Presence in Absence

This article was sent to us by Annika F., a 12th grader stationed in Japan. Do you have a story to share with your fellow military teens? Visit our writing page to find out how you can submit to Bloom!

My mother and I finding solace on a park bench in 2015.

For most of my life, my mother has seen me grow through windows of time. Every so often, she’d leave for deployment, and I started to get used to birthdays and holidays with just my dad. Despite this, it’s through my mother that I formed my belief that love isn’t measured by presence alone, but by an unwavering devotion that transcends distance. 

I distinctly remember being in kindergarten and asking my dad, “When’s mom coming back home?” His response would always be something along the lines of “soon,” no matter how much I kept pushing. Even then, I knew “soon” didn’t hold any certainty or have a precise measure of time; it could mean days, weeks, or - in my case - long, dreadful months. To my little kindergarten brain, it felt like a promise that was out of reach. But, one thing was promised every week - a Skype video call. 

It was through these Skype video calls that she never spoke of fear or duty, but rather she used them as moments to read me a bedtime story and ask me about my day. I realize now what I didn’t then, that my mother was her own steady force in the seasick chaos of life. In my mother’s absence of physical presence, her small gestures taught me that love endures, even when it has to stretch across oceans, and how love is found in the certainty that she would always come back. 

However, even when I lived in Hawai’i, surrounded with love by my own family and friends, part of me didn’t know how to grapple with the fact that my own mom missed award ceremonies, hula performances, and piano recitals - the most important events to me as a sixth grader. I looked around to see my classmates with both of their parents gleaming with pride visible in their smiles. 

I forced myself to stand tall and to wipe my own tears, but I still wondered - was my mom thinking of me in those moments too? I knew she was. Though I couldn’t hear her in the audience, I heard her in other ways: leaving me text message updates of wherever she was in the world, randomly saying “I love you,” or even asking me about my day when hers was way more stressful than I could ever imagine. 

As I moved to Japan, my belief in love transcending distance shifted more towards reconnecting with my family and friends back home in Hawai’i, but it was still a reflection of the lasting impact my mom had on me. I find myself reaching out to my family at the most random times to let them know that I still think of them. Like my mother, I share my love through my own voice, whether that be through a random text message, FaceTime call, or even a shared laugh over a TikTok; it’s my way of reminding them that distance doesn’t always equal absence. 

Now the word “soon” takes on a different meaning; it no longer feels like an empty promise or an uncertain stretch of time, but it feels more like reassurance. “Soon” looks forward to the next conversation or shared joke, pushing me to move forward until then. I wholeheartedly believe that love isn’t solely defined by presence, but I also believe that I am an extension of my mother, often giving more than I realize to the people around me, yet having no issue with it because I understand the depth of connection. And, above all, I understand the love that surrounds me.