch the walls). Then they had a week on base to decompress in a structured environment before they could come home for 30 days of leave.

Planning the pleasures and adventures of leave may be one of the things that help soldiers get through a miserable year of active infantry deployment. My impression is that when they aren't thinking about achieving objectives or staying alive, they are thinking about cars and girls (infantry units today are all-male, with exceptions for women with special training who may be temporarily attached). Like many of his battle buddies, John's first objective was to buy a car on leave, which resulted in a surprising amount of mother-son bonding. He went to the beach, saw movies, swam at local pools and spent hours in the gym. I suspect that working out has a dual function — not only is it a stress-reliever, but it has the side benefit of sculpting an awesome physique.

And then — after the shortest month I've ever experienced — it was time for him to go back to Fort Campbell. My impression is that it is a time of transition there. After a year-long deployment, many military personnel receive orders to change stations, and others are reassigned. As commanders come and go, the soldiers stand in formation again and again to listen to speeches in the record-breaking Kentucky heat. While they work to stay on their feet, we family members receive automated advice from the battalion by telephone and email. As we approach the 60-to-90-day post-deployment window when symptoms of PTSD usually appear, we are urged to watch for suicidal tendencies and self-medication, ominous reminders that while our soldiers are out of combat, they are not out of danger. Then came an email notifying us that the Secretary of the Army has signed orders reducing future deployments from 12 to nine months. While shorter is certainly better, it seems impossible to contemplate a second tour for John, or for me. While I wonder how I could possibly cope with another nine months of fear and stress, I consider how many in the military have already completed multiple tours to Iraq and Afghanistan. Somehow their families have managed.

Then came the news of the helicopter crash in Afghanistan that killed 30 young men. It reminded me, and all of us, that we are still at war, and that somebody's loved ones are still in harm's way and too many of them won't come home alive. While I sigh in relief because John is back in America, another family is now holding its breath, losing sleep, distracted with fear and worry because their loved one has gone to war.