Recently I read a blog item posted by a Marine currently serving in Afghanistan. It seems I read everything lately about the war in Afghanistan since my oldest son, Cpl. Joseph O’Brien Jr., was sent to Sangin, Afghanistan, with the Second Battalion, Eighth Marines. To the world, he is a Marine; to me, he is Joey — my little boy.

There was a time when, although always interested in our troops, I took in and read news stories without much “to do.” I’ve said prayers, made comments like “always support our troops,” “praying for their safe return,” etc. But having a son serving in harm’s way, it takes on a whole new meaning for this Marine mom.

My son had wanted to be a Marine since he was just a toddler. I remember watching TV with him when he was just 3 years old. He saw a commercial for the Marines Corps and in his little tiny voice told me how he was going to be a Marine when he grew up. I simply smiled and told him, “That’s great, honey.” I really didn’t pay much attention. How many people decide their career paths at such a young age?

But Joey never wavered in his decision. It was all he focused on as he grew into a man. He graduated from high school early and several weeks later shipped off to fulfill his lifelong dream at Parris Island, S.C. I remember those three months he was there as the longest three months in my life not being able to speak to him or talk to him on the phone. I would get heart-rending letters from him filled with how hard everything was at Parris Island. Little did I know how hard it would be sending my son off to war. My family and I drove to Parris Island for his graduation ceremony. I was never so proud of my child as I was that day. Our national anthem has a whole new meaning to me now. I can’t hear it without filling with pride, getting misty-eyed, and thinking of that day.

Joey spent a year in Washington, D.C., and then almost a full year at Camp David assigned to Presidential Support Duty serving under President George W. Bush and President Obama. I was completely spoiled, I must admit, having him so close to home. Joey would come and visit for long weekends almost every month and would call me every couple of days. Looking back now, I totally took for granted all those moments when he would say, “I love you, Mama.” God, what I would give to hear him say that now.

Last spring Joey was sent to Camp Lejune, N.C. and attached to the Second Battalion, Eighth Marines. I remember the phone call from him when he told me. I dropped the phone, felt ill to my stomach, and cried. I dropped to my knees and prayed harder than I ever have in my entire life, “Please God, keep my son safe.” I knew instantly what it meant: My son would be deployed to the war in Afghanistan.

I think within a week he called to tell me he was deploying in January 2011. For six months, his mission was to prepare for this. He married his girlfriend, Annie. He became a father for the first time in December while at desert training in Twentynine Palms, Calif. When he returned to Camp Lejeune and met his daughter for the first time, he called me.

“Mom, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. There isn’t any way I can describe how much I love her.” My reply: “You don’t have to describe it. I know exactly how you feel. That’s exactly the way I feel about you.” I could hear him “smiling” through the phone. Two weeks later he said goodbye to Annie and his daughter and was bound for Afghanistan and the war.

He called me at 4 a.m. the morning he left. He left a message on my cellphone. “I love you, Mama”. I saved that voice message and I play it back every day just to hear him say it. “I love you, Mama” are the 4 greatest words in the world.

Joey is currently serving in Sangin, Afghanistan. Anyone who follows the Afghanistan war news knows this is the most dangerous place in the world. My son, my sweet little baby boy in my eyes, is a grunt serving his country in some far-off distant land and is in the thick of it all. I’m left crawling into bed each night knowing my son isn’t safe.

I haven’t mastered not worrying, not thinking of him constantly, and not wondering what he is going through. I have mastered mailing care packages faithfully, sometimes two a week. I’ve mastered writing to him daily even though I haven’t gotten 1 letter in return. Most of all, I’ve mastered praying for him and praying for the many others who are serving.

I read every article on the Afghanistan war. I scour the news for information on Sangin, the Second Battalion, Eighth Marines, and study news articles for pictures hoping that I might see my son. My heart drops when I read of yet another death, knowing how devastated the fallen hero’s family must be. I immediately pray for them and beg God to keep my son safe.

I’ve gotten to talk to Joey just once for about four minutes. In that short time, he quickly told me that he hadn’t bathed since the morning he left (over three months ago now), that he was so hungry and could I please send him cans of soups and such that he could cook over a fire, and most important telling me he is O.K. As his mother, I could hear it in his voice: He isn’t O.K. I can hear in that voice the stress he is under. I know there isn’t a thing I can do about it, I know I haven’t got a clue as to what it is like for him. Choking back tears, I tell him to keep his head down, stay safe and don’t be a hero. “Remember Joey, I’m not made to live without you. You have to come home to me!” He says, “I know, Mama. I promise, I will.”

Joey then says, “I have to go, Mama.” I quickly blurt out how much I love him and how much I miss him. He says, “I love you, too, Mama” and the phone goes dead.

I know it might be months before I hear his voice again. Until then, I’ll keep playing my voice-mail message from him over and over again. I’ll also keep praying for his safe return and I’ll keep sending the care packages.

God gave me one wonderful gift, Annie and my first grandchild, Allison, to love, hug and kiss. Holding Allison in my arms is like getting to hold a little piece of Joey. Although not the same, she does ease the heartache of missing her daddy.

I’m holding on, counting the days until I can wrap my arms around my son and hear him say, “I love you, Mama.”