Thoughts, Prayers & Art

Originally published: June 7, 2025

I don’t normally weep when my boys go.
I’ve trained myself, through years of duty, distance,
and whispered prayers in empty rooms
to offer hugs with open hands,
not fists clenched in fear.

But today was different.
Today, when my youngest turned toward duty,
I felt the ache of a thousand mothers
whose sons walk into the storm
while the sky itself groans with unrest.

The world feels upside down
where flags don’t always wave for justice,
where uniformed agents disappear the innocent,
and silence grows louder than truth.

He left with his usual strength,
his laughter tucked inside his bag,
but I wept
not just for him,
but for every soul being lost to chaos.

I wept because
a mother’s arms were made for holding,
not waving goodbye on the front porch
while tyranny prowls the land
disguised in law and order.

And still, I bless him.
I bless his courage.
I bless the tender parts of him
the world doesn’t see beneath the uniform.

And I bless this ache
as sacred, as holy,
as a cry that reaches the heavens.

Come, O God of Peace.
Come hold our sons, our daughters.
Come steady our trembling hearts.
And help us turn this sorrow
into a song of resistance,
a prayer of protection,
and a promise:
we will not stop fighting for the world they deserve to come home to.