Welcome to My Worlds: A Bipolar Christian Tells All

by Kelly Gottuso Mortimer

“Mom, I’m here. I’m safe.”

Ah, music to a mother’s ears, at least in part. For “here” meant Kuwait. And safe? For how long? Her next stop—Iraq. I’m speaking of my then eighteen-year-old daughter, Private Nicole Giovanna Mortimer—known to family and friends as Nikki. [The Sassy Child]

Her vibrant blue-green eyes gazed at me from a photo taken in her senior year of high school, hand resting proudly on her Bible. And the snapshot from her prom, dressed in her billowing gown, her lovely figure swathed in pale pink lace and tulle. A rhinestone tiara perched proudly on her shiny, light-brown hair, and the glittering necklace that once belonged to her grandmother dangled from her swan-like neck. Next to that, her latest picture.

Nikki dressed in fatigues, cradling an M-16.

Why would such a happy, carefree girl want to spend her summer at boot camp in the unbearable heat and humidity of South Carolina’s Fort Jackson? Then the trek to the windy desert over Iraq, followed by a jump out of a helicopter in 130-degree heat?

Because I asked her to.

I know what you’re thinking, “Come again?” Yes, for better or worse, her old mom convinced her to enlist when a war raged in a foreign country.

Nikki didn’t know what she wanted to do after high school, so, like any good daughter, she asked her parents for suggestions. I’m so patriotic; I bleed red, white, and blue. Nikki’s a girlie-girl, but “fearless” is her middle name. Why not the Armed Forces? She could help those less fortunate than herself, master an interesting trade, learn self-discipline, and garner a healthy respect for those in authority.

Of course, the decision would have to be hers. She’d turned eighteen, a legal adult in California. Eighteen! Could a random set of numbers comprised of a simple “one” and an “eight” make her an adult? Nikki couldn’t be an adult. Wasn’t it yesterday morning I dropped my baby daughter off for her first day of kindergarten? Okay, I guess my dates are off, but that’s to be expected, considering my advanced age.

Regardless, I’m sure I was more mature at eighteen than Nikki, wasn’t I? She’d spent good money on an “In Sync” CD. At eighteen, I listened to Aerosmith.

Shock enveloped me when she took my advice. What was up with that? I didn’t listen to my mother when I was eighteen, or ever, for that matter. Of course, I didn’t need to, as I already knew everything. Sorry, Mom. Seriously, what soon-to-be-a-woman takes it to heart when her mom tells her to enlist in the Army? I know, I know. Apparently, mine.

My friends and family asked if I worried about Nikki coming home safely. I said no, as a giant angel in body armor guarded her back. And if the angel needed a rest, she had the finest soldiers in the world next to her. So, off she went with the family’s blessing.

I couldn’t wait to speak with her. When I finally did, I asked her how many cities she’d stormed, and what interesting trade she’d learned. Computer processing, air-traffic control, public relations perhaps? Nope, no storming. And her trade? She decided to be a cook. I taught her how to cook; shouldn’t I get the credit for that? Did she need to enlist in the Army to learn something she already knew? She didn’t have the joy of cooking for hundreds of people here at home, but she did have access to more spices.

Then her superior offered her a different position: driving her commanding officer on missions. My heart thundered in my chest, then stopped. Did the poor man realize he was in more danger from Nikki driving him around Iraq, than from fifty homicide bombers? Within a

month of having her first car, Nikki crashed it. She wasn’t hurt, but I’m afraid the T-bird didn’t make it. And her driving skills never improved with age. I visited her on base in Colorado. In the span of fifteen minutes, she parked and left the headlights on, ran a stop sign, and if I hadn’t intervened, she’d have driven the wrong way down a one-way street. I know; she’d be driving in the desert. Not much there to plow into. Trust me. If there was anything to hit, Nikki’d find it.

Nikki had one minor mishap while in Iraq: A piece of shrapnel scored her shoulder when her camp came under attack. I told her I’d put it on a chain and make a necklace out of it. Her reply? “No, Mom, it’s radioactive. Just stick it in the drawer.” I thank her angel for protecting her. No missing limbs, no gunshot wounds. True to form, as soon as she became a civilian, Nikki broke her ankle, but you should’ve seen the other guy.

So, Nikki’s not the best driver in the world. She has a lot of good qualities. While stationed in Iraq, she started a Bible study with her friend. By the time she left, nineteen soldiers attended. Could a mom melt? I was so proud of her. Even in the blazing desert, Nikki remembered what we taught her. Jesus should always be the most important thing in her life. Leaving to rescue defenseless Iraqis ran a close second.

In her last letter to me before she came home Nikki wrote, “Mom, I’m proud to be doing something really important with my life. I’m making the world a better place, and keeping America safe for my little sister to grow up in.”

So, did I make a huge mistake putting my teenaged daughter in harm’s way? I think not. What more could a mother ask for than to have a daughter who was happy, healthy, and out there saving the world?

Welcome to My Worlds.

This entry was posted on Monday, November 23rd, 2009 at 21:12 and is filed under Welcome to My Worlds - Gotta Read it!. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.