I spent the summer of 2013 in a fog. I was desperately trying to adjust to a new reality that I was totally unprepared for. 9 days after her high school graduation, we flew to Colorado Springs to take our first born, Alexia, to “Inprocessing” at the United States Air Force Academy. 9 months prior was the first time I even heard of the United States Air Force Academy. It was September of her senior year, and Alexia expressed interest in applying to a service Academy. She talked it over with us, and her dad steered her towards the Air Force Academy. She went through the rigorous application process, medical screening, fitness assessment, and was accepted into USAFA’s class of 2017. We had no idea what we were in for. We didn’t know what we didn’t know.

As the day approached for Inprocessing at the Academy, the reality and gravity of her choice set in. Alexia was accepted to all the colleges she applied to including UVA, Virginia Tech, JMU, University of Miami, Howard University. But she chose the Academy and service to our country. This world of Service Academies was new to Alexia and me. Tex was a Navy veteran so the military world was familiar to him. He gave us some insights. Alexia did a tour of the Academy where the Cadet tour guide emphasized that this was not just college, but also the military. We read the welcome materials from USAFA and did research on the internet, trying to glean as much insight as we could into the Academy world. We watched some YouTube videos that showed snippets from the boot camp experience. I had faith in Alexia and knew she could do anything she put her mind to, but I was also lowkey nervous on the inside, Alexia was cool and calm and so I pretended to be too. We thought we had a fairly good idea of what to expect. But, like childbirth, no matter how much it is explained you can’t truly understand it until you go through it yourself.

When we said goodbye to Alexia under the tent at Doolittle Hall, I wasn’t prepared for the heartache that immediately set in. I felt like a piece of my heart was being ripped out as I watched her and the other basic cadets walk into Doolittle Hall to start “Inprocessing”. Her check in time was 10 a.m. and we scheduled our return flight from Denver for 4 p.m. thinking we had plenty of time to drop her off and get back to Denver to catch the flight. Wrong. Dropping off, as it turns out, was a process. She checked in, leaving her back pack with essentials (there was a strict list of what cadets could bring to bootcamp which included white sport bras and white underwear, toiletries, and not much else; no civilian clothing or other nonessentials). Then we joined a line and were ushered under the “good bye” tent at Doolittle Hall, where we were welcomed by an alumnus from the Legacy class that would “sponsor” the incoming class. That’s where parents said their tearful good byes. The basic cadets went into the building, and there was one last chance for parents to catch a glimpse of their babies. The cadets would emerge from Inprocessing at some point to get on the bus that would take them to the cadet area where the real “fun” began. Parents were lined up waiting to see their child get on the bus. There was not interaction with the cadets at that point. All we could do was watch. I realized that if we waited to see her get on the bus, we would likely not make our flight. I didn’t care. I could not leave. I had to get that last glance of her getting on the bus. So, we waited. And I choked back tears when a serious faced Basic Cadet Rochester collected her back pack and made her way on to the bus. I stood there watching the bus pull off and eventually out of view. Only then would I allow myself to leave. Tex was patient and did his best to comfort me. We missed our flight, but were able to catch a later flight that evening.

The hardest part for me was being totally cut off from this child of mine who I had been with and nurtured for 18 years. I don’t just love my kids; I like my kids and we have a very strong bond. Here was Alexia going through what would undoubtedly be the most difficult experience in her life, and there was nothing I could to help or support her. Other than pray. And write letters. And I did a lot of both. I didn’t realize it at the time but reflecting back there is no doubt that as I transitioned from the role of being “protector” to now being on the sidelines as a “cheerleader” in my children’s lives, the physical act of letter writing gave me an outlet to channel my energy and process the change. By the time David and Julia went through boot camp at the Academy, I was able to restrain and limit myself to several letters a week. But with Alexia I was actually writing multiple letters a day. Yeah, I know. I think I kept the USPS financially afloat all on my own during those weeks.

When the kids were going through boot camp, getting letters back from them was a treat. They had other things taking their attention…like survival. There was probably a 20:1 ratio of letters I wrote to the letters I received. But that was ok. I knew they were busy. Each letter that came from them was a treasure. I would latch on to each letter like a starving person latching on to a morsel of food. I would read it over and over again until it was practically memorized. I would try to find clues into their well-being beyond what was actually written. I would say to Tex, look at how she signed her name...she must have been very tired the night she wrote this because look, the “i” is dotted differently than how she normally signs her name...

I read somewhere that when a baby chick is in the process of hatching from an egg, if you break the egg shell in an attempt to help the chick you actually harm the chick and it comes out disabled. Same with a butterfly trying to emerge from a cocoon. If you try to help and make the process easier, it becomes broken and unable to live into its full potential as a beautiful butterfly. That is what I thought about when my heart would break for the struggle that I knew my Alexia, and later David and Julia, faced in boot camp. The struggle built character, and their strength is a result of their struggle.

Basic Cadet Alexia Rochester started boot camp as a somewhat naive teenager who threw up on her Cadre on Inprocessing day, but graduated having served as the Wing Executive Officer and Squadron Commander, a couple of the highest-ranking positions at the Academy. She chose the “road less traveled” and it “made all the difference”. Her struggles and triumphs over the 4 years changed her for the better. Me too.

It’s been 2 years since she graduated from the Academy and assumed the responsibility of an Officer in the United States Air Force. This summer I am celebrating her promotion to 1st lieutenant. It’s been 6 years since that infamous Inprocessing day and there is no more fog, only blue skies.

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