Radio Silence

In June, B-2 Bomber pilots flew with near total radio silence as they traveled for 36 hours from Missouri to the Middle East and back home. A key to their mission was not allowing others knowledge of their plans and timing. That knowledge in the hands of the enemy could likely end with a failed mission. 

While my military understanding is limited, there are things about missions such as this one, that I’ve read. The bombers on the mission were supported from others in the sky. There were tankers that refueled them and other planes that escorted them on their journey across the Atlantic. The team of pilots and crew worked with precision to get the mission done with very little communication. 

The story of radio silence from the pilots paralleled my life as to why I seem to go silent from May through July each year. I post less and withdraw more from activities, but those closest to me - those who are flanked on my wings - know what I’m dealing with and what is transpiring. With just a heart emoji or a “thinking of you today” text, they are sending a message of support by saying very little. But those closest to my life know. 

Although the memories on Facebook remind me of that time of year, my body and brain are already tensing up and mentally reliving the months leading up to an unthinkable day. 

June, seven years ago…..

Sophia and her friends spent the day in Tifton’s Chick-fil-A parking lot for the grand re-opening. She called me to join them when the sun was setting as it seemed there weren’t an adequate number of people there to get a free year’s worth of chicken sandwiches. Three family members secured 52 sandwiches each that day! And the following day, Matthew got the news of his acceptance into the mechanical engineering school at Georgia Tech. Our hearts as a family were overjoyed with this news, and we had free Chick-fil-a sandwiches to celebrate.  

A week later we spent time at the lake with lifelong friends and decided we could never let that much time go before getting Sophia and those precious Sirmans girls together! Jumping off the dock and doing back flips into the water were invigorating to our bodies, and the renewed friendship was refreshing to our souls. 

Worshiping in church the Sunday prior to the accident is one of the memories I’m most grateful for. Sophia, seated between me and Matthew, reached her arms around us as we sang the closing song. It is a gift I know God gave me. 

But then the horrible memories come…the night before, the intense scheduling of the day to cram everything in. Why did I have to do that? What did it benefit us? Did I really need to pack so many events into a summer Saturday? 

So, my brain plays on repeat of sleeping in a tent on a hard Chick-fil-a parking lot. It relives the beauty of singing harmony next to Sophia in church, and it screams in horror as I held her in the middle of the road that fateful day. 

So, I go quiet. I respond less with lengthy texts or prefer to only socialize with my closest friends. And each year on the day of the accident, I make sure I’m with one or more of my children, this year spending time with all but one of them.

Just as tankers had to refuel the B-2s, I go radio silent to refuel with those closest to me. It's more of a protective mode as I retreat, knowing I don’t want to say or do things when I’m not in a good headspace. I am cautious not to reveal too much or be too vulnerable to the wrong person. My thoughts can travel from happy to distraught at what seems like the speed of sound, so I prefer to open up with just those who are closest to my mission - survive another “anniversary” of the worst day of my life. 

How long will the memories last and haunt me? I’m not sure, but I try to focus on the ones that bring me joy. Memories like her 18th Minion birthday party and recalling her crawling up in my bed so we could design her invitations; those are the memories I try to put on repeat.

When friends go radio silent, there may be unseeable things taking place beneath the surface. There are sure to be loved ones in your life that have gone radio silent for a time. And when they do, it’s a good thing to reach out to them. You don’t have to force your way into their day, you don’t have to know everything about the situation, but they need to know support is all around them. When devastation and destruction are all encompassing, those of us going through the difficult “mission” need to know others are flanked on our wings and stand beside us in our greatest time of need. 

Memories of the worst day of my life are followed by a week of traumatic memories - surgery, pain, visitation, a funeral. Each day they are played like a broken record on the turntable of my heart. 

Seven years ago, my mind was foggy with pain, medication, shock, and grief. And while I can’t stop replaying those months out of my head, I’m now adding to my memories. I’m adding in ones of kindness, overwhelming support, and consistent love that have taken place. And of course, I’m storing unforgettable memories of adding my new daughters into the family and precious grandchildren joining our family.   

II Corinthians 10:15 states, “...we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ." It is a constant battle during the summer months to take my thoughts captive and direct them to the positive memories. But each year is getting easier and smoother as I transition from the pain to the beauty of this life I am living.

Coming back from radio silence, those in the military are able to share some of the details of the mission and its purpose. But we still don’t know all the details. Nor should we. But the victories - the details that don’t hurt future missions - are shared with the masses. 

When those of us who go radio silent come back online and communicate, we are able to share our victories that surround the events. We won’t share everything, but we are grateful for the ones who have supported our mission and helped us make it safely home.